By this the two had seated themselves, _vis-a-vis_, just outside the verge where met moonlight and shadow, a suite of cards turned face up between them, the dealing pack in the hands of Perico. The hunchback, on his knees, with neck craned out, was a spectator; but one whose thoughts were not with his eyes. Instead, dwelling upon the valuables he had so cunningly chucked back, making the mental calculation as to how much they might be damaged by breakage, but caring less for that than the danger of their also becoming stakes in that game of _monte_. Could he have known what was going on behind, he would possibly have preferred it so. The unseen spectator, though silent, was not inactive, but the reverse. From the moment of seeing himself shut up--as it were, in a pen--he had given all his thoughts to how he might escape out of it. It needed none to tell him there was no chance front-wards by the road. A rush he might make past the two soldiers, risking seizure, and surely having the bullets of their carbines sent after him. But even though he got off in that way, what would be the upshot? The hunchback would be certain to recognise him, remembering all. Knowing, too, that his dialogue with the Hussar colonel must have been overheard, he would hasten the very event which he, Jose, was now all anxious to provide against. The word of warning meant for those now so much needing it might reach them too late. All these thoughts had passed through the _cochero's_ mind before the card-playing commenced. More, too, for he had carefully inspected the cliff overhead, so far as the light would allow, aided by groping. To his joy, he had discovered that there was a possibility of scaling it. A sharp pinnacle of rock was within reach of the swing of his halters; and skilled in the use of the _laso_, over this he had succeeded in flinging the head-stall of one, hooking it fast. It but remained to swarm up the rope, and he was watching for an opportunity, when glittering golden things, like a Danae's shower, came raining against his ribs, to fall at his feet. He saw no reason for these being left to lie there, but a good one against it; so, stooping cautiously forward, he gathered up all, stowing them away in his pockets. Then turning and taking hold of the halter, with as little noise as possible, he hoisted himself up to the crest of the cliff. The soldiers engrossed with their game, and the dwarf, though but a spectator, having also become interested in it--none of the three either saw or heard him. And the last he heard of them as he stole silently away was the corporal delightedly calling out-- "_Sota en la puerta, mozo_! The dagger's mine, darling Perico!" CHAPTER FIFTY THREE. A SERIES OF SURPRISES.