The War Trail, The Hunt of the Wild Horse, by Captain Mayne Reid. ________________________________________________________________________This book, along with several other of this author's, occupies animportant position in the history of English literature, for it was oneof the first to deal with the Wild West. The events take place shortlyafter the Mexican War of the late 1840s. The Mexicans themselves havebeen conquered, but now it is necessary to protect them from a furtherenemy, one who would war with both Americans and Mexicans--the ComancheIndians. The troop of rangers consists of many kinds of men, of Scots, Irish, English, German, Swiss, Polish descent, and many others. Some ofthese take major roles in this story, and their words are reported justas they would have been said. Numerous extremely difficult situations are encountered, and it is oftenthe woodcraft and ingenuity of these men that gets them out of them, sometimes in extremely (for you and me) unexpected ways. This resultsin a series of tense incidents, and, though the literary style is a bitunusual, they are very gripping. Many books by this author were published in the second half of thenineteenth century, and some of them were printed with rather damagedtype. The copy of this book that we worked from was one of these, sothere may well be a very few typos left, for which we apologise. ________________________________________________________________________THE WAR TRAIL, THE HUNT OF THE WILD HORSE, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. CHAPTER ONE. SOUVENIRS. Land of the nopal and maguey--home of Moctezuma and Malinche!--I cannotwring thy memories from my heart! Years may roll on, hand wax weak, andheart grow old, but never till both are cold can I forget thee! I_would_ not; for thee would I remember. Not for all the world would Ibathe my soul in the waters of Lethe. Blessed be memory for thy sake! Bright land of Anahuac! my spirit mounts upon the aerial wings of Fancy, and once more I stand upon thy shores! Over thy broad savannahs I spurmy noble steed, whose joyous neigh tells that he too is inspired by thescene. I rest under the shade of the _corozo_ palm, and quaff the wineof the _acrocomia_. I climb thy mountains of amygdaloid and porphyry--thy crags of quartz, that yield the white silver and the yellow gold. Icross thy fields of lava, rugged in outline, and yet more rugged withtheir coverture of strange vegetable forms--acacias and cactus, yuccasand zamias. I traverse thy table-plains through bristling rows of giantaloes, whose sparkling juice cheers me on my path. I stand upon thelimits of eternal snow, crushing the Alpine lichen under my heel; whiledown in the deep barranca, far down below, I behold the feathery frondsof the palm, the wax-like foliage of the orange, the broad shiningleaves of the pothos, of arums, and bananas! O that I could again lookwith living eye on these bright pictures, that even thus palely outlinedupon the retina of memory, impart pleasure to my soul! Land of Moctezuma! I have other souvenirs of thee, more deeply gravenon my memory than these pictures of peace. Thou recallest scenes ofwar. I traversed thy fields a foeman--sword in hand--and now, afteryears gone by, many a wild scene of soldier-life springs up before mewith all the vividness of reality. _The Bivouac_!--I sit by the night camp-fire; around are warlike formsand bearded faces. The blazing log reflects the sheen of arms andaccoutrements--saddles, rifles, pistols, canteens, strewing the ground, or hanging from the branches of adjacent trees. Picketed steeds loomlarge in the darkness, their forms dimly outlined against the sombrebackground of the forest. A solitary palm stands near, its curvingfronds looking hoary under the fire-light. The same light gleams uponthe fluted columns of the great organ-cactus, upon agaves and bromelias, upon the silvery _tillandsia_, that drapes the tall trees as with atoga. The wild tale is told--the song is sung--the jest goes round--the hoarsepeal echoes through the aisles of the forest, frighting the parrot onits perch, and the wolf upon his prowl. Little reck they who sing, andjest, and laugh--little reck they of the morrow. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _The Skirmish_!--Morning breaks. The fragrant forest is silent, and thewhite blue light is just tinging the treetops. A shot rings upon theair: it is the warning-gun of the picket-sentinel, who comes gallopingin upon the guard. The enemy approaches! `To horse!' the bugle thrillsin clear loud notes. The slumberers spring to their feet--they seizetheir rifles, pistols, and sabres, and dash through the smoulderingfires till ashes cloud the air. The steeds snort and neigh; in a tricethey are saddled, bridled, and mounted; and away sweeps the troop alongthe forest road. The enemy is in sight--a band of _guerilleros_, in all theirpicturesqueness of _manga_ and _serape_--of scarlet, purple, and gold. Lances, with shining points and streaming pennons, o'ertop the trees. The bugle sounds the charge; its notes are drowned by the chargingcheer. We meet our swarthy foemen face to face; spear-thrusts areanswered by pistol-shots; our sabres cross and clink, but our snortingsteeds rear back, and will not let us kill each other. We wheel andmeet again, with deadlier aim, and more determined arm; we strikewithout remorse--we strike for freedom! _The Battle-field_!--The serried columns and the bristling guns--theroar of cannon and the roll of drums--the bugle's wildest notes, thecheer, the charge--the struggle hand to hand--the falling foeman and hisdying groan--the rout, retreat, the hoarse huzza for victory! I wellremember, but I cannot paint them. Land of Anahuac! thou recallest other scenes, far different from these--scenes of tender love or stormy passion. The strife is o'er--thewar-drum has ceased to beat, and the bugle to bray; the steed standschafing in his stall, and the conqueror dallies in the halls of theconquered. Love is now the victor, and the stern soldier, himselfsubdued, is transformed into a suing lover. In gilded hall or gardenbower, behold him on bended knee, whispering his soft tale in the ear ofsome dark-eyed _dongella_, Andalusian or Aztec! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lovely land! In truth have I sweet memories of thee; for who couldtraverse thy fields without beholding some fair flower, ever after to beborne upon his bosom! And yet, not all my souvenirs are glad. Pleasantand painful, sweet and sad, they thrill my heart with alternate throes. But the sad emotions have been tempered by time, and the glad ones, ateach returning tide, seem tinged with brighter glow. In thy bowers, aselsewhere, roses must be plucked from thorns; but in memory's mellowedlight I see not the thorns--I behold only the bright and beautifulroses. CHAPTER TWO. A MEXICAN FRONTIER VILLAGE. A Mexican _pueblita_ on the banks of the Rio Bravo del Norte--a mere_rancheria_, or hamlet. The quaint old church of Morisco-Italian style, with its cupola of motley japan, the residence of the _cura_, and thehouse of the _alcalde_, are the only stone structures in the place. These constitute three sides of the piazza, a somewhat spacious square. The remaining side is taken up with shops or dwellings of the commonpeople. They are built of large unburnt bricks (_adobes_), some of themwashed with lime, others gaudily coloured like the proscenium of atheatre, but most of them uniform in their muddy and forbidding brown. All have heavy jail-like doors, and windows without glass or sash. The_reja_ of iron bars, set vertically, opposes the burglar, not theweather. From the four corners of the piazza, narrow, unpaved, dusty lanes leadoff to the country, for some distance bordered on both sides by theadobe houses. Still farther out, on the skirts of the village, andsparsely placed, are dwellings of frailer build, but more picturesqueappearance; they are _ridge-roofed_ structures, of the split trunks ofthat gigantic lily, the arborescent yucca. Its branches form therafters, its tough fibrous leaves the thatch. In these _ranchitos_dwell the poor peons, the descendants of the conquered race. The stone dwellings, and those of mud likewise, are _flat-roofed_, tiledor cemented--sometimes tastefully japanned--with a parapet breast-highrunning round the edge. This flat roof is the _azotea_, characteristicof Mexican architecture. When the sun is low and the evening cool, the azotea is a pleasantlounging-place, especially when the proprietor of the house has a tastefor flowers; then it is converted into an aerial garden, and displaysthe rich flora for which the picture-land of Mexico is justlycelebrated. It is just the place to enjoy a cigar, a glass of _pinole_, or, if you prefer it, _Catalan_. The smoke is wafted away, and the openair gives a relish to the beverage. Besides, your eye is feasted; youenjoy the privacy of a drawing-room, while you command what is passingin the street. The slight parapet gives security, while hindering a toofree view from below; you see, without being seen. The world moves on, busied with earthly affairs, and does not think of looking up. I stand upon such an azotea: it is that over the house of the alcalde;and his being the tallest roof in the village, I command a view of allthe others. I can see beyond them all, and note the prominent featuresof the surrounding country. My eye wanders with delight over the deeprich verdure of its tropic vegetation; I can even distinguish its morecharacteristic forms--the cactus, the yucca, and the agave. I observethat the village is girdled by a belt of open ground--cultivatedfields--where the maize waves its silken tassels in the breeze, contrasting with the darker leaves of the capsicums and bean-plants(frijoles). This open ground is of limited extent. The _chapparal_, with its thorny thicket of acacias, mimosae, ingas, and robinias--aperfect maze of leguminous trees--hems it in; and so near is the vergeof this jungle, that I can distinguish its undergrowth of stemless_sabal_ palms and bromelias--the sun-scorched and scarlet leaves of the_pita_ plant shining in the distance like lists of fire. This propinquity of the forest to the little pueblita bespeaks theindolence of the inhabitants; perhaps not. It must be remembered thatthese people are not agriculturists, but _vaqueros_ (herdsmen); and thatthe glades and openings of that thick chapparal are speckled with herdsof fierce Spanish cattle, and droves of small sharp-eared Andalusianhorses, of the race of the Barb. The fact of so little cultivation doesnot abnegate the existence of industry on the part of the villagers. Grazing is their occupation, not farming; only a little of the latter togive them maize for their _tortillas_, chile to season it with, andblack beans to complete the repast. These three, with the half-wildbeef of their wide pastures, constitute the staple of food throughoutall Mexico. For drink, the denizen of the high table-land find hisfavourite beverage--the rival of champagne--in the core of the giganticaloe; while he of the tropic coast-land refreshes himself from the juiceof another native endogen, the acrocomia palm. Favoured land! Ceres loves thee, and Bacchus too. To thy fields boththe god and the goddess have been freely bounteous. Food and drink maybe had from them on easy terms. Alas! as in all other lands--one onlyexcepted--Nature's divine views have been thwarted, her aim set aside, by the malignity of man. As over the broad world the blight of thedespot is upon thy beauty. Why are these people crowded together--hived, as it were, in towns andvillages? Herdsmen--one would expect to find them scattered by reasonof their occupation. Besides, a sky continually bright, a genial clime, a picturesqueness of scene--all seem to invite to rural life; and yet Ihave ridden for hours, a succession of lovely landscapes rising beforemy eyes, all of them wild, wanting in that one feature which makes therural picture perfect--the house, the dwelling of man! Towns there are;and at long intervals the huge _hacienda_ of the landed lord, walled inlike a fortress; but where are the _ranchos_, the homes of the commonpeople? True, I have noticed the ruins of many, and that explains thepuzzle. I remember, now that I am on the _frontier_: that for yearspast the banks of the Rio Bravo, from its source to the sea, have beenhostile ground--a war-border of fifteen hundred miles in length! Many ared conflict has occurred--is still occurring--between those Arabs ofthe American desert--the _Horse_ Indians--and the pale-faced descendantsof the Spaniard. That is why the ranchos exist only in ruins--that iswhy the haciendas are loopholed, and the populace pent up within walls. The condition of feudal Europe exists in free America, on the banks ofthe Rio Bravo del Norte! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nearly a mile off, looking westward, I perceive the sheen of water: itis a reach of the great river that glances under the setting sun. Theriver curves at that point; and the summit of a gentle hill, halfgirdled by the stream, is crowned by the low white walls of a hacienda. Though only one story high, this hacienda appears, from its extent, andthe style of its architecture, to be a noble mansion. Like all of itsclass, it is flat-roofed; but the parapet is crenated, and smallornamental turrets over the angles and the great gateway relieve themonotony of its outlines. A larger tower, the belfry of a chapel, appears in the background, the Mexican hacienda is usually provided withits little _capilla_, for the convenient worship of the peon retainers. The emblems of religion, such as it is, are thick over the land. Theglimmer of glass behind the iron rejas relieves to some extent theprison-like aspect, so characteristic of Mexican country-houses. Thisis further modified by the appearance over the parapet of green foliage. Forms of tropic vegetation show above the wall; among others, thegraceful curving fronds of a palm. This must be an exotic, for althoughthe lower half of the Rio Bravo is within the zone of the palms, thespecies that grow so far north are fan-palms (_chamaerops_ and _sabal_). This one is of far different form, with plume-shaped pinnate fronds, ofthe character of _cocos_, _phoenix_, or _euterpe_. I note the fact, notfrom any botanical curiosity with which it inspires me, but ratherbecause the presence of this exotic palm has a significance. Itillustrates a point in the character of him--it may be _her_--who is thepresiding spirit of the place. No doubt there is a fair garden upon theazotea--perhaps a fair being among its flowers! Pleasant thoughtsspring up--anticipations. I long to climb that sloping hill, to enterthat splendid mansion, and, longing still, I gaze. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The ring of a bugle startles me from this pleasant reverie. 'Tis only astable-call; but it has driven sweet reflections out of my mind, and myeyes are turned away from the bright mansion, and rest upon the piazzaof the pueblita. There, a far different scene greets their glance. CHAPTER THREE. THE RANGERS ON PICKET. The centre of the piazza presents a salient point in the picture. Therethe well (_el poso_), with its gigantic wheel, its huge leathern beltand buckets, its trough of cemented stone-work, offers an Orientalaspect. Verily, it is the Persian wheel! 'Tis odd to a northern eye tofind such a structure in this Western land; but the explanation is easy. The Persian wheel has travelled from Egypt along the southern shores ofthe Mediterranean. With the Moors it crossed the Straits of Gibraltar, and the Spaniard has carried it over the Atlantic. The reader of thesacred volume will find many a familiar passage illustrated in thecustoms of Mexico. The genius of the Arab has shaped many a thought forthe brain of the Aztec! My eye rests not long upon the well, but turns to gaze on the scene ofactive life that is passing near and around it. Forms, and varied ones, I trow, are moving there. Gliding with silent step and dubious look--his wide _calzoneros_flapping around his ankles, his arms and shoulders shrouded in themottled serape, his black broad-brimmed hat darkening still more hisswarth face--goes the _poblano_, the denizen of the adobe hut. He shunsthe centre of the piazza, keeping around the walls; but at intervals hiseyes are turned towards the well with a look of mingled fierceness andfear. He reaches a doorway--it is silently opened by a hand within--heenters quickly, and seems glad to get out of sight. A littleafterwards, I can catch a glimpse of his sombre face dimly visiblebehind the bars of the reja. At distant corners, I descry small groups of his class, all similarlycostumed in calzoneros, striped blankets, and glaze hats; all, like him, wearing uneasy looks. They gesticulate little, contrary to their usualhabit, and converse only in whispers or low mutterings. Unusualcircumstances surround them. Most of the women are within doors; a few of the poorer class--of pureIndian race--are seated in the piazza. They are hucksters, and theirwares are spread before them on a thin palm-leaf mat (_petate_), whileanother similar one, supported umbrella-like on a stem, screens them andtheir merchandise from the sun. Their dyed woollen garments, their bareheads, their coarse black hair, adorned with twists of scarlet worsted, impart to them somewhat of a gipsy look. They appear as free of care asthe zingali themselves: they laugh, and chatter, and show their whiteteeth all day long, asking each new-comer to purchase their fruits andvegetables, their _pinole_, _atole_, and _agua dulce_. Their notunmusical voices ring pleasantly upon the ear. Now and then a young girl, with red _olla_ poised upon her crown, tripslightly across the piazza in the direction of the well. Perhaps she isa _poblana_--one of the belles of the village--in short-skirted, bright-coloured petticoat, embroidered but sleeveless chemisette, withsmall satin slippers upon her feet; head, shoulders, and bosom, shroudedin the blue-grey _reboso_; arms and ankles bare. Several of these maybe seen passing to and fro. They appear less uneasy than the men; theyeven smile at intervals, and reply to the rude badinage uttered in anunknown tongue by the odd-looking strangers around the well. TheMexican women are courageous as they are amiable. As a race, theirbeauty is undeniable. But who are these strangers? They do not belong to the place, that isevident; and equally so that they are objects of terror to those who do. At present they are masters here. Their numbers, their proud confidentswagger, and the bold loud tone of their conversation, attest that theyare masters of the ground. Who are they? Odd-looking, I have styled them; and the phrase is to be taken in itsfull significance. A more odd-looking set of fellows never mustered ina Mexican piazza, nor elsewhere. There are fourscore of them; and butthat each carries a yager rifle in his hand, a knife in his belt, and aColt's pistol on his thigh, you could not discover the slightest pointof resemblance between any two of them. Their arms are the only thingsabout them denoting _uniformity_, and some sort of organisation; for therest, they are as unlike one another as the various shapes and hues ofcoarse broadcloth, woollen jeans, cottonades, coloured blankets, andbuckskin, can make them. They wear caps of 'coon-skin, and cat's-skin, and squirrel; hats of beaver, and felt, and glaze, of wool and palmetto, of every imaginable shape and slouch. Even of the modern monster--thesilken "tile"--samples might be seen, _badly crushed_. There are coatsof broadcloth, few in number, and well worn; but many are the garmentsof "Kentucky jeans" of bluish-grey, of copper-coloured nigger cloth, andsky-coloured cottonade. Some wear coats made of green blankets, othersof blue ones, and some of a scarlet red. There are hunting-shirts ofdressed deerskin, with plaited skirt, and cape, fringed and jauntilyadorned with beads and embroidery--the favourite style of the backwoodshunter, but others there are of true Indian cut--open only at thethroat, and hanging loose, or fastened around the waist with a belt--thesame that secures the knife and pistol. There are cloth jackets too, such as are worn by sailors, and others of sky-blue cottonade--thecostume of the Creole of Louisiana; some of red-brown leather--the_jaqueta_ of the Spano-American; and still another fashion, theclose-fitting embroidered "spencer" of the Mexican ranchero. Someshoulders are covered by serapes, and some by the more graceful andtoga-like manga. Look lower down: examine the limbs of the men of thismotley band: the covering of these is not less varied than their uppergarments. You see wrappers of coarse cloth, of flannel, and of baize:they are blue, and scarlet, and green. You see leggings of raw hide andof buckskin; boots of horse-leather reaching to the thighs; "niggerboots" of still coarser fabric, with the pantaloons tucked under_brogans_ of unstained calf-skin, and moccasins of varied cut, betokening the fashion of more than one Indian tribe. You may see limbsencased in calzoneros, and others in the heavy stamped leather _botas_of the Mexican horseman, resembling the greaves of warriors of the oldentime. The heels of all are armed, though their armature is as varied as thecostumes. There are spurs of silver and steel, some plated, and somewith the plating worn off; some strapped, and others screwed into theheel of the boot; some light, with small rowels and tiny teeth, whileothers are seen (the heavy spur of Mexico) of several pounds' weight, with rowels five inches in diameter, and teeth that might be dashedthrough the ribs of a horse!