Even the presence of an enemy, so near, and yet, as it seemed, so little dangerous, added a certain piquancy to his position.

The pleasant tinkle of the mandolins was wafted upward to him, and it was wonderfully soothing, telling of peace and rest.

He inhaled the aromatic odors of strange and flowering southern plants, and his senses were steeped in a sort of luxurious calm.
He fell asleep to the music of the mandolin, and when he awoke such a bright sun was shining in his eyes that he was glad to close and open them again several times before they would tolerate the brilliant Mexican sky that bent above him.

He lay still about five minutes, listening, and then, to his disappointment, he heard sounds below.

He judged by the position of the sun that it must be at least 10 o'clock in the morning, and the Mexicans should be gone.