"I wonder how many of our people could find the way back to Arispe?" Without altogether comprehending what he means, several numbers are mentioned in a guessing way, according to the estimate of each. Pedro Vicente thinks at least thirty could,--certainly all the _arrieros_ and _vaqueros_. "What is your idea, Don Roberto?" at length asks the senior partner. "That all of those who know the way back be mustered, and two taken from them by lot, who will run the risk of passing the Indian sentries. If they succeed, then all may be saved; if on the contrary, it will be but to lose their lives a little sooner. I propose that all submit to the lottery--all who are unmarried." "I agree with the Senor Tresillian," here puts in the _gambusino_. "Some of us must contrive to get past them at whatever risk. For my part, I'm willing to be one, with any other." The generous proposal is received with applause, but not accepted,--it would not be fair; and in fine it is agreed upon, that fate shall determine who shall be the pair to run the proposed risk--the ceremony for deciding it to take place on the morrow. In the morning it comes off soon as breakfast is eaten. All known to be eligible are summoned together on a spot of ground apart, and told the purport of their being so assembled. No one objects, or tries to evade the dangerous conscription; instead, there are even some who, like Vicente, would volunteer for the duty. For is not one of the _duenos_--the brave Englishman and his son, there present--both offering themselves as candidates like any of the common men? No volunteering, then, is allowed; fortune alone permitted to decide on whom shall be the forlorn hope. The quaint lottery, though awe-inspiring, occupies but a brief space of time. Against the number of men who are to take part in it, a like number of _pinon-nuts_ have been counted out, and dropped into a deep-crowned _sombrero_. Two of the nuts have been already stained with gunpowder, the others left in their natural colour; but no one by the feel could tell which was which. The black ones are to be the _prizes_. The men stand in a ring round Don Estevan, with another who is among the exempt in the centre. These hold the hat, into which one after another, stepping from the circle, led forward blindfolded, inserts his hand, and draws out a nut. If white, he goes clear; but long before the white ones are exhausted the two blacks are taken up, which brings the ceremony to an abrupt end, that deciding all. They who have drawn the _prizes_ are a muleteer and a cattle drover, both brave fellows. They had need be, for this very night they will have to run the gauntlet of life and death, perhaps ere the morrow's sun to be no more. CHAPTER TWENTY. A FATAL FAILURE.