--cruel weapons of the Mexican _cavallero_. But these spurs in the piazza, these botas and calzoneros, these mangasand serapes, are not worn by _Mexicans_. Their present wearers are menof a different race. Most of those tall stalwart bodies are the productof the maize-plant of Kentucky and Tennessee, or the buckwheat and"hog-meat" of the fertile flats of Ohio, Indiana, and the Illinois. They are the squatters and hunters of the backwoods, the farmers of thegreat western slopes of the Alleghanies, the boatmen of the Mississippi, the pioneers of Arkansas and Missouri, the trappers of prairie-land, the_voyageurs_ of the lake-country, the young planters of the lower states, the French Creoles of Louisiana, the adventurous settlers of Texas, withhere and there a gay city spark from the larger towns of the "greatwest. " Yes, and from other sources are individuals of that mixed band. I recognise the Teutonic type--the fair hair and whitish-yellowmoustache of the German, the florid Englishman, the staid Scot, and hiscontrast the noisy Hibernian; both equally brave. I behold the adroitand nimble Frenchman, full of laugh and chatter, the stanch soldierlySwiss, and the moustached exile of Poland, dark, sombre, and silent. What a study for an ethnologist is that band of odd-looking men! Whoare they? You have thrice asked the question. I answer it. They are a corps of"Rangers"--_the guerilla of the American army_. And who am I? I am their captain--their chief. Yes, I am the leader of that queer crew; and, despite their rough motleyaspect, I dare affirm, that not in Europe, not in America elsewhere, notupon the great globe's surface, can be found a band, of like numbers, toequal them in strength, daring, and warlike intelligence. Many of themhave spent half a life in the sharpening practice of border warfare--Indian or Mexican--and from these the others have learnt. Some havebeen gentlemen upon whom fortune has frowned; a few have beendesperadoes within the pale of civilised life; and a smaller few, perhaps, _outlaws_ beyond it--bad materials wherewith to _colonise_; notso bad, if you go but to _conquer_. Rude as is the _coup d'oeil_ of the corps, I am proud to say that a highsentiment of honour pervades it--higher than will be found in the picked_corps de garde_ of an emperor. True, they appear rough and reckless--terrible, I might say; for most of them--with their long beards andhair, dust-begrimed faces, slouched hats, and odd habiliments, belted asthey are with knife, pistol, powder-horn, and pouch--present such anaspect. But you would wrong them to take them as they look. Few among them arethe pure bandits whose aim is plunder. Many a noble heart beats beneatha rude exterior--many a one truly humane. There are hearts in that bandthat throb under the influence of patriotism; some are guided by a stillnobler impulse, a desire to extend the area of freedom: others, it istrue, yearn but for revenge. These last are chiefly Texans, who mourn afriend or brother slain by Mexican treachery. They have not forgottenthe cowardly assassination of Goliad; they remember the red butchery ofthe Alamo. Perhaps I alone, of all the band, have no motive for being here; if one, 'tis slight--scarce so noble as vengeance. Mere chance, the love ofexcitement and adventure, perhaps some weak fondness for power and fame, are all the excuses I can urge for taking a hand in this affair. A pooradventurer--without friends, without home, without country, for mynative land is no more a nation--my heart is not cheered by a singlethrob of patriotism. I have no private wrong to redress, no publiccause, no country for which to combat. During intervals of inaction, these thoughts recur to me, and give mepain. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The men have picketed their horses in the church enclosure; some aretied to trees, and others to the reja-bars of the windows: like theirriders, a motley group, various in size, colour, and race. The stronghigh-mettled steed of Kentucky and Tennessee, the light "pacer" ofLouisiana, the cob, the barb, his descendant the "mustang, " that but afew weeks ago was running wild upon the prairies, may all be seen in thetroop. Mules, also, of two distinct races--the large gaunt mule ofNorth America, and the smaller and more sprightly variety, native of thesoil. My own black steed, with his pretty fern-coloured muzzle, stands nearthe fountain in the centre of the piazza. My eye wanders with a sort ofhabitual delight over the oval outlines of his body. How proudly hecurves his swan like neck, and with mock anger paws up the dust! Heknows that my eyes are upon him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ We have been scarcely an hour in the rancheria; we are perfect strangersto it: we are the first American troop its people have yet seen--although the war has been going on for some months farther down theriver. We have been despatched upon scouting duty, with orders to scourthe surrounding country as far as it is safe. The object in sending ushither is not so much to guard against a surprise from our Mexican foe, who is not upon this side, but to guard _them_, the Mexicans, fromanother enemy--an enemy of _both of us_--the Comanche! These IndianIshmaelites, report says, are upon the "_war-trail_" and have quite anarmy in the field. It is said they are foraging higher up the river, where they have it all to themselves, and have just pillaged asettlement in that direction--butchered the men, as is their wont, andcarried off the women, children, and chattels. We came hither toconquer the Mexicans, but we must _protect_ while _conquering_ them!_Cosas de Mexico_! CHAPTER FOUR. MAKING A CAPTIVE. I was musing upon the singular character of this _triangular_ war, whenmy reverie was disturbed by the hoof strokes of a horse. The soundscame from a distance, outside the village; the strokes were those of ahorse at full gallop. I stepped hastily across the azotea, and looked over the parapet, inhopes of obtaining a view of this rapid rider. I was not disappointed--as I neared the wall, the road and the rider came full under my eyes. In the latter, I beheld a picturesque object. He appeared to be a veryyoung man--a mere youth, without beard or moustache, but of singularlyhandsome features. The complexion was dark, almost brown; but even atthe distance of two hundred yards, I could perceive the flash of a nobleeye, and note a damask redness upon his cheeks. His shoulders werecovered with a scarlet manga, that draped backward over the hips of hishorse; and upon his head he wore a light sombrero, laced, banded, andtasselled with bullion of gold. The horse was a small but finelyproportioned mustang--spotted like a jaguar upon a ground colour ofcream--a true Andalusian. The horseman was advancing at a gallop, without fear of the groundbefore him: by chance, his eyes were raised to the level of the azotea, on which I stood; my uniform, and the sparkle of my accoutrements, caught his glance; and quick as thought, as if by an involuntarymovement, he reined up his mustang, until its ample tail lay clusteredupon the dust of the road. It was then that I noted the singularappearance of both horse and rider. Just at that moment, the ranger, who held picket on that side of thevillage, sprang forth from his hiding-place, and challenged the horsemanto halt. The challenge was unheeded. Another jerk of the rein spun themustang round, as upon a pivot; and the next instant, impelled by thespur, the animal resumed his gallop. He did not return by the road, butshot off in a new direction, nearly at right angles to his formercourse. A rifle-bullet would have followed, and most likely havestopped the career of either horse or rider, had not I, just in the"nick" of time, shouted to the sentry to hold his fire. A reflection had occurred to me; the game was too noble, too beautiful, to be butchered by a bullet; it was worth a chase and a capture. My horse was by the water-trough. I had noticed that he was not yetunsaddled, and the bridle was still on. He had been warmed by themorning's scout; and I had ordered my negro groom to walk him round foran hour or so before letting him at the water. I did not wait to descend by the _escalera_; I sprang upon the parapet, and from that into the piazza. The groom, perceiving my intention, metme half-way with the horse. I seized the reins, and bounded into the saddle. Several of thereadiest of the rangers followed my example; and as I galloped down thelane that led out of the rancheria, I could tell by the clattering ofhoofs that half-a-dozen of them were at my heels. I cared not much forthat, for surely I was a match for the stripling we meant to chase. Iknew, moreover, that speed at the moment was of more importance thanstrength; and that if the spotted horse possessed as much "bottom" as heevidently did "heels, " his rider and I would have it to ourselves in theend. I knew that all the horses of my troop were less swift than myown; and from the half-dozen springs I had witnessed on the part of themustang, I felt satisfied that it remained only for me to overhaul him. My springing down from the roof and up into the saddle had occupiedscarcely two minutes' time; and in two more, I had cleared the houses, and was scouring across the fields after the scarlet horseman. He wasevidently making to get round the village, and continue the journey ourpresence had so suddenly interrupted. The chase led through a field of _milpas_. My horse sank deeply in theloose earth, while the lighter mustang bounded over it like a hare. Hewas distancing me, and I began to fear I should lose him, when all atonce I saw that his course was intercepted by a list of magueys, runningtransversely right and left. The plants were of luxuriant growth, eightor ten feet high, and placed alternately, so that their hugehooked blades interlocked with each other, forming a natural_chevaux-de-frise_. This barrier at first glance seemed impassable for either man or horse. It brought the Mexican to a halt. He was turning to skirt it, when heperceived that I had leaned into the diagonal line, and could not failto head him. With a quick wrench upon the rein, he once more wheeledround, set his horse against the magueys, plied the spur, and dashedright into their midst. In a moment, both horse and rider were out ofsight; but as I spurred up to the spot, I could hear the thick bladescrackle under the hoofs of the mustang. There was no time for reflection. I must either follow, or abandon thepursuit. The alternative was not thought of. I was on my honour, mysteed upon his mettle; and without halt we went plunging through themagueys. Torn and bleeding, we came out on the opposite side; and I perceived, tomy satisfaction, that I had made better time than the red rider beforeme; his halt had lessened the distance between us. But another field of milpas had to be passed, and he was again gainingupon me, as we galloped over the heavy ground. When nearly through the field, I perceived something glancing before us:it was water--a wide drain or ditch, a _zequia_ for irrigating thefield. Like the magueys, it ran transversely to our course. "That will stop him, " thought I; "he must take to the right or left, andthen--" My thoughts were interrupted. Instead of turning either to right orleft, the Mexican headed his horse at the zequia, and the noble creaturerushing forward, rose like a bird upon the wing, and cleared the canal! I had no time to expend in admiring the feat; I hastened to imitate it, and galloping forward, I set myself for the leap. My brave steed neededneither whip nor spur; he had seen the other leap the zequia, and heknew what was expected of him. With a bound he went over, clearing thedrain by several feet; and then, as if resolved upon bringing the affairto an end, he laid his head forward, and stretched himself atrace-course speed. A broad grassy plain--a savannah--lay before us, and the hoofs of bothhorses, pursuer and pursued, now rang upon hard firm turf. The rest ofthe chase would have been a simple trial of speed, and I made sure ofoverhauling the mustang before he could reach the opposite side, when anew obstacle presented itself. A vast herd of cattle and horses studdedthe savannah throughout its whole extent; these, startled by our wildgallop, tossed their heads, and ran affrighted in every direction, butfrequently as otherwise, directly in our way. More than once I wasforced to rein in, to save my neck or my horse's from being broken overa fierce bull or a long-horned lumbering ox; and more than once I wascompelled to swerve from my course. What vexed me most, was that in this zigzag race, the mustang, frompractice perhaps, had the advantage; and while it continued, heincreased his distance. We cleared the drove at length; but to my chagrin I perceived that wewere nearly across the plain. As I glanced ahead, I saw the chapparalnear, with taller trees rising over it; beyond, I saw the swell of ahill, with white walls upon its summit. It was the hacienda alreadymentioned: we were riding directly towards it. I was growing anxious about the result. Should the horseman reach thethicket, I would be almost certain to lose him. _I dared not let himescape_. What would my men say, if I went back without him? I hadhindered the sentry from firing, and permitted to escape, perhaps a spy, perhaps some important personage. His desperate efforts to get offfavoured the supposition that he was one or the other. _He must betaken_! Under fresh impulse, derived from these reflections, I lanced the flanksof my horse more deeply than ever. Moro seemed to divine my thoughts, and stretched himself to his utmost. There were no more cattle, not anobstacle, and his superior speed soon lessened the distance betweenhimself and the mustang. Ten seconds more would do it. The ten seconds flew by. I felt myself within shooting distance; I drewmy pistol from its holster. "_Alto! o yo tiro_" (Halt! or I fire), I cried aloud. There was no reply: the mustang kept on! "Halt!" I cried again, unwilling to take the life of afellow-creature--"halt! or you are a dead man!" No reply again! There were not six yards between myself and the Mexican horseman. Riding straight behind him, I could have sent a bullet into his back. Some secret instinct restrained me; it was partly, though notaltogether, a feeling of admiration: there was an indefinable idea in mymind at the moment. My finger rested on the trigger, and I could notdraw it. "He must not escape! He is nearing the trees! He must not be allowedto enter the thicket; I must cripple the horse. " I looked for a place to aim at--his hips were towards me--should I hithim there he might still get off. Where should I aim? At this moment the animal wheeled, as if guided by his own impulse--perhaps by the knees of his rider--and shot off in a new direction. Theobject of this manoeuvre was to throw me out of the track. So far itwas successful; but it gave me just the opportunity to aim as I wanted;as it brought the mustang's side towards me; and levelling my pistol, Isent a bullet through his kidneys. A single plunge forward was hislast, and both horse and rider came to the ground. In an instant the latter had disengaged himself from his strugglingsteed, and stood upon his feet. Fearing that he might still endeavourto escape to the cover of the thicket, I spurred forward, pistol inhand, and pointed the weapon at his head. But he made no attempt eitherat further flight or resistance. On the contrary, he stood with foldedarms, fronting the levelled tube, and, looking me full in the face, saidwith an air of perfect coolness-- "_No matame, amigo! Soy muger_!" (Do not kill me, friend! I am awoman!) CHAPTER FIVE. MY CAPTIVE. "_Do not kill me, friend! I am a woman_!" This declaration scarcely astonished me; I was half prepared for it. During our wild gallop, I had noticed one or two circumstances which ledme to suspect that the spy I pursued was a female. As the mustangsprung over the zequia, the flowing skirt of the manga was puffedupward, and hung for some moments spread out in the air. A velvetbodice beneath, a tunic-like skirt, the _tournure_ of the form, allimpressed me as singular for a cavallero, however rich and young. Thelimbs I could not see, as the goat-skin _armas-de-agua_ were drawn overthem; but I caught a glimpse of a gold spur, and a heel of a tiny redboot to which it was attached. The clubbed hair, too, loosened by theviolent motion, had fallen backward, and in two thick plaits, slightlydishevelled, rested upon the croup of the horse. A young Indian's mighthave been equally as long, but _his_ tresses would have been jet-blackand coarse-grained, whereas those under my eyes were soft, silky, andnut-brown. Neither the style of riding--_a la Duchesse de Berri_--northe manlike costume of manga and hat, were averse to the idea that therider was a woman. Both the style and costume are common to the_rancheras_ of Mexico. Moreover, as the mustang made his last double, Ihad caught a near view of the side face of the rider. The features ofno man--not of the Trojan shepherd, not of Adonis or Endymion--were soexquisitely chiselled as they. Certainly a woman! Her declaration atonce put an end to my conjectures, but, as I have said, did not astonishme. I _was_ astonished, however, by its tone and manner. Instead of beinguttered in accents of alarm, it was pronounced as coolly as if the wholething had been a jest! Sadness, not supplication, was the prevailingtone, which was further carried out as she knelt to the ground, pressedher lips to the muzzle of the still breathing mustang, and exclaimed-- "_Ay-de-mi! pobre yegua! muerte! muerte_!" (Alas me! poor mare! dead!dead!) "A woman?" said I, feigning astonishment. My interrogatory wasunheeded; she did not even look up. "_Ay-de-mi! pobre yegua! Lola, Lolita_!" she repeated, as coolly as ifthe dead mustang was the only object of her thoughts, and I, the armedassassin, fifty miles from the spot! "A woman?" I again ejaculated--inmy embarrassment scarcely knowing what to say. "_Si, senor; nada mas_--_que quiere V. ?_" (Yes, sir nothing more--whatdo you want?) As she made this reply, she rose to her feet, and stood confronting mewithout the slightest semblance of fear. So unexpected was the answer, both in tone and sentiment, that for the life of me I could not helpbreaking into a laugh. "You are merry, sir. You have made _me_ sad; you have killed myfavourite!" I shall not easily forget the look that accompanied these words--sorrow, anger, contempt, defiance, were expressed in one and the same glance. My laughter was suddenly checked; I felt humiliated in that proudpresence. "Senorita, " I replied, "I deeply regret the necessity I have been under:it might have been worse--" "And how, pray?--how worse?" demanded she, interrupting me. "My pistol might have been aimed at _yourself_, but for a suspicion--" "_Carrambo_!" cried she, again interrupting me, "it could not have beenworse! I loved that creature dearly--dearly as I do my life--_as I lovemy father_--_pobre yegua_--_yeguita_--_ita_--_ita_!" And as she thus wildly expressed herself, she bent down, passed her armsaround the neck of the mustang, and once more pressed her lips to itsvelvet muzzle. Then gently closing its eyelids, she rose to an erectattitude, and stood with folded arms, regarding the lifeless form with asad and bitter expression of countenance. I scarcely knew what to do. I was in a dilemma with my fair captive. Iwould have given a month of my "payroll" to have restored the spottedmustang to life; but as that was out of the question, I bethought me ofsome means of making restitution to its owner. An offer of money wouldnot be delicate. What then? A thought occurred to me, that promised to relieve me from myembarrassment. The eagerness of the rich Mexicans to obtain our largeAmerican horses--_frisones_, as they term them--was well knownthroughout the army. Fabulous prices were often paid for them by these_ricos_, who wanted them for display upon the _Paseo_. We had many goodhalf-bred bloods in the troop; one of these, thought I, might beacceptable even to a lady who had lost her pet. I made the offer as delicately as I could. It was rejected with scorn! "What, senor!" cried she, striking the ground with her foot till therowels rang--"what? A horse to me?