For an instant I marvelled that they had come this far at all when
both their ambushes were south of the crag. Then I realized that they had
been searching the wagons for the bullion. Every wagon was stalled, half
were overset, the tongue-yoke of each was hamstrung, every cage was empty,
not a lion, tiger or leopard, panther or hyena to be seen; all,
apparently, let out that their cages might be ransacked. I conjectured
that letting them out had taken less time than it would have taken to kill
them.
Panting, sweating, nearing exhaustion, we hastened along the highway at a
jolting run not much faster than the quick walk of untired men, but our
best speed. We passed scores of stalled wagons, every cage empty, two
hamstrung oxen or mules or even horses lying in agony before each wagon,
the rest of the cattle either loosed and gone or held fast by the stalled
wagons behind them. We saw not one teamster, not one beast. The long
series of stalled wagons, with their hamstrung or stalled cattle and empty
cages extended to the foot of the crag and beyond it. Beyond it we came on
the procurator's carriage, empty; no horse to it or by it. Still we had
seen no human being.
A half-mile further, midway of a flat stretch of road, on one side of
which was an expanse of swampy ground, varied with pools bordered by
sedge, reeds and bushes, with areas of tussocks and with clumps of willows
and alders, we came on Bambilio's and Vedia's carriages, their gilded
decorative carvings, coral-red panel-bars, pearl-shell panel-panes, gilded
rosette-bosses, silver-plated hubs and gilded spokes and fellies
glittering in the late sunshine.
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