Summary

Portrait of Mayne Reid Mayne Reid The Lost Mountain: A Tale of Sonora

The ascent, commenced almost immediately, is by a ravine—a sort of gorge or chine worn out by the water from the spring-head above and disintegrating rains throughout the long ages. They find it steep as a staircase, though not winding as one; instead, trending straight up from its debouchment on the plain to the summit level, between slopes, these with grim, rocky façade, still more precipitous. Down its bottom cascades the stream—a tiny rivulet now, but in rain-storms a torrent—and along this lies the path, the only one by which the Cerro can be ascended, as the gambusino already knows.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Mayne Reid Mayne Reid The Lost Mountain: A Tale of Sonora

Through the heated atmosphere the lately-fallen rain is rising in vapour, and within its misty shroud it envelopes not only the lake, but the plain around its edges. It rolls over the line of savage watchers, on up between the jaws of the chine, till in its damp clammy film it embraces the bodies of those who are waiting above.
“Now’s your time, muchachos!” says Don Estevan, addressing himself to those who are to adventure. “There could not be a better opportunity; if they can’t be passed now, they never can.”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Mayne Reid Mayne Reid The Lost Mountain: A Tale of Sonora

As the long straggling line draws closer to the Cerro, they on its summit see a number of these animals bearing on their backs something more than the loot of plundered houses. They see women, most of them appearing to be young girls.
As they are conducted on to the camp, and inside its enclosure, Don Estevan, viewing them through his telescope, can trace upon their persons, as their features, all the signs and lines proclaiming utter despair: dresses torn, hair hanging dishevelled, and eyes downcast, with not a ray or spark of hope in them.
Source: Gutenberg

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