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"He had sent for a gun to the plains.
"It was long in coming, but at last it came. It was a seven-pounder
field gun. Dismounted and lashed crosswise to two long poles, it had
been carried up the narrow paths between two mules with ease. His wild
cry of exultation at daybreak when he saw the gun escort emerge from the
valley rings in my ears now.
"But, senores, I have no words to depict his amazement, his fury, his
despair and distraction, when he heard that the animal loaded with the
gun-carriage had, during the last night march, somehow or other tumbled
down a precipice. He broke into menaces of death and torture against the
escort. I kept out of his way all that day, lying behind some bushes,
and wondering what he would do now. Retreat was left for him, but he
could not retreat.
"I saw below me his artillerist, Jorge, an old Spanish soldier, building
up a sort of structure with heaped-up saddles. The gun, ready loaded,
was lifted on to that, but in the act of firing the whole thing
collapsed and the shot flew high above the stockade.


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