--_Mira_!" she continued, pointing tothe plain: "look there, sir! There are a thousand horses; they aremine. Now, know the value of your offer. Do I stand in need of ahorse?" "But, senorita, " stammered I apologisingly, "these are horses of nativerace. The one I propose to--" "Bah!" she exclaimed, interrupting me, and pointing to the mustang; "Iwould not have exchanged _that native_ for all the frisones in yourtroop. Not one of them was its equal!" A personal slight would not have called forth a contradiction; yet thisdefiance had that effect. She had touched the chord of my vanity--Imight almost say, of my affection. With some pique I replied-- "_One_, senorita?" I looked towards Moro as I spoke. Her eyes followed mine, and she stoodfor some moments gazing at him in silence. I watched the expression ofher eye; I saw it kindle into admiration as it swept over the gracefullycurving outlines of my noble steed. He looked at the moment superb; theshort skurry had drawn the foam from his lips, and flakes of it clungagainst his neck and counter, contrasting finely with the shining blackof his skin; his sides heaved and fell in regular undulations, and thesmoke issued from his blood-red nostrils; his eye was still on fire, andhis neck proudly arched, as though conscious of his late triumph, andthe interest he was now exciting. For a long while she stood gazing upon him, and though she spoke not aword, I saw that she recognised his fine points. "You are right, cavallero, " she said at length, and thoughtfully; "he_is_. " Just then a series of reflections were passing through my mind, thatrendered me extremely uncomfortable; and I felt regret that I had sopointedly drawn her attention to the horse. Would she demand _him_?That was the thought that troubled me. I had not promised her _any_horse in my troop, and Moro I would not have given for her herd of athousand; but on the strength of the offer I had made, what if sheshould fancy _him_? The circumstances were awkward for a refusal;indeed, under any circumstances refusal would have been painful. Ibegan to feel that I could deny her nothing. This proud beautiful womanalready _divided my interest with Moro_! My position was a delicate one; fortunately, I was relieved from it byan incident that carried our thoughts into a new current: the trooperswho had followed me at that moment rode up. She seemed uneasy at their presence; that could not be wondered at, considering their wild garb and fierce looks. I ordered them back totheir quarters. They stared for a moment at the fallen mustang with itsrich blood-stained trappings, at its late rider, and her picturesquegarments; and then, muttering a few words to one another, obeyed theorder. I was once more alone with my captive. CHAPTER SIX. ISOLINA DE VARGAS. As soon as the men were out of hearing, she said interrogatively, "_Tejanos_?" "Some of them are Texans--not all. " "You are their chief?" "I am. " "Capitan, I presume?" "That is my rank. " "And now, Senor Capitan, am I your captive?" The question took me by surprise, and, for the moment, I did not knowwhat answer to make. The excitement of the chase, the encounter, andits curious developments--perhaps above all other things, the bewitchingbeauty of my captive--had driven out of my mind the whole purpose of thepursuit; and for some minutes I had not been thinking of any result. The interrogatory reminded me that I had a delicate duty to perform. Was this lady a _spy_? Such a supposition was by no means improbable, as my old campaigner cantestify. "Fair ladies--though never one so fair as she--have, ere now, served their country in this fashion. She may be the bearer of someimportant dispatch for the enemy. If so, and I permit her to go free, the consequences may be serious--unpleasant even to myself. " So ran myreflections. On the other hand, I disliked the duty of taking her back a prisoner. Ifeared to execute it; I dreaded _her_ displeasure. _I wished to befriends with her_. I felt the influence of that mysterious power whichtranscends all strength--the power of beauty. I had been but tenminutes in the company of this brown-skinned maiden, and already shecontrolled my heart as though she had been its mistress for life! I knew not how to reply. She saw that I hesitated, and again put thequestion-- "Am I your captive?" "I fear, senorita, I am _yours_. " I was prompted to this declaration, partly to escape from a directanswer, and partly giving way to the passion already fast gathering inmy bosom. It was no coquetry on my part, no desire to make a prettypassage of words. Though I spoke only from impulse, I was serious; andwith no little anxiety did I watch the effect of my speech. Her large lustrous eyes rested upon me, at first with a puzzledexpression; this gradually changed to one of more significance--one thatpleased me better. She seemed for a moment to throw aside herindifference, and regard me with more attention. I fancied, from theglance she gave, that she was contented with what I had said. For allthat, the slight curl upon her pretty lip had a provoking air of triumphin it; and she resumed her proud _hauteur_ as she replied-- "Come, cavallero; this is idle compliment. Am I free to go?" I wavered betwixt duty and over-politeness: a compromise offered itself. "Lady, " said I, approaching her, and looking as seriously as I couldinto her beautiful eyes, "if you give me your word that you are _not aspy_, you are free to go: your word--I ask nothing more. " I prescribed these conditions rather in a tone of entreaty than command. I affected sternness, but my countenance must have mocked me. My captive broke into unrestrained laughter, crying out at intervals-- "I a spy!--a spy! Ha, ha, ha! Senor Capitan, you are jesting?" "I hope, senorita, _you_ are in earnest. You are no spy, then?--youbear no dispatch for our enemy?" "Nothing of the sort, mio capitan;" and she continued her lightlaughter. "Why, then, did you try to make away from us?" "Ah, cavallero! are you not Tejanos? Do not be offended when I tell youthat your people bear but an indifferent reputation among us Mexicans. " "But your attempt to escape was, to say the least, rash and imprudent:you risked life by it. " "_Carrambo_, yes! I perceive I did;" and she looked significantly atthe mustang, while a bitter smile played upon her lips. "I perceive itnow; I did not then. I did not think there was a horseman in all yourtroop could come up with me. _Merced_! there was _one_. _You_ haveovertaken me: _you alone_ could have done it. " As she uttered these words, her large brown eyes were once more turnedupon me--not in a fixed gaze, but wandering. She scanned me from theforage-cap on my crown to the spur upon my heel. I watched her eye witheager interest: I fancied that its scornful expression was giving way; Ifancied there was a ray of tenderness in the glance, I would have giventhe world to have divined her thoughts at that moment. Our eyes met, and parted in mutual embarrassment--at least I fancied so;for on turning again, I saw that her head drooped, and her gaze wasdirected downward, as if some new thought occupied her. For some moments, both were silent. We might have remained longer thus, but it occurred to me that I was acting rudely. The lady was still mycaptive. I had not yet given her permission to depart: I hastened totender it. "Spy or no spy, senorita, I shall not detain you. I shall bear therisk: you are free to go. " "_Gracias I cavallero_! And now, since you have behaved so handsomely, I shall set your mind at rest about the _risk_. Read!" She handed me a folded paper; at a glance, I recognised the _safe-guard_of the commander-in-chief, enjoining upon all to respect its bearer--the_Dona Isolina de Vargas_. "You perceive, mio capita I was not your captive after all? Ha! ha!ha!" "Lady, you are too general not to pardon the rudeness to which you havebeen subjected?" "Freely, capitan--freely. " "I shudder at thought of the risk you have run. Why did you act withsuch imprudence? Your sudden flight at sight of our picket causedsuspicion, and of course it was our duty to follow and capture you. With the safeguard, you had no cause for flight. " "Ha! it was that very safe-guard that caused me to fly. " "The safe-guard, senorita? Pray, explain!" "Can I trust _your_ prudence, capitan?" "I promise--" "Know, then, that I was not certain you were _Americanos_; for aught Icould see, you might have been a guerilla of my _countrymen_. How wouldit be if this paper, and sundry others I carry, were to fall into thehands of Caiales? You perceive, capitan, we fear our _friends_ morethan our _enemies_. " I now fully comprehended the motive of her flight. "You speak Spanish too well, mio capitan, " continued she. "Had youcried `Halt!' in your native tongue, I should at once have pulled up, and perhaps saved my pet. Ah, me!--_pobre yegua! pobre Zola_!" As she uttered the last exclamation, her feelings once more overcameher; and sinking down upon her knees, she passed her arms around theneck of the mustang, now stiff and cold. Her face was buried in thelong thick mane, and I could perceive the tears sparkling like dew-dropsover the tossed hair. "_Pobre Lolita_!" she continued, "I have good cause to grieve; I hadreason to love you well. More than once you saved me from the fierceLipan and the brutal Comanche. What am I to do now? I dread the Indianforay; I shall tremble at every sign of the savage. I dare no moreventure upon the prairie; I dare not go abroad; I must tamely stay athome. _Mia querida_! you were my wings: they are clipped--I fly nomore. " All this was uttered in a tone of extreme bitterness; and I--I who soloved my own brave steed--could appreciate her feelings. With the hopeof imparting even a little consolation, I repeated my offer. "Senorita, " I said, "I have swift horses in my troop--some of noblerace--" "You have no horse in your troop I value. " "You have not seen them all?" "All--every one of them--to-day, as you filed out of the city. " "Indeed?" "Indeed, yes, noble capitan. I saw you as you carried yourself socavalierly at the head of your troop of _filibusteros_--Ha, ha, ha!" "Senorita, I saw not you. " "_Carrambo_! it was not for the want of using your eyes. There was nota _balcon_ or _reja_ into which you did not glance--not a smile in thewhole street you did not seem anxious to reciprocate--Ha, ha, ha! Ifear, Senor Capitan, you are the Don Juan de Tenorio of the north. " "Lady, it is not my character. " "Nonsense! you are proud of it. I never saw man who was not. But come!a truce to badinage. About the horse--you have none in your troop Ivalue, save _one_. " I trembled as she spoke. "It is _he_, " she continued, pointing to Moro. I felt as if I should sink into the earth. My embarrassment preventedme for some time from replying. She noticed my hesitation, but remainedsilent, awaiting my answer. "Senorita, " I stammered out at length, "that steed is a greatfavourite--an old and tried friend. _If_ you desire--to possess him, heis--he is at your service. " In emphasising the "if, " I was appealing to her generosity. It was tono purpose. "Thank you, " she replied coolly; "he shall be well cared for. No doubthe will serve my purpose. _How is his mouth_?" I was choking with vexation, and could not reply. I began to hate her. "Let me try him, " continued she. "Ah! you have a curb bit--that willdo; but it is not equal to ours. I use a mameluke. Help me to thatlazo. " She pointed to a lazo of white horsehair, beautifully plaited, that wascoiled upon the saddle of the mustang. I unloosed the rope--mechanically I did--and in the same way adjusted itto the horn of my saddle. I noticed that the noose-ring was of silver!I shortened the leathers to the proper length. "Now, capitan!" cried she, gathering the reins in her small glovedhand--"now I shall see how he performs. " At the word, she bounded into the saddle, her small foot scarcelytouching the stirrup. She had thrown off her manga, and her woman'sform was now displayed in all its undulating outlines. The silken skirtdraped down to her ankles, and underneath appeared the tiny red boot, the glancing spur, and the lace ruffle of her snow-white _calzoncillas_. A scarlet sash encircled her waist, with its fringed ends drooping tothe saddle; and the tight bodice, lashed with lace, displayed the fullrounding of her bosom, as it rose and fell in quiet regular breathing--for she seemed in no way excited or nervous. Her full round eyeexpressed only calmness and courage. I stood transfixed with admiration. I thought of the Amazons: were theybeautiful like her? With a troop of such warriors one might _conquer aworld_! A fierce-looking bull, moved by curiosity or otherwise, had separatedfrom the herd, and was seen approaching the spot where we were. Thiswas just what the fair rider wanted. At a touch of the spur, the horsesprang forward, and galloped directly for the bull. The latter, cowedat the sudden onset, turned and ran; but his swift pursuer soon camewithin lazo distance. The noose circled in the air, and, launchedforward, was seen to settle around the horns of the animal. The horsewas now wheeled round, and headed in an opposite direction. The ropetightened with a sudden pluck, and the bull was thrown with violence tothe plain, where he lay stunned and apparently lifeless. Before he hadtime to recover himself, the rider turned her horse, trotted up to theprostrate animal, bent over in the saddle, unfastened the noose, and, after coiling the rope under her arm, came galloping back. "Superb!--magnificent!" she exclaimed, leaping from the saddle andgazing at the steed. "Beautiful!--most beautiful! Ah, Lola, poor Lola!I fear I shall soon forget thee!" The last words were addressed to the mustang. Then turning to me, sheadded-- "And this horse is mine?" "Yes, lady, if you will it, " I replied somewhat cheerlessly, for I feltas if my best friend was about to be taken from me. "But I do _not_ will it, " said she, with an air of determination; andthen breaking into a laugh, she cried out, "Ha! capitan, I know yourthoughts. Think you I cannot appreciate the sacrifice you would make?Keep your favourite. Enough that one of us should suffer;" and shepointed to the mustang. "Keep the brave black; you well know how toride him. Were he mine, no mortal could influence me to part with him. " "There is _but one_ who could influence _me_. " As I said this, I looked anxiously for the answer. It was not in wordsI expected it, but in the glance. Assuredly there was no frown; I evenfancied I could detect a smile--a blending of triumph and satisfaction. It was short-lived, and my heart fell again under her light laugh. "Ha! ha! ha! That one is of course your lady-love. Well, noblecapitan, if you are as true to her as to you brave steed, she will haveno cause to doubt your fealty. I must leave you. Adios!" "Shall I not be permitted to accompany you to your home?" "_Gracias_! no, senor. I am at home. _Mira_! my father's house!" Shepointed to the hacienda. "Here is one who will look to the remains ofpoor Lola;" and she signalled to a vaquero at that moment coming fromthe herd. "Remember, capitan, you are an enemy; I must not accept yourpoliteness; neither may I offer you hospitality. Ah! you know not us--you know not the tyrant Santa Anna. Perhaps even at this moment hisspies are--" She glanced suspiciously around as she spoke. "O Heavens!"she exclaimed with a start, as her eyes fell upon the form of a manadvancing down the hill. "_Santissima Virgen_! it is Ijurra!" "Ijurra?" "Only my cousin; but--" She hesitated, and then suddenly changing to anexpression of entreaty, she continued: "O leave me, senor! _Por amorDios_! leave me. Adieu, adieu!" Though I longed to have a nearer view of "Ijurra, " the hurriedearnestness of her manner overcame me; and without making other replythan a simple "Adios, " I vaulted into the saddle, and rode off. On reaching the border of the woods, curiosity--a stronger feelingperhaps--mastered my politeness; and, under the pretence of adjusting mystirrup, I turned in the saddle, and glanced back. Ijurra had arrived upon the ground. I beheld a tall dark man, dressed in the usual costume of the ricos ofMexico: dark cloth polka-jacket, blue military trousers, with scarletsash around his waist, and low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat upon his head. He appeared about thirty years of age, whiskered, moustached, and, after a fashion, handsome. It was not his age, nor his personalappearance, nor yet his costume, that had my attention at the moment. Iwatched only his actions. He stood confronting his cousin, or rather hestood _over_ her, for she appeared before him in an attitude of fear!He held a paper in one hand, and I saw he was pointing to it as hespoke. There was a fierce vulture-like expression upon his face; andeven in the distance I could tell, from the tones of his voice, that hewas talking angrily! Why should she fear _him_? Why submit to such rude rebuke? He musthave a strange power over that spirit who could force it thus tamely tolisten to reproach? These were my reflections. My impulse was to drive the spurs into thesides of my horse, and gallop back upon the ground. I might have doneso had the scene lasted much longer; but I saw the lady suddenly leavethe spot, and walk rapidly in the direction of the hacienda. I wheeled round again, and plunging under the shadows of the forest, soon fell into a road leading to the rancheria. With my thoughts fullof the incident that had just transpired, I rode unconsciously, leavingmy horse to his own guidance. My reverie was interrupted by the challenge of one of my own sentries, which admonished me that I had arrived at the entrance of the village. CHAPTER SEVEN. AN ORDER TO FORAGE. My adventure did not end with the day; it was continued into the night, and repeated in my dreams. I rode the chase over again; I dashedthrough the magueys, I leaped the _zequia_, and galloped through theaffrighted herd; I beheld the spotted mustang stretched lifeless uponthe plain, its rider bending and weeping over it. That face of rarebeauty, that form of exquisite proportion, that eye rotund and noble, that tongue so free, and heart so bold--all were again encountered indreamland. A dark face was in the vision, and at intervals crossed thepicture like a cloud. It was the face of Ijurra. I think it was that awoke me, but the _reveille_ of the bugle wasringing in my ears as I leaped from my couch. For some moments I was under the impression that the adventure had beena dream: an object that hung on the opposite wall came under my eyes, and recalled the reality--it was my saddle, over the holsters of whichlay a coil of white horsehair rope, with a silver ring at the end. Iremembered the lazo. When fairly awake, I reviewed my yesterday's adventure from first tolast. I tried to think calmly upon it; I tried to get it out of mythoughts, and return seriously to my duties. A vain attempt! The moreI reflected upon the incident, the more I became conscious of thepowerful interest its heroine had excited within me. Interest, indeed!Say rather _passion_--a passion that in one single hour had grown aslarge as my heart! It was not _the first_ love of my life. I was nigh thirty years of age. I had been enamoured before--more than once, it may be--and Iunderstood what the feeling was. I needed no Cupid to tell me I was inlove again--to the very ends of my fingers. To paint the object of my passion is a task I shall not attempt. Beautylike hers must be left to the imagination. Think of the woman you_yourself_ love or have loved; fancy her in her fairest moments, inbower or boudoir--perchance a blushing bride--and you may form someidea--No, no, no! you could never have looked upon woman so lovely asIsolina de Vargas. Oh! that I could fix that fleeting phantom of beauty--that I could paintthat likeness for the world to admire! It cannot be. The most puissantpen is powerless, the brightest colour too cold. Though deeply gravenupon the tablet of my heart, I cannot multiply the impression. It is idle to talk of wavy hair, profuse and glossed--of almond eyeswith long dark fringes--of pearl-white teeth, and cheeks tinted withdamascene. All these had she, but they are not peculiarcharacteristics. Other women are thus gifted. The traits of _her_beauty lay in the intellectual as much as the physical--in a happycombination of both. The soul, the spirit, had its share in producingthis incomparable picture. It was to behold the play of those noblefeatures, to watch the changing cheek, the varying smile, the fallinglash, the flashing eye, the glance now tender, now sublime--it was tolook on all this, and be impressed with an idea of the divinestloveliness. