had slipped to his wrists. By keeping his elbows to his sides, and
obliging the others to help him mount, it escaped their notice. By
riding close to his captors, and keeping in the crush of the throng,
he further concealed the accident, slowly working his hands downwards
out of his bonds. Their way lay through a sylvan wilderness, mid-leg
deep in ferns, whose tall fronds brushed their horses' sides in their
furious gallop and concealed the flapping of the captive's loosened
cords. The peaceful vista, more suggestive of the offerings of nymph
and shepherd than of human sacrifice, was in a strange contrast to
this whirlwind rush of stern, armed men. The westering sun pierced
the subdued light and the tremor of leaves with yellow lances; birds
started into song on blue and dove-like wings, and on either side of
the trail of this vengeful storm could be heard the murmur of hidden
and tranquil waters. In a few moments they would be on the open ridge,
whence sloped the common turnpike to "Sawyer's," a mile away. It
was the custom of returning cavalcades to take this hill at headlong
speed, with shouts and cries that heralded their coming. They withheld
the latter that day, as inconsistent with their dignity; but, emerging
from the wood, swept silently like an avalanche down the slope. They
were well under way, looking only to their horses, when the second
captive slipped his right arm from the bonds and succeeded in grasping
the reins that lay trailing on the horse's neck. A sudden _vaquero_
jerk, which the well-trained animal understood, threw him on his
haunches with his forelegs firmly planted on the slope. The rest of
the cavalcade swept on; the man who was leading the captive's horse
by the _riata_, thinking only of another accident, dropped the line to
save himself from being dragged backwards from his horse. The captive
wheeled, and the next moment was galloping furiously up the slope.

It was the work of a moment; a trained horse and an experienced hand.