He
took one glance to see if the prisoner, too, slept, and then he leaped to
his feet with a cry. The prisoner was not there! Nor was he anywhere in
the camp.
"Up! up! you rascals!" shouted the Spaniard. "The boy is gone! escaped.
Luiz, Pedro, in what manner have you watched!"
He rushed to the sentinel on the right, Luiz, and struck him sharply
across the back with the flat of his sword.
"Wretch!" he cried, "you have slept!" and he struck him again.
Luiz did not stir, even under the sharp blow. He remained, sitting on the
log, back to his chief, shoulders bent forward, as if he were in a
slumber too profound to be disturbed by anything short of a crash of
thunder in his ear. Alvarez, furious with anger, seized him by the
shoulder and dragged him back. Then he uttered another cry, in which rage
and surprise were mingled in equal portions. But Luiz, the sentinel, still
said nothing. He could not. A gag was fixed firmly in his mouth, his arms
were bound to his side, his legs to the tree on which he sat, and his
rifle had been left standing between his knees and against his shoulder,
as if held by one who watched.
The unfortunate sentinel gazed up at his chief with wide-open, appealing
eyes, and, leaving him with the men, who were now crowding around he ran
to the other sentinel.
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