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ As I ate my frugal breakfast, such a vision was passing before me. Icontemplated the future with pleasant hopes, but not without feelings ofuneasiness. I had not forgotten the abrupt parting--no invitation torenew the acquaintance, no hope, no prospect that I should ever beholdthat beautiful woman again, unless blind chance should prove my friend. I am not a fatalist, and I therefore resolved not to rely upon meredestiny, but, if possible, to help it a little in its evolution. Before I had finished my coffee, a dozen schemes had passed through mymind, all tending towards one object--the renewal of my acquaintancewith Isolina de Vargas. Unless favoured by some lucky accident, or, what was more desirable, _by the lady herself_, I knew we might nevermeet again. In such times, it was not likely she would be much"out-of-doors;" and in a few days, hours perhaps, I might be ordered _enroute_ never more to return to that interesting outpost. As the district was, of course, under martial law, and I was _de facto_dictator, you will imagine that I might easily have procured the rightof entry anywhere. Not so. Whatever be the licence of the mere soldieras regards the common people of a conquered country, the position of theofficer with its higher class is essentially different. If a gentleman, he naturally feels a delicacy in making any advances towards anacquaintance; and his honour restrains him from the freer forms ofintroduction. To take advantage of his position of power would be apositive meanness, of which a true gentleman cannot be guilty. Besides, there may be rancour on the part of the conquered--there usually is--buteven when no such feeling exists, another barrier stands in the way offree association between the officer and "society. " The latter feelsthat the position of affairs will not be permanent; the enemy will intime evacuate, and then the vengeance of mob-patriotism is to bedreaded. Never did the ricos of Mexico feel more secure than whileunder the protection of the American army: many of them were disposed tobe friendly; but the phantom of the future, with its mob _emeutes_, stared them in the face, and under this dread they were forced to adopta hypocritical exclusiveness. Epaulettes must not be seen glancingthrough the windows of their drawing-rooms! Under such circumstances, my situation was difficult enough. I mightgaze upon the outside walls of that handsome hacienda till my heartached, but how was I to effect an entrance? To charge a fort, a battery, an intrenched camp--to storm a castle, orbreak a solid square--one or all would have been child's play comparedwith the difficulty of crossing that glacial line of etiquette thatseparated me from my beautiful enemy. To effect this purpose, a dozen schemes were passed through my mind, andrejected, till my eyes at length rested upon the most interesting objectin the apartment--the little white rope that hung from my saddlebow. Inthe lazo, I recognised my "forlorn-hope. " That pretty implement must bereturned to its owner. _I myself should take it home_! So far_destiny_ should be guided by _me_; beyond, I should have to put mytrust in destiny. I think best under the influence of a cigar; and lighting one, Iascended to the azotea, to complete my little scheme. I had scarcely made two turns of the roof, when a horseman galloped intothe piazza. He was in dragoon uniform, and I soon perceived he was anorderly from headquarters, inquiring for the commandant of the outpost. One of the men pointed to me; and the orderly trotting forward, drew upin front of the alcalde's house, and announced that he was the bearer ofa dispatch from the general-in-chief, at the same time showing a foldedpaper. I directed him to pass it up on the point of his sabre, which hedid; and then saluting me, he turned his horse and galloped back as hehad come. I opened the dispatch, and read:-- "_Head-quarters, Army of Occupation_, -- "_July --th_, 1846. "Sir, --You will take a sufficient number of your men, and proceed to thehacienda of Don Ramon de Yargas, in the neighbourhood of your station. You will there find five thousand head of beeves, which you will causeto be driven to the camp of the American army, and delivered to thecommissary-general. You will find the necessary drivers upon theground, and a portion of your troop will form the escort. The enclosed_note_ will enable you to understand the nature of your duty. "A. A. Adjutant-general. "Captain Warfield. " "Surely, " thought I, as I finished reading--"surely there is a`Providence that shapes our ends. ' Just as I was cudgelling my brainsfor some scheme of introduction to Don Ramon de Vargas, here comes oneready fashioned to my hand. " I thought no more about the lazo: the rope was no longer an object ofprime interest. Trimmed and embellished with the graceful excuse of"duty, " I should now ride boldly up to the hacienda, and enter its gateswith the confident air of a welcome guest. Welcome, indeed! A contractfor five thousand beeves, and at war-prices! A good stroke of businesson the part of the old Don. Of course, I shall see him--"embrace him"--hobnob with him over a glass of Canario or Xeres--get upon the mostintimate terms, and so be "asked back. " I am usually popular with oldgentlemen, and I trusted to my bright star to place me _en rapport_ withDon Ramon de Vargas. The coralling of the cattle would occupy sometime--a brace of hours at the least. That would be outside work, and Icould intrust it to my lieutenant or a sergeant. For myself, I wasdetermined to stay by the walls. The Don must go out to look after hisvaqueros. It would be rude to leave me alone. He would introduce me tohis daughter--he could not do less--a customer on so large a scale! Weshould be left to ourselves, and then--Ha! Ijurra! I had forgotten_him_. Would _he_ be there? The recollection of this man fell like a shadow over the bright fanciesI had conjured up. A dispatch from head-quarters calls for prompt attention and myreflections were cut short by the necessity of carrying the order intoexecution. Without loss of time, I issued the command for about fiftyof the rangers to "boot and saddle. " I was about to pay more than ordinary attention to my toilet, when itoccurred to me I might as well first peruse the "note" referred to inthe dispatch. I opened the paper; to my surprise the document was inSpanish. This did not puzzle me, and I read:-- "The five thousand beeves are ready for you, according to the contract, but _I_ cannot take upon me to deliver them. _They must be taken fromme_ with a _show of force_; and even a _little rudeness_, on the part ofthose you send, would not be out of place. My vaqueros are at yourservice, but _I_ must not command them. You may _press_ them. "Ramon de Vargas. " This note was addressed to the commissary-general of the American army. Its meaning, though to the uninitiated a little obscure, was to me asclear as noonday; and, although, it gave me a high opinion of theadministrative talents of Don Ramon de Vargas, it was by no means awelcome document. It rendered null every act of the fine programme Ihad sketched out. By its directions, there was to be no "embracing, " nohobnobbing over wine, no friendly chat with the Don, no _tete-a-tete_with his beautiful daughter--no; but, on the contrary, I was to ride upwith a swagger, bang the doors, threaten the trembling porter, kick thepeons, and demand from their master five thousand head of beef-cattle--all in true freebooting style! A nice figure I shall cut, thought I, in the eyes of Isolina. A little reflection, however, convinced me that that intelligentcreature would be in the secret. Yes, she will understand my motives. I can act with as much mildness as circumstances will permit. My Texanlieutenant will do the kicking of the peons, and that without muchpressing. If she be not cloistered, I will have a glimpse at her; sohere goes. "_To horse_!" The bugle gave the signal; fifty rangers--with Lieutenants Holingsworthand Wheatley--leaped into their saddles, and next moment were filing bytwos from the piazza, myself at their head. A twenty minutes' trot brought us to the front gate of the hacienda, where we halted. The great door, massive and jail-like, was closed, locked, and barred; the shutters of the windows as well. Not a soul wasto be seen outside, not even the apparition of a frightened peon. I hadgiven my Texan lieutenant his cue; he knew enough of Spanish for thepurpose. Flinging himself out of the saddle, he approached the gate, andcommenced hammering upon it with the butt of his pistol. "_Ambre la puerta_!" (Open the door!) cried he. No answer. "_La puerta_--_la puerta_!" he repeated in a louder tone. Still no answer. "_Ambre la puerta_!" once more vociferated the lieutenant, at the sametime thundering on the woodwork with his weapon. When the noise ceased, a faint "_Quien es_?" (Who is it?) was heardfrom within. "_Yo_!" bawled Wheatley, "_ambre! ambre_!" "_Si, senor_, " answered the voice in a somewhat tremulous key. "_Anda! anda! Somos hombres de bien_!" (Quick then! We are honestmen. ) A rattling of chains and shooting of bolts now commenced, and lasted forat least a couple of minutes, at the end of which time the greatfolding-doors opened inward, displaying to view the swarthy leather-clad_portero_, the brick-paved _saguan_, and a portion of the _patio_, orcourtyard within. As soon as the door was fairly open, Wheatley made a rush at thetrembling porter, caught him by the jerkin, boxed both his ears, andthen commanded him in a loud voice to summon the _dueno_! This conduct, somewhat unexpected on the part of the rangers, seemed tobe just to their taste; and I could hear behind me the whole troopchuckling in half-suppressed laughter. _Guerilleros_ as they were, theyhad never been allowed much licence in their dealings with theinhabitants--the non-combatants--of the country, and much less had theywitnessed such conduct on the part of their officers. Indeed, it wascause of complaint in the ranks of the American army, and with manyofficers too, that even hostile Mexicans were treated with a lenientconsideration denied to themselves. Wheatley's behaviour, therefore, touched a chord in the hearts of our following, that vibrated pleasantlyenough; they began to believe that the campaign was about to become alittle more jolly. "_Senor_, " stammered the porter, "the du--du--dueno has given or--orders--he wi--wi--will not s-see any one. " "_Will_ not?" echoed Wheatley; "go, tell him he _must_!" "Yes, _amigo_, " I said soothingly; for I began to fear the man would betoo badly frightened to deliver his message. "Go, say to your masterthat an American officer has business with him, and _must_ see himimmediately. " The man went off, after a little more persuasion from the free hand ofWheatley, of course leaving the gates open behind him. We did not wait for his return. The patio looked inviting; and, directing Holingsworth to remain outside with the men, and the Texanlieutenant to follow me, I headed my horse for the great archway, androde in. CHAPTER EIGHT. DON RAMON. On entering the courtyard, a somewhat novel scene presented itself--aSpanish picture, with some transatlantic touches. The _patio_ of aMexican house is its proper front. Here you no longer look uponjail-like door and windows, but facades gaily frescoed, curtainedverandahs, and glazed sashes that reach to the ground. The patio of DonRamon's mansion was paved with brick. A fountain, with its tank ofjapanned mason-work, stood in the centre; orange-trees stretched theirfronds over the water: their golden globes and white wax-like flowersperfumed the atmosphere, which, cooled by the constant evaporation ofthe _jet_, felt fresh and fragrant. Around three sides of the courtextended a verandah, its floor of painted tiles rising but a few inchesabove the level of the pavement. A row of _portales_ supported the roofof this verandah, and the whole corridor was railed in, and curtained. The curtains were close-drawn, and except at one point--the entrancebetween two of the portales--the corridor was completely screened fromour view, and consequently all the windows of the house, that openedinto the verandah. No human face greeted our searching glances. Inlooking to the rear--into the great _corral_, or cattle-yard--we couldsee numerous peons in their brown leathern dresses, with naked legs andsandalled feet; vaqueros in all their grandeur of velveteens, bell-buttons, and gold or silver lace; with a number of women and younggirls in coloured _naguas_ and rebosos. A busy scene was presented inthat quarter. It was the great cattle enclosure, for the estate of DonRamon de Vargas was a _hacienda de ganados_, or grand grazing-farm--atitle which in no way detracts from the presumed respectability of itsowner, many of the noble hidalgoes of Mexico being _graziers_ on a largescale. On entering the patio, I only glanced back at the corral; my eyes werebusy with the curtained verandah, and, failing there were carried up tothe azotea, in hopes of discovering the object of my thoughts. Thehouse, as I have elsewhere stated, was but a single story in height, andfrom the saddle I could almost look into the azotea. I could see thatit was a sanctuary of rare plants, and the broad leaves and brightcorollas of some of the taller ones appeared over the edge of theparapet. Abundance of fair flowers I could perceive, but not that onefor which I was looking. No face yet showed, no voice greeted us with awelcome. The shouts of the vaqueros, the music of singing-birds cagedalong the corridor, and the murmur of the fountain, were the onlysounds. The two former suddenly became hushed, as the hoofs of ourhorses rang upon the stone pavement, and the heedless water alonecontinued to utter its soft monotone. Once more my eyes swept the curtain, gazing intently into the fewapertures left by a careless drawing; once more they sought the azotea, and glanced along the parapet: my scrutiny still remained unrewarded. Without exchanging a word, Wheatley and I sat silent in our saddles, awaiting the return of the portero. Already the peons, vaqueros, andwenches, had poured in through the back gateway, and stood staring withastonishment at the unexpected guests. After a considerable pause, the tread of feet was heard upon thecorridor, and presently the messenger appeared, and announced that the_dueno_ was coming. In a minute after, one of the curtains was drawn back, and an oldgentleman made his appearance behind the railing. He was a person oflarge frame, and although slightly stooping with age, his step was firm, and his whole aspect bespoke a wonderful energy and resolution. Hiseyes were large and brilliant, shadowed by heavy brows, upon which thehair still retained its dark colour, although that of his head was whiteas snow. He was simply habited--in a jacket of nankeen cloth, and widetrousers of like material. He wore neither waistcoat nor cravat. Afull white shirt of finest linen covered his breast, and a sash of dullblue colour was twisted around his waist. On his head was a costly hatof the "Guayaquil grass, " and in his fingers a husk cigarrito smoking atthe end. Altogether, the aspect of Don Ramon--for it was he--despite its assumedsternness, was pleasing and intelligent; and I should have relished afriendly chat with him, even upon his own account. This, however, was out of the question. I must abide by the spirit ofmy orders: the farce must be played out; so, touching the flanks of myhorse, I rode forward to the edge of the verandah, and placed myself_vis-a-vis_ with the Don. "Are you Don Ramon de Vargas?" "Si, senor, " was the reply, in a tone of angry astonishment. "I am an officer of the American army"--I spoke loud, and in Spanish, ofcourse, for the benefit of the peons and vaqueros. "I am sent to offeryou a contract to supply the army with beeves. I have here an orderfrom the general-in-chief--" "I have no beeves for sale, " interrupted Don Ramon, in a loud, indignantvoice; "I shall have nothing to do with the American army. " "Then, sir, " retorted I, "I must take your beeves without your consent. You shall be paid for them, but take them I must; my orders require thatI should do so. Moreover, your vaqueros must accompany us, and drivethe cattle to the American camp. " As I said this, I signalled to Holingsworth, who rode in with hisfollowing; and then the whole troop, filing through the back gateway, began to collect the frightened vaqueros, and set them about their work. "I protest against this robbery!" shouted Don Ramon. "It is infamous--contrary to the laws of civilised warfare. I shall appeal to mygovernment--to yours--I shall have redress. " "You shall have payment, Don Ramon, " said I, apparently trying to pacifyhim. "Payment, _carrambo_!--payment from robbers, _filibusteros_--" "Come, come, old gentleman!" cried Wheatley, who was only half behindthe scenes, and who spoke rather in earnest, "keep a good tongue in yourhead, or you may lose something of more value to you than your cattle. Remember whom you are talking to. " "_Tejanos! ladrones_!" hissed Don Ramon, with an earnest application ofthe latter phrase that would certainly have brought Wheatley's revolverfrom his belt, had I not, at the moment, whispered a word in thelieutenant's ear. "Hang the old rascal!" muttered he in reply to me. "I thought he _was_in earnest. Look here, old fellow!" he continued, addressing himself toDon Ramon, "don't you be scared about the dollars. Uncle Sam's aliberal trader and a good paymaster. I wish your beef was mine, and Ihad _his_ promise to pay for it. So take things a little easier, if youplease; and don't be so free of your `filibusteros' and `ladrones':free-born Texans ain't used to such talk. " Don Ramon suddenly cut short the colloquy by angrily closing thecurtains, and hiding himself from our sight. During the whole scene I had great difficulty in controlling mycountenance. I could perceive that the Mexican laboured under a similardifficulty. There was a laughing devil in the corner of his keen eyethat required restraint; and I thought once or twice either he or Ishould lose our equanimity. _I_ certainly should have done so, but thatmy heart and eyes were most of the time in other quarters. As for theDon, he was playing an important part; and a suspicion of his hypocrisy, on the minds of some of the leather-clad _greasers_ who listened to thedialogue, might have afterwards brought him to grief. Most of them werehis own domestics and retainers, but not all. There were free_rancheros_ among them--some who belonged to the pueblita itself--some, perchance, who had figured in _pronunciamentos_--who voted at elections, and styled themselves _citizens_. The Don, therefore, had good reasonsfor assuming a character; and well did the old gentleman sustain it. As he drew the curtain, his half-whispered "Adios capitan!" heard onlyby myself, sounded full of sweetness and _promise_; and I felt rathercontented as I straightened myself in the saddle, and issued the orderfor _rieving_ his cattle. CHAPTER NINE. "UN PAPELCITO. " Wheatley now rode after the troop, with which Holingworth had alreadyentered the corral. A band of drivers was speedily pressed intoservice; and with these the two lieutenants proceeded to the great plainat the foot of the hill, where most of Don Ramon's cattle were atpasture. By this arrangement I was left alone, if I except the companyof half-a-dozen slippered wenches--the deities of the _cocina_--who, clustered in the corner of the patio, eyed me with mingled looks ofcuriosity and fear. The verandah curtains remained hermetically closed, and though I glancedat every aperture that offered a chance to an observing eye, no oneappeared to be stirring behind them. "Too high-bred--perhaps indifferent?" thought I. The latter suppositionwas by no means gratifying to my vanity. "After all, now that theothers are gone out of the way, Don Ramon _might_ ask me to step inside. Ah! no--these mestizo women would tell tales: I perceive it would neverdo. I may as well give it up. I shall ride out, and join the troop. " As I turned my horse to put this design into execution, the fountaincame under my eyes. Its water reminded me that I was thirsty, for itwas a July day, and a hot one. A gourd cup lay on the edge of the tank. Without dismounting, I was able to lay hold of the vessel, and fillingit with the cool sparkling liquid, I drained it off. It was very goodwater, but not Canario or Xeres. Sweeping the curtain once more, I turned with a disappointed glance, andjagging my horse, rode doggedly out through the back gateway. Once in the rear of the buildings, I had a full view of the great meadowalready known to me; and pulling up, I sat in the saddle, and watchedthe animated scene that was there being enacted. Bulls, half wild, rushing to and fro in mad fury, vaqueros mounted on their lightmustangs, with streaming sash and winding lazo; rangers upon theirheavier steeds, offering but a clumsy aid to the more adroit andpractised herdsmen; others driving off large groups that had beenalready collected and brought into subjection: and all this amidst thefierce bellowing of the bulls, the shouts and laughter of the delightedtroopers, the shriller cries of the vaqueros and peons: the wholeforming a picture that, under other circumstances, I should havecontemplated with interest. Just then my spirits were not attuned toits enjoyment, and although I remained for some minutes with my eyesfixed upon the plain, my thoughts were wandering elsewhere. I confess to a strong faith in woman's curiosity. That such a scenecould be passing under the windows of the most aristocratic mansion, without its most aristocratic inmate deigning to take a peep at it, Icould not believe. Besides, Isolina was the very reverse. "Ha! Despite that jealous curtain, those beautiful eyes are glancingthrough some aperture--window or loophole, I doubt not;" and with thisreflection I once more turned my face to the buildings. Just then it occurred to me that I had not sufficiently reconnoitred the_front_ of the dwelling. As we approached it, we had observed that theshutters of the windows were closed; but these opened inward, and sincethat time one or other of them might have been set a little ajar. Frommy knowledge of Mexican interiors, I knew that the front windows arethose of the principal apartments--of the _sola_ and grand _cuarto_, ordrawing-room--precisely those where the inmates of that hour should befound. "Fool!" thought I, "to have remained so long in the patio. Had I goneround to the front of the house, I might have--'Tis not too late--there's a chance yet. " Under the impulse of this new hope, I rode back through the corral, andre-entered the patio. The brown-skinned mestizas were still there, chattering and flurried as ever, and the curtain had not been stirred. A glance at it was all I gave; and without stopping I walked my horseacross the paved court, and entered under the arched _saguan_. Themassive gate stood open, as we had left it; and on looking into thelittle box of the portero, I perceived that it was empty. The man hadhid himself, in dread of a second interview with the Texan lieutenant! In another moment I had emerged from the gateway, and was about turningmy horse to inspect the windows, when I heard the word "Capitan, "pronounced in a voice, that sounded soft as a silver bell, and thrilledto my heart like a strain of music. I looked towards the windows. It came not thence; they were close shutas ever. Whence-- Before I had time to ask myself the question, the "Capitan" was repeatedin a somewhat louder key, and I now perceived that the voice proceededfrom above--from the azotea. I wrenched my horse round, at the same time turning my eyes upward. Icould see no one; but just at that moment an arm, that might have beenattached to the bust of Venus, was protruded through a notch in theparapet. In the small hand, wickedly sparkling with jewels, wassomething white, which I could not distinguish until I saw it projectedon the grass--at the same moment that the phrase "Un papelcito" reachedmy ears. Without hesitation I dismounted--made myself master of the _papelcito_;and then leaping once more into the saddle, looked upward. I hadpurposely drawn my horse some distance from the walls, so that I mightcommand a better view. I was not disappointed--Isolina! The face, that lovely face, was just distinguishable through the slenderembrasure, the large brown eyes gazing upon me with that half-earnest, half-mocking glance I had already noticed, and which produced within meboth pleasure and pain! I was about to speak to her, when I saw the expression suddenly change:a hurried glance was thrown backwards, as if the approach of some onedisturbed her; a finger rested momentarily on her lips, and then herface disappeared behind the screening wall of the parapet. I understood the universal sign, and remained silent. For some moments I was undecided whether to go or stay. She hadevidently withdrawn from the front of the building, though she was stillupon the azotea. Some one had joined her; and I could hear voices inconversation; her own contrasting with the harsher tones of a man. Perhaps her father--perhaps--that other _relative_--less agreeablesupposition! I was about to ride off, when it occurred to me that I had better firstmaster the contents of the "papelcito. " Perhaps it might throw somelight on the situation, and enable me to adopt the more pleasantalternative of remaining a while longer upon the premises. I had thrust the _billet_ into the breast of my frock; and now lookedaround for some place where I might draw it forth and peruse itunobserved. The great arched gateway, shadowy and tenantless, offeredthe desired accommodation; and heading my horse to it, I once more rodeinside the saguan. Facing around so as to hide my front from the _cocineras_, I drew forththe strip of folded paper, and spread it open before me. Though writtenin pencil, and evidently in a hurried impromptu, I had no difficulty indeciphering it. My heart throbbed exultingly as I read:-- "Capitan! I know you will pardon our dry hospitality? A cup of cold water--ha! ha! ha! Remember what I told you yesterday: we fear our _friends_ more than our _foes_, and we have a _guest in the house my father dreads more than you and your terrible filibusteros_. I am not angry with you for my pet, but you have carried off my lazo as well. Ah, capitan! would you rob me of _everything_?