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Updated: June 15, 2025
Time passing does not lessen their suspense. On the contrary, it grows keener, becoming an agony almost unendurable. To escape from it, Hamersley half forms the resolution to descend the hill and endeavour to steal past the sentinels.
He looks upon you as the saviour of his life, and may yield to your request." "If you think so, Valerian " "I do. I see him coming this way. Remain where you are. I shall send him in to you." With a heart heaving and surging, Hamersley stands in the presence of her, the sole cause of its tumultuous excitement. For he has been summoned thither in a manner that somewhat surprises him.
Imagine a man who has secured passage by a ship bound for some far-off foreign land, and delayed by some trifling affair, comes upon the pier to see the hawser cast off, the plank drawn ashore, the sails spread, himself left hopelessly behind! His chagrin might be equal to that felt by the Texans, but slight compared with what harrows the hearts of Hamersley and Walt Wilder.
Well, my sister will soon be here, and she, brave girl, has plenty of life in her, though she be but young. What a joyous creature she is, wild as a mustang filly fresh caught. I wish, Don Francisco, you could have stayed to make her acquaintance. I am sure you would be delighted with her." If the portrait on the wall was anything of a faithful likeness, Hamersley could not have been otherwise.
Something seen west, the way they want to go. Pointing it out to Hamersley, the two stand observing. No great scrutiny needed to tell them 'tis a cloud of dust, although in breadth not bigger than a blanket. But while they are regarding it it gradually spreads out, at the same time showing higher above the surface of the plain.
For some time Wilder stands in speechless surprise, his glances going all around. But no human figure is seen, either by the palmilla or among the sage-bushes beside it. Can the wounded man have crawled away? But no; why should he? Still, to make sure, the ex-Ranger shouts out, calling Hamersley by name. He gets no response.
Though far off, its master, Frank Hamersley, is near. Near, also, in the court-yard below is Walt Wilder, in his grotesque way playing Benedict to Conchita. While up and down moves the doctor, sharing the general joy. Outside, upon the plain, the white tilts of twenty waggons, with the smoke of camp-fires rising over them, tell of a trader's caravan.
"Marciful heavens!" he exclaims, suddenly making halt, the gun almost dropping from his grasp. "Kin it be possyble? Frank Hamersley gone under! Them buzzards! They've been upon the groun' to a sartinty. Darnashin! what ked they a been doin' down thar? Right by the bunch o' palmetto, jest whar I left him. An' no sign o' himself to be seen? Marciful heavens! kin it be possyble they've been ?"
Hamersley has his horse fairly astretch ere the fugitives, though out of sight, are many hundred yards ahead; for the scenes and speeches recorded occupied but a few seconds of time. He is confident of being able to overtake them. He knows his Kentucky charger is more than a match for any Mexican horse, and will soon bring him up with Uraga and the other officer.
The ci-devant cibolero does as directed, going at a gallop; while the colonel and his adjutant trot on to the clump of blackjacks, standing some three hundred paces out of the line of march. It was the same copse that gave shade and concealment to Frank Hamersley and Walt Wilder on the day preceding.
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