But
the human note in the wind grew until it was like a shriek, and this
shriek was to him a warning that he must go. The pyramid had been his
salvation, but his time there was at an end.
He drew the sombrero far down over his eyes, and once more calculated
the chances. He spoke Spanish well, and he spoke its Mexican variations
equally well. If they saw him he might be able to pass for a Mexican. He
must succeed.
He lowered himself from the crowning platform of the pyramid and began
the descent. The cold rain pattered upon him and his body was weak from
privation, but his spirit was strong, and with steady hand and foot he
went down. He paused several times to look at the camp. Five or six
fires still burned there, but they flickered wildly in the wind and
rain. He judged that the sentinels would not watch well. For what must
they watch, there in the heart of their own country?
But as he approached the bottom he saw two of these sentinels walking
back and forth, their bayonets reflecting a flicker now and then from
the flames. He saw also five or six large white tents, and he was quite
sure that the largest sheltered at that instant Martin Perfecto de Cos,
whom he wished very much to avoid. He intended, when he reached the
bottom, to keep as close as he could in the shadow of the pyramid, and
then seek the other side of the Teotihuacan.
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