--Adios! "Isolina. " Thrusting the paper back into my bosom, I sat for some time ponderingupon its contents. Part was clear enough--the remaining part full ofmystery. "We fear our _friends_ more than _our foes_. " I was behind the scenessufficiently to comprehend what was intended by that cunningly wordedphrase. It simply meant that Don Ramon de Vargas was _Ayankieado_--inother words, a friend to the American cause, or, as some loud demagogueswould have pronounced him, a "traitor to his country. " It did notfollow, however, that he was anything of the kind. He might have wishedsuccess to the American arms, and still remained a true friend to hiscountry--not one of those blind bigots whose standard displays thebrigand motto, "Our country right or wrong;" but an enlightened patriot, who desired more to see Mexico enjoy peace and happiness under foreigndomination, than that it should continue in anarchy under the iron ruleof native despots. What is there in the empty title of _independence_, without peace, without liberty? After all, patriotism in its ordinarysense is but a doubtful virtue--perhaps nearer to a crime! It will oneday appear so; one day in the far future it will be supplanted by avirtue of higher order--the patriotism that knows no boundaries ofnations, but whose _country_ is the whole earth. That, however, would_not_ be "patriotism!" Was Don Ramon de Vargas a patriot in this sense--a man of progress, whocared not that the _name_ of "Mexico" should be blotted from the map, solong as peace and prosperity should be given to his country underanother name? Was Don Ramon one of these? It might be. There weremany such in Mexico at that time, and these principally of the class towhich Senor de Vargas belonged--the _ricos_, or proprietors. It is easyenough to explain why the Ayankieados were of the class of ricos. Perhaps the affection of Don Ramon for the American cause had less loftymotives; perhaps the five thousand beeves may have had something to dowith it? Whether or no, I could not tell; nor did I stay to consider. I only reflected upon the matter at all as offering an explanation tothe ambiguous phrase now twice used by his fair daughter--"We fear our_friends_ more than our _foes_. " On either supposition, the meaning wasclear. What followed was far from being equally perspicuous. _A guest in thehouse dreaded by her father_? Here was mystery indeed. Who could thatguest be?--who but _Ijurra_? But Ijurra was her cousin--she had said so. If a cousin, why should hebe dreaded? Was there still another guest in the house? That might be:I had not been inside to see. The mansion was large enough toaccommodate another--half a score of others. For all that, my thoughtsconstantly turned upon Ijurra, why I know not, but I could not resistthe belief that he was the person pointed at--the guest that was"dreaded!" The behaviour which I had noticed on the day before--the first and onlytime I had ever seen the man--his angry speech and looks addressed toIsolina--her apparent fear of him: these it was, no doubt, that guidedmy instincts; and I at length came to the conviction that he was thefiend dreaded by Don Ramon. And she too feared him! "God grant she donot also _love_ him!" Such was my mental ejaculation, as I passed on to consider the closingsentences of the hastily written note. In these I also encounteredambiguity of expression; whether I construed it aright, time would tell. Perhaps my wish was too much parent to my thoughts: but it was with anexulting heart I read the closing sentence and rode forth from thegateway. CHAPTER TEN. AN OLD ENMITY. I rode slowly, and but a few paces before reining up my horse. AlthoughI was under the impression that it would be useless remaining, and thatan interview with Isolina was impossible--for that day at least--I couldnot divest myself of the desire to linger a little longer near the spot. Perhaps she might appear again upon the azotea; if but for a moment; ifbut to wave her hand, and waft me an adieu; if but-- When a short distance separated me from the walls, I drew up; andturning in the saddle, glanced back to the parapet. A face was there, where hers had been; but, oh, the contrast between her lovely featuresand those that now met my gaze! Hyperion to the Satyr! Not that theface now before me was ugly or ill-featured. There are some, and womentoo, who would have termed it handsome; to my eyes it was hideous! Letme confess that this hideousness, or more properly its cause, rested inthe moral, rather than the physical expression; perhaps, too, little ofit might have been found in my own heart. Under other circumstances, Imight not have criticised that face so harshly. All the world did notagree with me about the face of Rafael Ijurra--for it was he who wasgazing over the parapet. Our eyes met; and that first glance stamped the relationship betweenus--hostility for life! Not a word passed, and yet the looks of eachtold the other, in the plainest language, "_I am your foe_. " Had wesworn it in wild oaths, in all the bitter hyperbole of insult, neitherof us would have felt it more profound and keen. I shall not stay to analyse this feeling of sudden and unexpressedhostility, though the philosophy of it is simple enough. You too haveexperienced it--perhaps more than once in your life, without beingexactly able to explain it. I am not in that dilemma: I could explainit easily enough; but it scarcely merits an explanation. Suffice tosay, that while gazing upon the face of that man, I entertained it inall its strength. I have called it an _unexpressed_ hostility. Therein I have spokenwithout thought: it was fully expressed by both of us, though not inwords. Words are but weak symbols of a passion, compared with thepassion itself, exhibited in the clenched hand, the lip compressed, theflashing eye, the clouded cheek, the quick play of the muscles--weaksymbols are words compared with signs like these. No words passedbetween Ijurra and myself; none were needed. Each read in the other arival--a rival in love, a competitor for the heart of a lovely woman, the _loveliest_ in Mexico! It is needless to say that, under such anaspect, each hated the other at sight. In the face of Ijurra I read more. I saw before me a man of bad heartand brutal nature. His large, and to speak the truth, beautiful eyes, had in them an animal expression. They were not without intelligence, but so much the worse, for that intelligence expressed ferocity and badfaith. His beauty was the beauty of the jaguar. He had the air of anaccomplished man, accustomed to conquest in the field of love--heartless, reckless, false. O mystery of our nature, there are thosewho love such men! In Ijurra's face I read more: _he knew my secret_! The significantglance of his eye told me so. He knew why I was lingering there. Thesatiric smile upon his lip attested it. He saw my efforts to obtain aninterview, and confident in his own position, held my failure butlightly--a something only to amuse him. I could tell all this by thesardonic sneer that sat upon his features. As we continued to gaze, neither moving his eyes from the other, thissneer became too oppressive to be silently borne. I could no longerstand such a satirical reading of my thoughts. The insult was as markedas words could have made it; and I was about to have recourse to wordsto reply, when the clatter of a horse's hoofs caused me to turn my eyesin an opposite direction. A horseman was coming up the hill, in adirect line from the pastures. I saw it was one of the lieutenants--Holingsworth. A few more stretches of his horse brought the lieutenant upon theground, where he pulled up directly in front of me. "Captain Warfield!" said he, speaking in an official tone, "the cattleare collected; shall we proceed--" He proceeded no further with that sentence; his eye, chance directed, was carried up to the azotea, and rested upon the face of Ijurra. Hestarted in his saddle, as if a serpent had stung him; his hollow eyesshot prominently out, glaring wildly from their sockets, while themuscles of his throat and jaws twitched in convulsive action! For a moment, the desperate passion seemed to stifle his breathing, andwhile thus silent, the expression of his eyes puzzled me. It was offrantic joy, and ill became that face where I had never observed asmile. But the strange look was soon explained--it was not offriendship, but the joy of anticipated vengeance! Breaking into a wild laugh, he shrieked out-- "Rafael Ijurra, by the eternal God!" This awful and emphatic recognition produced its effect. I saw thatIjurra knew the man who addressed him. His dark countenance turnedsuddenly pale, and then became mottled with livid spots, while his eyesscintillated, and rolled about in the unsteady glances of terror. Hemade no reply beyond the ejaculation "Demonio!" which seemedinvoluntarily to escape him. He appeared unable to reply; surprise andfright held him spell-bound and speechless! "Traitor! villain! murderer!" shrieked Holingsworth, "we've met at last;now for a squaring of our accounts!" and in the next instant the muzzleof his rifle was pointing to the notch in the parapet--pointing to theface of Ijurra! "Hold, Holingsworth!--hold!" cried I, pressing my heel deeply into myhorse's flanks, and dashing forward. Though my steed sprang instantly to the spur, and as quickly I caughtthe lieutenant's arm, I was too late to arrest the shot. I spoiled hisaim, however; and the bullet, instead of passing through the brain ofRafael Ijurra, as it would certainly have done, glanced upon the mortarof the parapet, sending a cloud of lime-dust into his face. Up to that moment the Mexican had made no attempt to escape beyond theaim of his antagonist. Terror must have glued him to the spot. It wasonly when the report of the rifle, and the blinding mortar broke thespell, that he was able to turn and fly. When the dust cleared away, his head was no longer above the wall. I turned to my companion, and addressed him in some warmth-- "Lieutenant Holingsworth! I command--" "Captain Warfield, " interrupted he, in a tone of cool determination, "you may command me in all matters of duty, and I shall obey you. Thisis a private affair; and, by the Eternal, the General himself--Bah! Ilose time; the villain will escape!" and before I could seize eitherhimself or his bridle-rein, Holingsworth had shot his horse past me, andentered the gateway at a gallop. I followed as quickly as I could, and reached the patio almost as soonas he; but too late to hinder him from his purpose. I grasped him by the arm, but with determined strength he wrenchedhimself free--at the same instant gliding out of the saddle. Pistol in hand, he rushed up the _escalera_, his trailing scabbardclanking upon the stone steps as he went. He was soon out of my sight, behind the parapet of the azotea. Flinging myself from the saddle, I followed as fast as my legs wouldcarry me. While on the stairway, I heard loud words and oaths above, the crash offalling objects, and then two shots following quick and fast upon eachother. I heard screaming in a woman's voice, and then a groan--the lastuttered by a man. One of them is dead or dying, thought I. On reaching the azotea--which I did in a few seconds of time--I foundperfect silence there. I saw no one, male or female, living or dead!True, the place was like a garden, with plants, shrubs, and even treesgrowing in gigantic pots. I could not view it all at once. They mightstill be there behind the screen of leaves? I ran to and fro over the whole roof; I saw flower-pots freshly broken. It was the crash of them I had heard while coming up. I saw no man, neither Holingsworth nor Ijurra! They could not be standing up, or Ishould have seen them. "Perhaps they are down among the pots--both. There were two shots. Perhaps both are down--dead. " But where was she who screamed? Was it Isolina? Half distracted, I rushed to another part of the roof. I saw a smallescalera--a private stair--that led into the interior of the house. Ha!they must have gone down by it? she who screamed must have gone thatway? For a moment I hesitated to follow; but it was no time to stand uponetiquette; and I was preparing to plunge down the stairway, when I heardshouting outside the walls, and then another shot from a pistol. I turned, and stepped hastily across the azotea in the direction of thesounds. I looked over the parapet. Down the slope of the hill two menwere running at the top of their speed, one after the other. Thehindmost held in his hand a drawn sabre. It was Holingsworth still inpursuit of Ijurra! The latter appeared to be gaining upon his vengeful pursuer, who, burdened with his accoutrements, ran heavily. The Mexican was evidentlymaking for the woods that grew at the bottom of the hill; and in a fewseconds more he had entered the timber, and passed out of sight. Like ahound upon the trail, Holingsworth followed, and disappeared from myview at the same spot. Hoping I might still be able to prevent the shedding of blood, Idescended hastily from the azotea, mounted my horse, and galloped downthe hill. I reached the edge of the woods where the two had gone in, and followedsome distance upon their trail; but I lost it at length, and came to ahalt. I remained for some minutes listening for voices, or, what I moreexpected to hear, the report of a pistol. Neither sound reached me. Iheard only the shouts of the vaqueros on the other side of the hill; andthis reminding me of my duty, I turned my horse, and rode back to thehacienda. There, everything was silent: not a face was to be seen. The inmates ofthe house had hidden themselves in rooms barred up and dark; even thedamsels of the kitchen had disappeared--thinking, no doubt, that anattack would be made upon the premises, and that spoliation and plunderwere intended. I was puzzled how to act. Holingsworth's strange conduct haddisarranged my ideas. I should have demanded admission, and explainedthe occurrence to Don Ramon; but I had no explanation to give; I ratherneeded one for myself; and under a painful feeling of suspense as to theresult, I rode off from the place. Half-a-dozen rangers were left upon the ground with orders to await thereturn of Holingsworth, and then gallop after us; while the remainder ofthe troop, with Wheatley and myself in advance of the vast drove, tookthe route for the American camp. CHAPTER ELEVEN. RAFAEL IJURRA. In ill-humour I journeyed along. The hot sun and the dusty road did notimprove my temper, ruffled as it was by the unpleasant incident. I wasfar from satisfied with my first lieutenant, whose conduct was still amystery. Wheatley could not explain it. Some old enmity, no doubt--both of us believed--some story of wrong and revenge. No everyday man was Holingsworth, but one altogether of peculiarcharacter and temperament--as unlike him who rode by my side as acid toalkali. The latter was a dashing, cheerful fellow, dressed inhalf-Mexican costume, who could ride a wild horse and throw the lazowith any vaquero in the crowd. He was a true Texan, almost by birth;had shared the fortunes of the young republic since the days of Austin:and was never more happy than while engaged in the border warfare, that, with slight intervals, had been carried on against either Mexican orIndian foeman, ever since the lone-star had spread its banner to thebreeze. No raw recruit was Wheatley; though young, he was what Texansterm an "old Indian fighter"--a real "Texas ranker. " Holingsworth was not a Texan, but a Tennessean, though Texas had beenfor some years his adopted home. It was not the first time he hadcrossed the Rio Grande. He had been one of the unfortunate Mierexpedition--a survivor of that decimated band--afterwards carried inchains to Mexico, and there compelled to work breast-deep in the mud ofthe great _zancas_ that traverse the streets. Such experience mightaccount for the serious, somewhat stern expression that habituallyrested upon his countenance, and gave him the character of a "darksaturnine man. " I have said incidentally that I never saw him smile--never. He spoke seldom, and, as a general thing, only upon matters ofduty; but at times, when he fancied himself alone, I have heard himmutter threats, while a convulsive twitching of the muscles and amechanical clenching of the fingers accompanied his words, as though hestood in the presence of some deadly foe! I had more than once observedthese frenzied outbursts, without knowing aught of their cause. HardingHolingsworth--such was his full name--was a man with whom no one wouldhave cared to take the liberty of asking an explanation of his conduct. His courage and war-prowess were well known among the Texans; but it isidle to add this, since otherwise he could not have stood among them inthe capacity of a leader. Men like them, who have the election of theirown officers, do not trust their lives to the guidance of eitherstripling or coward. Wheatley and I were talking the matter over as we rode along, andendeavouring to account for the strange behaviour of Holingsworth. Wehad both concluded that the affair had arisen from some old enmity--perhaps connected with the Mier expedition--when accidentally Imentioned the Mexican's name. Up to this moment the Texan lieutenanthad not seen Ijurra--having been busy with the cattle upon the otherside of the hill--nor had the name been pronounced in his hearing. "Ijurra?" he exclaimed with a start, reining up, and turning upon me aninquiring look. "Ijurra. " "_Rafael_ Ijurra, do you think?" "Yes, Rafael--that is the name. " "A tall dark fellow, moustached and whiskered?--not ill-looking?" "Yes; he might answer that description, " I replied. "If it be the same Rafael Ijurra that used to live at San Antonio, there's more than one Texan would like to raise _his_ hair. The same--it must be--there's no two of the name; 'taint likely--no. " "What do you know of him?" "Know?--that he's about the most precious scoundrel in all Texas orMexico either, and that's saying a good deal. Rafael Ijurra? 'Tis he, by thunder! It _can_ be nobody else; and Holingsworth--Ha! now I thinkof it, it's just the man; and Harding Holingsworth, of all men living, has good reasons to remember _him_. " "How? Explain!" The Texan paused for a moment, as if to collect his scattered memories, and then proceeded to detail what he knew of Rafael Ijurra. Hisaccount, without the expletives and emphatic ejaculations which adornedit, was substantially as follows:-- Rafael Ijurra was by birth a Texan of Mexican race. He had formerlypossessed a hacienda near San Antonio de Bexar, with other considerableproperty, all of which he had spent at play, or otherwise dissipated, sothat he had sunk to the status of a professional gambler. Up to thedate of the Mier expedition he had passed off as a citizen of Texas, under the new regime, and pretended much patriotic attachment to theyoung republic. When the Mier adventure was about being organised, Ijurra had influence enough to have himself elected one of its officers. No one suspected his fidelity to the cause. He was one of those who atthe halt by Laredo urged the imprudent advance upon Mier; and hispresumed knowledge of the country--of which, he was a native--gaveweight to his counsel. It afterwards proved that his free advice wasintended for the benefit of the enemy, with whom he was in secretcorrespondence. On the night before the battle Ijurra was missing. The Texan army wascaptured after a brave defence--in which they slew more than their ownnumber of the enemy--and, under guard, the remnant was marched off forthe capital of Mexico. On the second or third day of their march, whatwas the astonishment of the Texan prisoners to see Rafael Ijurra _in theuniform of a Mexican officer, and forming part of their escort_! Butthat their hands were bound, they would have torn him to pieces, soenraged were they at this piece of black treason. "I was not in that ugly scrape, " continued the lieutenant. "As luckwould have it, I was down with a fever in Brazos bottom, or I guess Ishould have had to _draw my bean_ with the rest of 'em, poor fellows!" Wheatley's allusion to "drawing his bean" I understood well enough. Allwho have ever read the account of this ill-starred adventure willremember, that the Texans, goaded by ill-treatment, rose upon theirguard, disarmed, and conquered them; but in their subsequent attempt toescape, ill managed and ill guided, nearly all of them were recaptured, and _decimated_--each tenth man having been shot like a dog! The mode of choosing the victims was by lot, and the black and whitebeans of Mexico (_frijoles_) were made use of as the expositors of thefatal decrees of destiny. A number of the beans, corresponding to thenumber of the captives, was placed within an earthen _olla_--there beinga black bean for every nine white ones. He who drew the black bean mustdie! During the drawing of this fearful lottery, there occurred incidentsexhibiting character as heroic as has ever been recorded in story. Read from an eye-witness:-- "They all drew their beans with manly dignity and firmness. Some oflighter temper jested over the bloody tragedy. One would say, `_Boys!this beats raffling all to pieces_!' Another, `_Well, this is thetallest gambling-scrape I ever was in_. ' Robert Beard, who lay upon theground exceedingly ill, called his brother William, and said, `Brother, if you draw a black bean, I'll take your place--I want to die!' Thebrother, with overwhelming anguish, replied, `No, I will keep my ownplace; _I am stronger, and better able to die than you_. ' Major Cocke, when he drew the fatal bean, held it up between his finger and thumb, and, with a smile of contempt, said, `Boys! I told you so: I neverfailed in my life to draw a prize!' He then coolly added, `They onlyrob me of forty years. ' Henry Whaling, one of Cameron's best fighters, as he drew his black bean, said, in a joyous tone, `Well, they don'tmake much out of me anyhow: I know I've killed twenty-five of them. 