It was the figure of the one whom
he dreaded most on earth.
It was but a glimpse of a form, seen through the bushes, but Wyatt's blood
turned cold in every vein. He uttered a half-choked cry, and running back
through the bushes, sprang into the firelight. Two or three Spanish
soldiers looked at him in amazement, but he was not a coward, and he had
pride of a kind. As soon as he leaped back into the firelight he felt that
he had made a fool of himself. Henry Ware could not have been there--he
and his comrades had been left behind long ago. Coming suddenly out of his
thoughts, he had been deceived in the dark by a bush and imagination had
done the rest. Yes, it was only fancy!
"A rattlesnake! I nearly trod on him," he said in broken Spanish words
that he had picked up, and then walked in as careless a manner as he could
assume toward the mound where Francisco Alvarez sat. But he could not
wholly control himself--the shock had been too great--and his body yet
trembled. He did not know it, but the pallor of his face showed through
the tan, and Alvarez noticed it.
"You have had a fright, Senor Wyatt," he said in his precise, cold
English. "What is it?"
"Not a fright," replied Wyatt in tones that he sought to make indifferent,
"but a start.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161