'Then demanding his dinner in a firm voice, he added, `They shall notcheat me out of it!' Saying this, he ate heartily, smoked a cigar, andin twenty minutes after had ceased to live! The Mexicans fired fifteenshots at Whaling before he expired! Young Torrey, quite a youth but inspirit a giant, said that he `was perfectly willing to meet his fate--for the glory of his country he had fought, and for her glory he waswilling to die. ' Edward Este spoke of his death with the coolestindifference. Cash said, `Well, they murdered my brother with ColonelFannin, and they are about to murder me. ' J. L. Jones said to theinterpreter, `Tell the officer to look upon men who are not afraid todie for their country. ' Captain Eastland behaved with the mostpatriotic dignity; he desired that his country should not particularlyavenge his death. Major Dunham said he was prepared to die for hiscountry. James Ogden, with his usual equanimity of temper, smiled athis fate and said, `I am prepared to meet it. ' Young Robert W. Harrisbehaved in the most unflinching manner, and called upon his companionsto avenge their murder. "They were bound together--their eyes being bandaged--and set upon a lognear the wall with their backs towards their executioners. They allbegged the officer to shoot them in front, and at a short distance, saying they `_were not afraid to look death in the face_. ' This requestthe Mexican refused; and to make his cruelty as refined as possible, caused the fire to be delivered from a distance, and to be continued forten or twelve minutes, lacerating and mangling those heroes in a mannertoo horrible for description. " When you talk of Thermopylae think also of Texas! "But what of Holingsworth?" I asked. "Ah! Holingsworth!" replied the lieutenant; "_he has_ good cause toremember Ijurra, now I think of it. I shall give the story to you as Iheard it;" and my companion proceeded with a relation, which caused theblood to curdle in my veins, as I listened. It fully explained, if itdid not palliate, the fierce hatred of the Tennessean towards RafaelIjurra. In the Mier expedition Holingsworth had a brother, who, like himself, was made prisoner. He was a delicate youth, and could ill endure thehardships, much less the barbarous treatment, to which the prisonerswere exposed during that memorable march. He became reduced to askeleton, and worse than that, footsore, so that he could no longerendure the pain of his feet and ankles, worn skinless, and charged withthe spines of acacias, cactus, and the numerous thorny plants in whichthe dry soil of Mexico is so prolific. In agony he fell down upon theroad. Ijurra was in command of the guard; from him Holingsworth's brotherbegged to be allowed the use of a mule. The youth had known Ijurra atSan Antonio, and had even lent him money, which was never returned. "To your feet and forward!" was Ijurra's answer. "I cannot move a step, " said the youth, despairingly. "Cannot! _Carrai_! we shall see whether you can. Here, Pablo, "continued he, addressing himself to one of the soldiers of the guard;"give this fellow the spur; he is restive!" The ruffian soldier approached with fixed bayonet, seriously intendingto use its point on the poor wayworn invalid! The latter rose with aneffort, and made a desperate attempt to keep on; but his resolutionagain failed him. He could not endure the agonising pain, and afterstaggering a pace or two, he fell up against a rock. "I cannot!" he again cried--"I cannot march farther: let me die here. " "Forward! or you _shall_ die here, " shouted Ijurra, drawing a pistolfrom his belt, and cocking it, evidently with the determination to carryout his threat. "Forward!" "I cannot, " faintly replied the youth. "Forward, or I fire!" "Fire!" cried the young man, throwing open the flaps of hishunting-shirt, and making one last effort to stand erect. "You are scarce worth a bullet, " said the monster with a sneer; at thesame instant he levelled his pistol at the breast of his victim, andfired! When the smoke was blown aside, the body of young Holingsworthwas seen lying at the base of the rock, doubled up, dead! A thrill of horror ran through the line of captives. Even theirhabitually brutal guards were touched by such wanton barbarity. Thebrother of the youth was not six yards from the spot, tightly bound, andwitness of the whole scene! Fancy his feelings at that moment! "No wonder, " continued the Texan--"no wonder that Harding Holingsworthdon't stand upon ceremony as to where and when he may attack RafaelIjurra. I verily believe that the presence of the Commander-in-chiefwouldn't restrain him from taking vengeance. It ain't to be wonderedat!" In hopes that my companion might help me to some knowledge of the familyat the hacienda, I guided the conversation in that direction. "And Don Ramon de Vargas is Ijurra's uncle?" "Sure enough, he must be. Ha! I did not think of that. Don Ramon _is_the uncle. I ought to have known him this morning--that confounded_mezcal_ I drank knocked him out of my mind altogether. I have seen theold fellow several times. He used to come to San Antonio once a-year onbusiness with the merchants there. I remember, too, he once brought adaughter with him--splendid girl that, and no mistake! Faith, shecrazed half the young fellows in San Antonio, and there was no end ofduels about her. She used to ride wild horses, and fling the lazo likea Comanche. But what am I talking about? That mezcal _has_ got into mybrains, sure enough. It must have been _her_ you chased? Sure asshooting it was!" "Probable enough, " I replied, in a careless way. My companion littleknew the deep, feverish interest his remarks were exciting, or thestruggle it was costing me to conceal my emotions. One thing I longed to learn from him--whether any of these amorousduellists had been favoured with the approbation of the lady. I longedto put this question, and yet the absolute dread of the answerrestrained my tongue! I remained silent, till the opportunity hadpassed. The hoof-strokes of half-a-dozen horses coming rapidly from the rear, interrupted the conversation. Without surprise, I perceived that it wasHolingsworth and the rangers who had been left at the hacienda. "Captain Warfield!" said the Tennessean as he spurred alongside, "myconduct no doubt surprises you. I shall be able to explain it to _your_satisfaction when time permits. It's a long story--a painful one to me:you will not require it from me now. This much let me say--for goodreason, I hold Rafael Ijurra as my most deadly foe. _I came to Mexicoto kill that man_; and, by the Eternal! if I don't succeed, I care notwho kills _me_!" "You have _not_ then--" With a feeling of relief, I put the question, for I read he answer inthe look of disappointed vengeance that gleamed in the eyes of theTennessean. I was not permitted to finish the interrogatory; he knewwhat I was going to ask, and interrupted me with the reply-- "No, no; the villain has escaped; but by--" The rest of the emphatic vow was inaudible; but the wild glance thatflashed from the speaker's eye expressed his deep purpose more plainlythan words. The next moment he fell back to his place in the troop, and with hishead slightly bent forward, rode on in silence. His dark taciturnfeatures were lit up at intervals by an ominous gleam, showing that hestill brooded over his unavenged wrong. CHAPTER TWELVE. THE YELLOW DOMINO. The next two days I passed in feverish restlessness. Holingsworth'sconduct had quite disconcerted my plans. From the concluding sentencesof Isolina's note, I had construed an invitation to revisit the haciendain some more quiet guise than that of a filibustero; but after what hadtranspired, I could not muster courage to present myself under anypretence. It was not likely I should be welcome--I, the associate--nay, the commander--of the man who had attempted to take the life of anephew--a cousin! Don Ramon had stipulated for a "little rudeness;" hehad had the full measure of his bargain, and a good deal more. He couldnot otherwise than think so. Were I to present myself at the hacienda, I could not be else than coldly received--in short, unwelcome. I thought of apologies and pretexts, but to no purpose. For two days Iremained in vacillating indecision; I neither saw nor heard of her whoengrossed my thoughts. News from head-quarters! A "grand ball" to be given in the city! This bit of gossip fell upon my ear without producing the slightestimpression, for I cared little for dancing, and less for grand balls; inearly youth I had liked both; but not then. The thing would at once have passed from my thoughts, had it not beenfor some additional information imparted at the same time, which to meat once rendered the ball attractive. The information I allude to was, that the ball was got up "byauthority, " and would be upon a grand scale. Its object was political;in other words, it was to be the means of bringing about a friendlyintercourse between the conquerors and the conquered--a desirable end. Every effort would be made to draw out the "native society, " and letthem see that we Yankee officers were not such "barbarians" as theyaffected to deem, and in reality pronounced us. It was known--so statedmy informant--that many families of the Ayankieados would be present;and in order to make it pleasanter for those who feared _proscription_, the ball was to be a masked one--_un baile de mascara_. "The Ayankieados are to be there! and she--" My heart bounded with new hope: and I resolved to make one of themaskers--not that I intended to go in _costume_. In my slender wardrobewas a civilian dress proper cut, and tolerably well preserved: thatwould answer my purpose. The ball was to come off on the nightfollowing that on which I had word of it. My suspense would be short. The time appeared long enough, but at length the he arrived, and, mounting my good steed, I started off for the city. A brisk ride of twohours brought me on the ground, and I found that I was late enough to befashionable. As I entered the ball-room, I saw that most of the company had arrived, and the floor was grouped with dancers. It was evident the affair was a"success. " There were four or five hundred persons present, nearly halfof them ladies. Many were in character costumes, as Tyrolese peasants, Andalusian _majas_, Bavarian broom-girls, Wallachian boyards, Turkishsultanas, and bead-bedecked Indian belles. A greater number weredisguised in the ungraceful domino, while not a few appeared in regularevening dress. Most of the ladies wore masks; some simply hid theirfaces behind the coquettish _reboso topado_, while others permittedtheir charms to be gazed upon. As the time passed on, and an occasional_copita de vino_ strengthened the nerves of the company, the uncoveredfaces became more numerous, and masks got lost or put away. As for the gentlemen, a number of them also wore masks--some were incostume, but uniforms predominated, stamping the ball with a militarycharacter. It was not a little singular to see a number of _Mexican_officers mingling in the throng! These were of course prisoners on_parole_; and their more brilliant uniforms, of French patterns, contrasted oddly with the plain blue dresses of their conquerors. Thepresence of these prisoners, in the full glitter of their gold-lace, wasnot exactly in good taste; but a moment's reflection convinced one itwas not a matter of choice with them. Poor fellows! had they abided bythe laws of etiquette, they could not have been there; and no doubt theywere as desirous of shaking their legs in the dance as the gayest oftheir captors. Indeed, in this species of rivalry they far outstrippedthe latter. I spent but little time in observing these peculiarities; but one ideaengrossed my mind, and that was to find Isolina de Vargas--no easy taskamid such a multitude of maskers. Among the uncovered faces she was not. I soon scanned them all, orrather glanced at them. It needed no scanning to recognise hers. Ifthere, she was one of the _mascaritas_, and I addressed myself to aclose observation of the _dames en costume_ and the dominoes. Hopelessenough appeared the prospect of recognising her, but a little hopesustained me in the reflection, that, being myself uncovered, she mightrecognise _me_. When a full half-hour had passed away, and my lynx-like surveillance wasstill unrewarded, this hope died within me; and, what may appearstrange, I began to wish she was _not_ there. "If present, " thought I, "she must have seen me ere this, and to havetaken no notice--" A little pang of chagrin accompanied this reflection. I flung myself upon a seat, and endeavoured to assume an air ofindifference, though I was far from feeling indifferent, and my eyes asbefore kept eagerly scanning the fair masters. Now and then, the_tournure_ of an ankle--I had seen Isolina's--or the elliptical sweep ofa fine figure, inspired me with fresh hope: but as the mascaritas whoowned them were near enough to have seen, and yet took no notice of me, I conjectured--in fact, _hoped_--that none of them was she. Indeed, awell-turned ankle is no distinctive mark among the fair _doncellas_ ofMexico. At length, a pair of unusually neat ones, supporting a figure of suchsuperb outlines, that even the ungraceful domino could not conceal them, came under my eyes, and riveted my attention. My heart beat wildly as Igazed. I could not help the belief that the lady in the yellow dominowas Isolina de Vargas. She was waltzing with a young dragoon officer; and as they passed me Irose from my seat, and approached the orbit of the dance, in order tokeep them under my eyes. As they passed me a second time, I fancied the lady regarded me throughher mask: I fancied I saw her start. I was almost sure it was Isolina! My feeling was now that of jealousy. The young officer was one of theelegant gentlemen of the service--a professed lady killer--a fellow, who, notwithstanding his well-known deficiency of brains, was everwelcome among women. She seemed to press closely to him as they whirledaround, while her head rested languishingly upon his shoulder. Sheappeared to be _contented_ with her partner. I could scarcely endurethe agony of my fancies. It was a relief to me when the music ceasedand the waltz ended. The circle broke up, and the waltzers scattered in different directions, but my eyes followed only the dragoon officer and his partner. Heconducted her to a seat, and then placing himself by her side, the twoappeared to engage in an earnest and interesting conversation. With me politeness was now out of the question. I had grown as jealousas a tiger; and I drew near enough become a listener. The lowness ofthe tone in which conversed precluded the possibility of my hearing muchof what was said, but I could make out that the spark was "coaxing" hispartner to remove her mask. The voice that replied was surelyIsolina's! I could myself have torn the silken screen from her face through veryvexation; but I was saved that indiscretion, for the request of hercavalier seemed to prevail, and the next instant the mask was removed bythe lady's own hand. Shade of Erebus! what did I see? She was black--a _negress_! Not blackas ebony, but nearly so; with thick lips, high cheek-bones, and a row ofshort "kinky" curls dangling over the arch of her glistening forehead! My astonishment, though perhaps of a more agreeable kind, was notgreater than that of the dragoon lieutenant--who, by the way, was also afull-blooded "Southerner. " At sight of his partner's face he started, as if a six-pound shot had winded him; and after a few half-mutteredexcuses, he rose with an air of extreme _gaucherie_, and hurrying off, hid himself behind the crowd! The "coloured lady, " mortified--as I presumed she must be--hastilyreadjusted her mask, and rising from her seat, glided away from thescene of her humiliation. I gazed after her with a mingled feeling of curiosity and pity; I sawher pass out of the door alone, evidently with the intention of leavingthe ball. I fancied she had departed, as her domino, conspicuous by its brightyellow colour, was no more seen among the maskers. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE BLUE DOMINO. Thus disappointed, I gave up all hope of meeting her for whose sake Ihad come to the ball. She was either _not_ there, or did not wish to berecognised, even by _me_. The latter supposition was the more bitter ofthe two; and goaded by it and one or two other uncongenial thoughts, Ipaid frequent visits to the "refreshment-room, " where wine flowedfreely. A cup or two drove the _one idea_ out of my mind; and after awhile, I grew more companionable, and determined to enjoy myself likeothers around me. I had not danced as yet, but the wine soon got to mytoes as well as into my head; and I resolved to put myself in motionwith the first partner that offered. I soon found one--a blue domino--that came right in my way, as if thefates had determined we should dance together. The lady was "_not_engaged for the next;" she would be "most happy. " This, by the way, was said in _French_, which would have taken me bysurprise, had I not known that there were many French people living inC--, as in all the large cities of Mexico. They are usually jewellers, dentists, milliners, or rather artisans of that class who drive alucrative trade among the luxury-loving _Mexicanos_. To know there wereFrench people in the place, was to be certain you would find them at theball; and there were they, numbers of them, pirouetting about, andcomporting themselves with the gay _insouciance_ characteristic of theirnation. I was not surprised, then, when my blue domino addressed me inFrench. "A French _modiste_!" conjectured I, as soon as she spoke. Milliner or no, it mattered not to me; I wanted a dancing partner; andafter another phrase or two in the same sweet tongue, away went she andI in the curving whirl of a waltz. After sailing once round the room, I had two quite new and distinctimpressions upon my mind: the first, that I had a partner _who couldwaltz_, a thing not to be met with every day. My blue domino seemed tohave no feet under her, but floated around me as if borne upon the air!For the moment, I fancied myself in Ranelagh or Mabille! My other impression was, that my arm encircled as pretty a waist as everwas clasped by a lover. There was a pleasing rotundity about it, combined with a general symmetry of form and serpentine yieldiness ofmovement that rendered dancing with such a partner both easy anddelightful. My observation at the moment was, that if the face of themodiste bore any sort of proportion to her figure, she needed not havecome so far from France to push her fortune. With such a partner I could not otherwise than waltz well; and neverbetter than upon that occasion. We were soon under the observation ofthe company, and became the cynosure of a circle. This I did notrelish, and drawing my blue domino to one side, we waltzed towards aseat, into which I handed her with the usual polite expression ofthanks. This seat was in a little recess or blind window, where two personsmight freely converse without fear of an eaves-dropper. I had no desireto run away from a partner who danced so well, though she were amodiste. There was room for two upon the bench, and I asked permissionto sit beside her. "Oh, certainly, " was the frank reply. "And will you permit me to remain with you till the music recommences?" "If you desire it. " "And dance with you again?" "With pleasure, monsieur, if it suit your convenience. But is there noother who claims you as a partner?--no other in this assemblage youwould prefer?" "Not one, I assure you. You are the only one present with whom I careto dance. " As I said this, I thought I perceived a slight movement, that indicatedsome emotion. "It was a gallant speech, and the modiste is pleased with thecompliment, " thought I. Her reply:-- "It flatters me, sir, that you prefer my company to that of the manysplendid beauties who are in this saloon; though it may gratify me stillmore _if you knew who I am_. " The last clause was uttered with an emphasis, and followed by a sigh! "Poor girl!" thought I, "she fancies that I mistake her for some granddame--that if I knew her real position her humble avocation, I shouldnot longer care to dance with her. In that she is mistaken. I make nodistinction between a milliner and a marchioness, especially in aball-room. There, grace and beauty alone guide to preference. " After giving way to some such reflections, I replied-- "It is my regret, mam'selle, not to have the happiness of knowing whoyou are, and it is not possible I ever may, unless you will have thegoodness to remove your mask. " "Ah! monsieur, what you request is impossible. " "Impossible! and why may I ask?" "Because, were you to see my face, I should not have you for my partnerin the next dance; and to say the truth, I should regret that, since youwaltz so admirably. " "Oh! refusal and flattery in the same breath! No, mam'selle, I am sure_your_ face will never be the means of your losing a partner. Come! letme beg of you to remove that envious counterfeit. Let us conversefreely face to face. _I_ am not masked, as you see. " "In truth, sir, you have no reason to hide your face, which is more thanI can say for many other men in this room. " "Quick-witted milliner, " thought I. "Bravo, Ranelagh! Vive laMabille!" "Thanks, amiable masker!" I replied. "But you are too generous: youflatter me--" "It is worth while, " rejoined she, interrupting me; "it improves yourcheek: blushes become you, ha, ha, ha!" "The deuce!" I ejaculated, half aloud, "this _dame du Boulevard_ islaughing at me!" "But what _are_ you?" she continued, suddenly changing her tone. "Youare not a Mexican? Are you soldier or civilian?" "What would you take me for?" "A poet, from your pale face, but more from the manner in which I haveheard you sigh. " "I have not sighed since we sat down. " "No--but before we sat down. " "What! in the dance?" "No--before the dance. " "Ha! then you observed me before?" "O yes, your plain dress rendered you conspicuous among so manyuniforms; besides your manner--" "What manner?" I asked, with some degree of confusion, fearing that inmy search after Isolina I had committed some stupid piece ofleft-handedness. "Four abstraction; and, by the way, had you not little _penchant_ for ayellow domino?" "A yellow domino?" repeated I, raising my hand to my head, as though itcost me an effort to remember it--"a yellow domino?" "Ay, ay--a ye-ll-ow dom-in-o, " rejoined my companion, with sarcasticemphasis--"a yellow domino, who waltzed with a young officer--notbad-looking, by the way. " "Ah! I think I _do_ remember--" "Well, I think you _ought_, " rejoined my tormentor, "and well, too: youtook sufficient pains to _observe_. " "Ah--aw--yes, " stammered I. "I thought you were conning verses to her, and as you had not theadvantage of _seeing her face_, were making them to her feet!" "Ha, ha!--what an idea of yours, mad'm'selle!" "In the end, she was not ungenerous--she let you see the face. " "The devil!" exclaimed I, starting; "you saw the _denouement_, then?" "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed she; "of course I saw the denouement, ha, ha!--_drole_, wasn't it?" "Very, " replied I, not much relishing the joke, but endeavouring to joinmy companion in the laugh. "How silly the spark looked! Ha, ha!" "Very silly, indeed. Ha, ha, ha!" "And how disappointed--" "Eh?" "How disappointed _you_ looked, monsieur!" "Oh--ah--I--no--I assure you--I had no interest in the affair. I wasnot _disappointed_--at least not as you imagine. " "Ah!" "The feeling uppermost in my mind was _pity_--pity for the poor girl. " "And you really _did_ pity her?" This question was put with an earnestness that sounded somewhat strangeat the moment. "I really did. The creature seemed so mortified--" "She seemed mortified, did she?" "Of course. She left the room immediately after, and has not returnedsince. No doubt she has gone home, poor devil!" "Poor devil! Is that the extent of your pity?" "Well, after all, it must be confessed she was a superb deception: afiner dancer I never saw--I beg pardon, I except my present partner--agood foot, an elegant figure, and then to turn out--" "What?" "_Una negrilla_!" "I fear, monsieur, you Americans are not very gallant towards the ladiesof colour. It is different here in Mexico, which you term _despotic_. " I felt the rebuke. "To change the subject, " continued she; "are you _not_ a poet?" "I do not deserve the name of poet, yet I will not deny that I have madeverses. " "I thought as much. What an instinct I have! O that I could prevailupon you to write some verses to me!" "What! without knowing either your name or having looked upon your face. Mam'selle, I must at least set the features I am called upon topraise. " "Ah, monsieur, you little know: were I to unmask those features, Ishould stand but a poor chance of getting the verses. My plain facewould counteract all your poetic inspirations. " "Shade of Lucretia! this is no needlewoman, though dealing in weaponsquite as sharp. Modiste, indeed! I have been labouring under amistake. This is some _dame spirituelle_, some grand lady. " I had now grown more than curious to look upon the face of my companion. Her conversation had won me: a woman who could talk so, I fancied, could not be ill-looking. Such an enchanting spirit could not be hiddenbehind a plain face; besides, there was the gracefulness of form, thesmall gloved hand, the dainty foot and ankle demonstrated in the dance, a voice that rang like music, and the flash of a superb eye, which Icould perceive even through the mask. Beyond a doubt, she wasbeautiful. "Lady!" I said, speaking with more earnestness than ever, "I entreatyou to unmask yourself. Were it not in a ball-room, I should beg thefavour upon my knees. " "And were I to grant it, you could hardly rise soon enough, andpronounce your lukewarm leave-taking. Hat monsieur! think of the yellowdomino!" "Mam'selle, you take pleasure in mortifying me. _Do_ you deem mecapable of such fickleness? Suppose for a moment, you are not what theworld calls beautiful, you could not, by removing your mask, also stripyourself of the attractions of your conversation--of that voice thatthrills through my heart--of that grace exhibited in your everymovement! With such endowments how could a woman appear ill-looking?If your face was even as black as hers of the yellow domino, I verilybelieve I could not perceive its darkness. " "Ha, ha, ha! take care what you say, monsieur. I presume you are notmore indulgent than the rest of your sex; and well know I that, with youmen, ugliness is the greatest crime of a woman. " "I am different, I swear--" "Do not perjure yourself, as you will if I but remove my mask. I tellyou, sir, that in spite of all the fine qualities you imagine me topossess, I am a vision that would horrify you to look upon. " "Impossible!--your form, your grace, your voice. Oh, unmask! I acceptevery consequence for the favour I ask. " "Then be it as you wish; but I shall not be the means of punishing you. Receive from your own hands the chastisement of your curiosity. " "You permit me, then? Thanks, mam'selle, thanks! It is fastenedbehind: yes, the knot is here--now I have it--so--so--" With trembling fingers I undid the string, and pulled off the piece oftaffety. Shade of Sheba! what did I see? The mask fell from my fingers, as though it had been iron at a cherryheat. Astonishment caused me to drop it; rather say horror--horror atbeholding the face underneath--the face _of the yellow domino_! Yes, there was the same negress with her thick lips, high cheek-bones, andthe little well-oiled kinks hanging like corkscrews over her temples! I knew not either what to say or do; my gallantry was clean gone; andalthough I resumed my seat, I remained perfectly dumb. Had I looked ina mirror at that moment, I should certainly have beheld the face of afool. My companion, who seemed to have made up her mind to such a result, instead of being mortified, burst into a loud fit of laughter, at thesame time crying out in a tone of raillery-- "Now, Monsieur le Poete, does my face inspire you? When may I expectthe verses? To-morrow? Soon? Never? Ah! monsieur, I fear you are notmore gallant to us poor `ladies ob colour' than your countryman thelieutenant. Ha, ha, ha!" I was too much ashamed of my own conduct, and too deeply wounded by herreproach, to make reply. Fortunately her continued laughter offered mean opportunity to mutter some broken phrases, accompanied by very clumsygestures, and thus take myself off. Certainly, in all my life, I nevermade a more awkward adieu. I walked, or rather _stole_, towards the entrance, determined to leavethe ball-room, and gallop home. On reaching the door, my curiosity grew stronger than my shame; and Iresolved to take a parting look at this singular Ethiopian. The bluedomino, still within the niche, caught my eye at once; but on looking upto the face--gracious Heaven! _it was Isolina's_! I stood as if turned into stone. My gaze was fixed upon her face, and Icould not take it off. She was looking at me; but, oh! the expressionwith which those eyes regarded me! That was a glance to be rememberedfor life. She no longer laughed, but her proud lip seemed to curl witha sarcastic smile, as of scorn! I hesitated whether to return and apologise. But no; it was too late. I could have fallen upon my knees, and begged forgiveness. It was toolate. I should only subject myself to further ridicule from thatcapricious spirit. Perhaps my look of remorse had more effect than words. I thought herexpression changed; her glance became more tender, as if inviting meback! Perhaps-- At this moment a man approached, and without ceremony seated himself byher side. His face was towards me--I recognised Ijurra! "They converse. Is it of _me_? Is it of --? If so, he will laugh. Aworld to see that man laugh, and know it is at _me_. If he do, I shallsoon cast off the load that is crushing my heart! "He laughs not--not even a smile is traceable on his sombre features. She has not told him, and well for him she has not. Prudence, perchance, restrains her tongue; she might guess the result. " They are on their feet again; she masks. Ijurra leads her to the dance;they front to each other; they whirl away--away: they are lost among themaskers. "Some wine, mozo!" A deep long draught, a few seconds spent in buckling on my sword, a fewmore in reaching the gate, one spring, and my saddled steed was underme. I rode with desperate heart and hot head; but the cool night-air, themotion of my horse, and his proud spirit mingling with mine, gave merelief, and I soon felt calmer. On reaching the rancheria, I found my lieutenants still up, eating theirrudely cooked supper. As my appetite was roused, I joined them at theirmeal; and their friendly converse restored for the time my spirit'sequanimity. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. LOVE-THOUGHTS. A dread feeling is jealousy, mortified vanity, or whatever you maydesignate the disappointment of love. I have experienced the sting ofshame, the blight of broken fortune, the fear of death itself; yet noneof these ever wrung my heart so rudely as the pang of an unreciprocatedpassion. The former are but transient trials, and their bitterness soonhas an end. Jealousy, like the tooth of the serpent, carries poison inits sting, and long and slow is the healing of its wound. Well knew hethis, that master of the human heart: Iago's prayer was not meant formockery. To drown my mortification, I had drunk wine freely at the ball; and onreturning home, had continued my potations with the more fiery spirit of"Catalan. " By this means I gained relief and sleep, but only of shortduration. Long before day I was awake--awake to the double bitternessof jealousy and shame--awake to both mental and physical pain, for thefumes of the vile stuff I had drunk wrecked my brain as though theywould burst open my skull. An ounce of opium would not have set me tosleep again, and I tossed on my couch like one labouring under delirium. Of course the incidents of the preceding night were uppermost in mymind. Every scene and action that had occurred were as plainly beforeme as if I was again witnessing them. Every effort to alienate mythoughts, and fix them upon some other theme, proved vain and idle; theyever returned to the same circle of reflections, in the centre of whichwas Isolina de Vargas! I thought of all that had passed, of all she hadsaid. I remembered every word. How bitterly I remembered that scornfullaugh!--how bitterly that sarcastic smile, when the double mask wasremoved! The very remembrance of her beauty pained me! It was now to me as toTantalus the crystal waters, never to be tasted. Before, I had formedhopes, had indulged in prospective dreams: the masquerade adventure haddissipated them. I no longer hoped, no longer permitted myself to dreamof pleasant times to come: I felt that I was scorned. This feeling produced a momentary revulsion in my thoughts. There weremoments when I hated her, and vengeful impulses careered across my soul. These were fleeting moments: again before me rose that lovely form, thatproud grand spirit, in the full entirety of its power, and again my soulbecame absorbed in admiration, and yielded itself to its hopelesspassion. It was far from being my first love. And thus experienced, Icould reason upon it. I felt certain it was to be the strongest andstormiest of my life. I know of three loves distinct in kind and power. First, when thepassion is reciprocated--when the heart of the beloved yields backthought for thought, and throb for throb, without one reservedpulsation. This is bliss upon earth--not always long-lived--endingperchance in a species of sublimated friendship. To have is no longerto desire. The second is love entirely unrequited--love that never knew word orsmile of encouragement, no soft whisper to fan it into flame, no ray ofhope to feed upon. Such dies of inanition--the sooner that its objectis out of the way, and absence in time will conquer it. The third is the love that "dotes yet doubts, " that doubts but neverdies--no never. The jealousy that pains, only sustains it; it lives on, now happy in the honeyed conviction of triumph, now smarting under realor fancied scorn--on, on, so long as its object is accessible to sightor hearing! No matter how worthless that object may be or become--nomatter how lost or fallen! Love regards not this; it has nought to dowith the moral part of our nature. Beauty is the shrine of its worship, and beauty is not morality. In my own mind I am conscious of three elements or classes of feeling:the _moral_, the _intellectual_, and what I may term the _passional_--the last as distinct from either of the other two as oil from spirits orwater. To the last belongs love, which, I repeat again, has no sympathywith the moral feelings of our nature, but, alas! as one might almostbelieve, with their opposite. Even a plain but wicked coquette willcaptivate more hearts than a beautiful saint, and the brilliantmurderess ere now has made conquests at the very foot of the scaffold! It pains me to pronounce these convictions, derived as they are fromexperience. There is as little gain as pleasure in so doing, butpopularity must be sacrificed at the shrine of truth. For the sake ofeffect, I shall not play false with philosophy. Rough ranger as I was, I had studied psychology sufficiently tounderstand these truths; and I endeavoured to analyse my passion forthis girl or woman--to discover _why_ I loved her. Her physical beautywas of the highest order, and that no doubt was an element; but it wasnot all. Had I merely looked upon this beauty under ordinarycircumstances--that is, without coming in contact with the spirit thatanimated it--I might have loved her, or I might not. It was the spirit, then, that had won me, though not alone. The same gem in a lessbrilliant setting might have failed to draw my admiration. I was thecaptive both of the spirit and the form. Soul and body had co-operatedin producing my passion, and this may account for its suddenness andprofundity. Why I loved her person, I knew--I was not ignorant of thelaws of beauty--but why the spirit, I knew not. Certainly not from anyidea I had formed of her high _moral_ qualities; I had no evidence ofthese. Of her courage, even to daring, I had proof; of energy anddetermined will; of the power of thought, quick and versatile; but theseare not _moral_ qualities, they are not even _feminine_! True, she weptover her slain steed. Humanity? I have knows a hardened _lorette_ weepbitter tears for her tortoise-shell cat. She refused to take from me myhorse. Generosity? She had a thousand within sight. Alas! in thusreviewing all that had passed between myself and the beautiful Isolina, in search of her moral qualities, I met with but little success! Mystery of our nature! I loved her not the less! And yet my passionwas pure, and I do not believe that my heart was wicked. Mystery of ournature! He who reads all hearts alone can solve thee! I loved without reason; but I loved now without hope. Hope I had beforethat night. Her glance through the turrets--her note--its contents--aword, a look at other times, had inspired me with hopes, however faintthey were. The incident of the ball-room had crushed them. Ijurra's dark face kept lowering before me; even in my visions he wasalways by her side. What was between the two? Perhaps a nearerrelationship than that of cousin? Perhaps they were affianced?Married? The thought maddened me. I could rest upon my couch no longer. I rose and sought the open air; Iclimbed to the azotea, and paced it to and fro, as the tiger walks hiscage. My thoughts were wild, and my movements without method. To add to the bitterness of my reflections, I now discovered that I hadsustained a loss--not in property, but something that annoyed me stillmore. I had lost the order and its enclosure--the note of Don Ramon. Ihad dropped them on the day in which they were received, and I believedin the patio of the hacienda, where they must have been picked up atonce. If by Don Ramon himself, then all was well; but if they hadfallen into the hands of some of the leather-clad herdsmen, ill affectedto Don Ramon, it might be an awkward affair for that gentleman--indeedfor myself. Such negligence would scarcely be overlooked athead-quarters; and I had ill forebodings about the result. It was oneof my soul's darkest hours. From its very darkness I might have known that light was near, for theproverb is equally true in the moral as in the material world. Light_was_ near. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. AN ODD EPISTLE. Breakfast I hardly tasted. A _taso_ of chocolate and a small sugaredcake--the _desayuna_ of every Mexican--were brought, and these served mefor breakfast. A glass of cognac and a Havanna were more to thepurpose, and helped to stay the wild trembling of my nerves. Fortunately, there was no duty to perform, else I could ill haveattended to it. I remained on the azotea till near mid-day. The storm raging withinprevented me from taking note of what was passing around. The scenes inthe piazza, the rangers and their steeds, the "greasers" in theirstriped blankets, the _Indias_ squatted on their _petates_, the prettypoblanas, were all unnoticed by me. At intervals my eyes rested upon the walls of the distant dwelling; itwas not so distant but that a human form could have been distinguishedupon its roof, had one been there. There was none, and twenty, ay, fifty times, did I turn away my disappointed gaze. About noon the Serjeant of the guard reported that a Mexican wished tospeak with me. Mechanically, I gave orders for the man to be sent up;but it was not until he appeared before me that I thought of what I wasdoing. The presence of the Mexican at once aroused me from my unpleasantreverie. I recognised him as one of the vaqueros of Don Ramon deVargas--the same I had seen on the plain during my first interview withIsolina. There was something in his manner that betokened him a messenger. Afolded note, which he drew from under his jerkin--after having glancedaround to see whether he was noticed--confirmed my observation. I took the note. There was no superscription, nor did I stay to lookfor one. My fingers trembled as I tore open the seal. As my eye restedon the writing and recognised it, my heart throbbed so as almost tochoke my utterance. I muttered some directions to the messenger; and toconceal my emotion from him, I turned away and proceeded to the farthestcorner of the azotea before reading the note. I called back to the manto go below, and wait for an answer; and, then relieved of his presence, I read as follows:-- "_July_ 18--. "_Gallant_ capitan! allow me to bid you a _buenas dias_, for I presumethat, after the fatigues of last night, it is but morning with you yet. Do you dream of your sable belle? `Poor devil!' Ha, ha, ha! _Gallant_capitan!" I was provoked at this mode of address, for the "gallant" was renderedemphatic by underlining. It was a letter to taunt me for my illbehaviour. I felt inclined to fling it down, but my eye wandering overthe paper, caught some words that induced me to read on. "_Gallant_ capitan! I had a favourite mare. How fond I was of thatcreature you may understand, who are afflicted by a similar affectionfor the noble Moro. In an evil hour, your aim, too true, alas! robbedme of my favourite, but you offered to repay me by _robbing_ yourself, for well know I that the black is to you _the dearest object uponearth_. Indeed, were I the lady of your love, I should ill brook such adivided affection! Well, mio capitan, I understood the generoussacrifice you would have made, and forbade it; but I know you aredesirous of cancelling your debt. It is in your power to do so. Listen!" Some _hard_ conditions I anticipated would follow; I recked not of that. There was no sacrifice I was not ready to make. I would have dared anydeed, however wild, to have won that proud heart--to have inoculated itwith the pain that was wringing my own. I read on: "There is a horse, famed in these parts as the `white steed of theprairies' (_el cavallo bianco de los llanos_). He is a wild-horse, ofcourse; snow-white in colour, beautiful in form, swift as the swallow--But why need I describe to you the `white steed of the prairies?' Youare a Tejano, and must have heard of him ere this? Well, mio capitan, Ihave long had a desire--a frantic one, let me add--to possess thishorse. I have offered rewards to hunters--to our own vaqueros, for hesometimes appears upon our plains--but to no purpose. Not one of themcan capture, though they have often seen and chased him. Some say thathe _cannot be taken_, that he is so fleet as to gallop, or rather_glide_ out of sight in a glance, and that, too, on the open prairie!There are those who assert that he is a phantom, _un demonio_! Surelyso beautiful a creature cannot be the devil? Besides, I have alwaysheard--and, if I recollect aright, some one said so last night--that thedevil was _black_. `Poor devil!' Ha, ha, ha!" I rather welcomed this allusion to my misconduct of the preceding night, for I began to feel easier under the perception that the whole affairwas thus treated in jest, instead of the anger and scorn I hadanticipated. With pleasanter presentiments I read on:-- "To the point, mio capitan. There are some incredulous people whobelieve the white steed of the prairies to be a myth, and deny hisexistence altogether. _Carrambo_! I know that he _does_ exist, andwhat is more to my present purpose, he is--or _was_, but two hours ago--within ten miles of where I am writing this note! One of our vaquerossaw him near the banks of a beautiful arroyo, which I know to be hisfavourite ground. For reasons known to me, the vaquero did not eitherchase or molest him; but in breathless haste brought me the news. "Now, capitan, gallant and grand! there is but one who can capture thisfamed horse, and that is your puissant self. Ah! _you have made captivewhat was once at wild and free_. Yes! _you_ can do it--you and Moro! "Bring me the white steed of the prairies! I shall cease to grieve forpoor Lola. I shall forgive you that _contratiempo_. I shall forgiveall--even your rudeness to my double mask. Ha, ha, ha! Bring me thewhite steed! the white steed! "Isolina. " As I finished reading this singular epistle, a thrill of pleasure ranthrough my veins. I dwelt not on the oddness of its contents, thoroughly characteristic of the writer. Its meaning was clear enough. I _had_ heard of the white horse of the prairies--what hunter ortrapper, trader or traveller, throughout all the wide borders ofprairie-land, has not? Many a romantic story of him had I listened toaround the blazing campfire--many a tale of German-like _diablerie_, inwhich the white horse played hero. For nearly a century has he figuredin the legends of the prairie "mariner"--a counterpart of the FlyingDutchman--the "phantom-ship" of the forecastle. Like this, too, ubiquitous--seen today scouring the sandy plains of the Platte, to-morrow bounding over the broad llanos of Texas, a thousand miles tothe southward! That there existed a white stallion of great speed and splendidproportions--that there were twenty, perhaps a hundred such--among thecountless herds of wild-horses that roam over the great plains, I didnot for a moment doubt. I myself had seen and chased more than one thatmight have been termed "a magnificent animal, " and that no ordinaryhorse could overtake; but the one known as the "white steed of theprairies" had a peculiar marking, that distinguished him from all therest--_his ears were black_!--only his ears, and these were of the deepcolour of ebony. The rest of his body, mane, and tail, was white asfresh-fallen snow. It was to this singular and mysterious animal that the letter pointed;it was the black-eared steed I was called upon to capture. The contentsof the note were specific and plain. One expression alone puzzled me-- "_You have made captive what was once as wild and free_. " What? Iasked myself. I scarce dared to give credence to the answer that leapedlike an exulting echo from out my heart! There was a postscript, of course: but this contained only "business. "It gave minuter details as to when, how, and where the white horse hadbeen seen, and stated that the bearer of the note--the vaquero who hadseen him--would act as my guide. I pondered not long upon the strange request. Its fulfilment promisedto recover me the position, which, but a moment before, I had lookedupon as lost for ever. I at once resolved upon the undertaking. "Yes, lovely Isolina! if horse and man can do it, ere another sun sets, you shall be mistress of the _white steed of the prairies_!" CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE MANADA. In half-an-hour after, with the vaquero for my guide, I rode quietly outof the rancheria. A dozen rangers followed close behind; and, havingcrossed the river at a ford nearly opposite the village, we struck offinto the _chapparal_ on the opposite side. The men whom I had chosen to accompany me were most of them old hunters, fellows who could "trail" and "crease" with accurate aim. I hadconfidence in their skill, and, aided by them, I had great hopes weshould find the game we were in search of. My hopes, however, would not have been so sanguine but for anothercircumstance. It was this: Our guide had informed me, that when he sawthe white steed, the latter was in company with a large drove of mares--a _manada_--doubtless his harem. He would not be likely to separatefrom them, and even if these had since left the ground, they could bethe more easily "trailed" in consequence of their numbers. Indeed, butfor this prospect, our wild-horse hunt would have partaken largely ofthe character of a "wild-goose chase. " The steed, by all accounts ofhim, might have been seen upon one arroyo to-day, and by the banks ofsome other stream, a hundred miles off, on the morrow. The presence ofhis manada offered some guarantee, that he might still be near theground where the vaquero had marked him. Once found, I trusted to theswiftness of my horse, and my own skill in the use of the lazo. As we rode along, I revealed to my following the purpose of theexpedition. All of them knew the white steed by fame; one or twoaverred they had seen him in their prairie wanderings. The whole partywere delighted at the idea of such a "scout, " and exhibited as muchexcitement as if I was leading them to a skirmish with guerilleros. The country through which we passed was at first a dense chapparal, consisting of the various thorny shrubs and plants for which this partof Mexico is so celebrated. The greater proportion belonged to thefamily of _leguminosae_--_robinias, gleditschias_, and the Texan acaciasof more than one species, there known as _mezquite_. Aloes, too, formedpart of the under-growth, to the no small annoyance of the traveller--the wild species known as the _lechuguilla_, or pita-plant, whose coreis cooked for food, whose fibrous leaves serve for the manufacture ofthread, cordage, or cloth--while its sap yields by distillation thefiery _mezcal_. Here and there, a tree yucca grew by the way, itsfascicles of rigid leaves reminding one of the plumed heads of Indianwarriors. Some I saw with edible fruits growing in clusters, likebunches of bananas. Several species are there of these fruit-bearingyuccas in the region of the Rio Grande, as yet unknown to the scientificbotanist. I observed also the _palmilla_, or soap-plant, another yuccawhose roots yield an excellent substitute for soap; and various forms ofcactus--never out of sight on Mexican soil--grew thickly around, acharacteristic feature of the landscape. Plants of humbler staturecovered the surface, among which the syngenesists predominated; whilethe fetid _artemisia_, and the still more disagreeably odorous creosoteplant (_Larrea Mexicana_) grew upon spots that were sandy and arid. Pleasanter objects to the eye were the scarlet panicles of the_Fouquiera splendens_, then undescribed by botanists, and yet to becomea favourite of the arboretums. I was in no mood for botanising at the time, but I well remember how Iadmired this elegant species--its tall culm-like stems, surmounted bypanicles of brilliant flowers, rising high above the level of thesurrounding thicket, like banners above a host. Not that I possess therefined taste of a lover of flowers, and much less then; but cold mustbe the heart that could look upon the floral beauty of Mexico, withoutremembering some portion of its charms. Even the rudest of my followerscould not otherwise than admire; and once or twice, as we journeyedalong, I could hear them give utterance to that fine epithet of theheart's desire, "Beautiful!" As we advanced, the aspect changed. The surface became freer of jungle;a succession of glade and thicket; in short, a "mezquite prairie. "Still advancing, the "openings" became larger, while the timberedsurface diminished in extent, and now and then the glades joined eachother without interruption. We had ridden nearly ten miles without drawing bridle, when our guidestruck upon the trail of the manada. Several of the old hunters, without dismounting, pronounced the tracks to be those of wild _mares_, which they easily distinguished from _horse_ tracks. Their judgmentproved correct; for following the trail but a short distance farther, wecame full in sight of the drove, which the vaquero confidentlypronounced was the manada we were in search of! So far our success equalled our expectations; but to get sight of a_caballada_ of wild-horses, and to capture its swiftest steed, are twothings of very unequal difficulty. This fact my anxiously beating heartand quickly throbbing pulse revealed to me at the moment. It would bedifficult to describe the mingled feelings of anxious doubt and joyoushope that passed through my mind, as from afar off I gazed upon that shyherd, still unconscious of our approach. The prairie upon which the mares were browsing was more then a mile inwidth, and, like those we had been passing through, it was surrounded bythe low chapparal forest--although there were avenues that communicatedwith other openings of a similar kind. Near its centre was the manada. Some of the mares were quietly browsing upon the grass, while otherswere frisking and playing about, now rearing up as if in combat, nowrushing in wild gallop, their tossed manes and full tails flung looselyupon the wind. Even in the distance we could trace the full roundeddevelopment of their bodies; and their smooth coats glistening under thesun denoted their fair condition. They were of all colours known to thehorse, for in this the race of the Spanish horse is somewhat peculiar. There were bays, and blacks, and whites--the last being most numerous. There were greys, both iron and roan, and duns with white manes andtails, and some of a mole colour, and not a few of the kind known inMexico as _pintados_ (piebalds)--for spotted horses are not uncommonamong the mustangs--all of course with full manes and tails, since themutilating shears of the jockey had never curtailed their flowingglories. But where was the lord of this splendid harem?--where the steed? This was the thought that was uppermost in the mind of all--the questionupon every tongue. Our eyes wandered over the herd, now here, now there. White horsesthere were, numbers of them, but it needed but a glance to tell that the"steed of the prairies" was not there. We eyed each other with looks of disappointment. Even my companionsfelt that; but a far more bitter feeling was growing upon me as I gazedupon the leaderless troop. Could I have captured and carried back thewhole drove, the present would not have purchased one smile fromIsolina. The steed was not among them! He might still be in the neighbourhood; or had he forsaken the manadaaltogether, and gone far away over the wide prairie in search of newconquests? The vaquero believed he was not far off. I had faith in this man'sopinion, who, having passed his life in the observation of wild andhalf-wild horses, had a perfect knowledge of their habits. There washope then. The steed might be near; perhaps lying down in the shade ofthe thicket; perhaps with a portion of the manada or some favourite inone of the adjacent glades. If so, our guide assured us we should soonhave him in view. He would soon bring the steed upon the ground. How? Simply by startling the mares, whose neigh of alarm would be heard fromafar. The plan seemed feasible enough; but it was advisable that we shouldsurround the manada before attempting to disturb them, else they mightgallop off in the opposite direction, before any of us could get near. Without delay, we proceeded to effect the "surround. " The chapparal aided us by concealing our movements; and in half-an-hourwe had deployed around the prairie. The drove still browsed and played. They had no suspicion that a cordonof hunters was being formed around them, else they would have long sincegalloped away. Of all wild creatures, the shyest is the wild-horse; the deer, theantelope, and buffalo, are far less fearful of the approach of man. Themustang seems to understand the doom that awaits him in captivity. Onecould almost fancy that the runaways from the settlements--occasionallyseen amongst them--had poured into their ears the tale of theirhardships and long endurance. I had myself ridden to the opposite side of the prairie, in order to becertain when the circle was complete. I was now alone, having droppedmy companions at intervals along the margin of the timber. I hadbrought with me the bugle, with a note or two of which I intended togive the alarm to the mares. I had placed myself in a clump of mezquite trees, and was about raisingthe horn to my lips, when a shrill scream from behind caused me to bringdown the instrument, and turn suddenly in my seat. For a moment, I wasin doubt as to what could have produced such a singular utterance, whena second time it fell on my ear, and then I recognised it. It was theneigh of the prairie stallion! Near me was a break in the thicket, a sort of avenue leading out intoanother prairie. In this I could hear the hoof-stroke of a horse goingat a gallop. As fast as the underwood would allow, I pressed forward and came outupon the edge of the open ground; but the sun, low down, flashed in myeyes, and I could see no object distinctly. The tread of the hoofs and the shrill neighing still rang in my ears. Presently the dazzling light no longer quite blinded me: I shaded myeyes with my hand, and could perceive the form of a noble steedstretching in full gallop down the avenue, and coming in the directionof the manada. Half-a-dozen springs brought him opposite; the beam was no longer in myeyes; and as he galloped past, I saw before me "the white steed of theprairies. " There was no mistaking the marks of that splendid creature: there wasthe snow-white body, the ears of jetty blackness, the blue muzzle, thered projected nostril, the broad oval quarters, the rounded andsymmetric limbs--all the points of an incomparable steed! Like an arrow he shot past. He did not arrest his pace for an instant, but galloped on in a direct line for the drove. The mares had answered his first signal with a responsive neigh; andtossing up their heads, the whole manada was instantly in motion. In afew seconds, they stood at rest again, _formed in line_--as exact ascould have been done by a troop of cavalry--and fronting their leader ashe galloped up. Indeed, standing as they were, with their heads high inair, it was easy to fancy them mounted men in the array of battle; andoften have wild-horses been mistaken for such by the prairie traveller! Concealment or stratagem could no longer avail; the chase was fairly up. Speed and the lazo must now decide the result; and, with thisconviction, I gave Moro the spur, and bounded into the open plain. The neighing of the steed had signalled my companions who shot almostsimultaneously out of the timber, and spurred towards the drove, yellingas they came. I had no eyes for aught but the white steed, and after him I directedmyself. On nearing the line of mares, he halted in his wild gallop, twice rearedhis body upward, as if to reconnoitre the ground; and then, utteringanother of his shrill screams, broke off in a direct line towards theedge of the prairie. A wide avenue leading out in that direction seemedto have guided his instincts. The manada followed, at first galloping in line; but this became broken, as the swifter individuals passed ahead of the others, and the drovewere soon strung out upon the prairie. Through the opening now swept the chase--the pursuers keenly plying thespur--the pursued straining every muscle to escape. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE HUNT OF THE WILD-HORSE. My gallant horse soon gave proof of his superior qualities. One afteranother of my companions was passed; and as we cleared the avenue andentered a second prairie, I found myself mixing with the hindmost of the_wild_ mares. Pretty creatures some of them were; and upon any otheroccasion, I should have been tempted to fling a lazo over one of them, which I might easily have done. Then I only thought of getting them outof the way, as they were hindering my onward gallop. Before we had quite crossed the second prairie, I had forged into thefront rank; and the mares, seeing I had headed them, broke to the rightand left, and scattered away. All were now behind me, all but the white steed; he alone kept thecourse, at intervals uttering that same shrill neigh, as if to tantaliseand lure me on. He was yet far in advance, and apparently running _athis ease_! The horse I bestrode needed neither spur nor guidance; he saw before himthe object of the chase, and he divined the will of his rider. I felthim rising under me like a sea-wave. His hoofs struck the turf withoutimpinging upon it. At each fresh spring, he came up with elasticrebound, while his flanks heaved with the conscious possession of power. Before the second prairie was crossed, he had gained, considerably uponthe white steed; but to my chagrin, I now saw the latter dash right intothe thicket. I found a path and followed. My ear served to guide me, for thebranches crackled as the wild-horse broke through. Now and then Icaught glimpses of his white body, glancing among the green leaves. Apprehensive of losing him, I rode recklessly after, now breasting thethicket--now tracing its labyrinthine aisles. I heeded not the thornymimosas; my horse heeded them not; but large trees of the false acacia(_robinia_) stood thickly in the way, and their horizontal brancheshindered me. Often was I obliged to bend flat to the saddle, in orderto pass under them. All this was in favour of the pursued, and againstthe pursuer. I longed for the open prairie, and to my relief it at length appeared, not yet quite treeless, but studded with timber "islands. " Amid thesethe white steed was sailing off; but in passing through the thicket, hehad gained ground, and was now a long way in advance of me. But he wasmaking for the open plain that lay beyond, and this showed that it washis habit to trust to his heels for safety. Perhaps with such apursuer, he would have been safer to have kept the chapparal; but thatremained to be seen. In ten minutes' time, we had passed through the timber islands, and nowthe prairie--the grand, limitless prairie--stretched bee us, far beyondthe reach of vision. On goes the chase over its grassy level--on till the trees are no longerbehind us, and the eye sees nought but the green savannah, and the bluecanopy arching over it--on, across the centre of that vast circle whichhas for its boundary the whole horizon! The rangers, lost in the mazes of the chapparal, have long since fallenoff; the mustangs have gone back; on all that wide plain, but twoobjects appear--the snow-white form of the flying steed, and the darkhorseman that follows! It is a long wild ride, a cruel gallop for my matchless Moro. Ten milesof the prairie have we passed--more than that--and as yet I have neitherused whip nor spur. The brave steed needs no such prompting; he, too, has his interest in the chase--the ambition not to be outrun. My motiveis different: I think only of the smiles of a woman; but such motive erenow has led to the loss of a crown or the conquest of a world. On, Moro! on! you must overtake him or die! There is no longer an obstacle. He cannot hide from us here. Theplain, with its sward of short grass, is level and smooth as thesleeping ocean; not an object intrudes upon the sight. He cannotconceal himself anywhere. There is still an hour of sunlight; he cannothide from us in the darkness: ere that comes down, he shall be ourcaptive. On, Moro! on! On we glide in silence. The steed has ceased to utter his tauntingneigh; he has lost confidence in his speed; he now runs in dread. Neverbefore has he been so sorely pressed. He runs in silence, and so, too, his pursuer. Not a sound is heard but the stroke of the gallopinghoofs--an impressive silence, that betokens the earnestness of thechase. Less than two hundred yards separate us; I feel certain of victory. Atouch of the spur would now bring Moro within range: it is time to putan end to this desperate ride. Now, brave Moro, another stretch, andyou shall have rest! I look to my lazo; it hangs coiled over the horn of my saddle: one endis fast to a ring and staple firmly riveted in the tree-wood. Is theloop clear and free? It is. The coil--is it straight? Yes; all as itshould be. I lift the coil, and rest it lightly over my bridle arm; I separate thenoose, and hold it in my right hand. I am ready--_God of heaven! thesteed_? It was a wild exclamation, but it was drawn from me by no common cause. In arranging my lazo, I had taken my eyes from the chase, only for amoment: when I looked out again, _the horse had disappeared_! With a mechanical movement I drew bridle, almost wrenching my horse uponhis haunches; indeed, the animal had half halted of his own accord, andwith a low whimper seemed to express terror. What could it mean? Wherewas the wild-horse? I wheeled round, and round again, scanning the prairie on every side--though a single glance might have served. The plain, as alreadydescribed, was level as a table; the horizon bounded the view: there wasneither rock nor tree, nor bush nor weed, nor even long grass. Thesward was of the kind known upon the prairies as "buffalo-grass"(_Sesleria dactyloides_), short when full grown, but then risingscarcely two inches above the soil. A serpent could hardly have foundconcealment under it, but a horse-- Merciful heaven! _where was the steed_? An indefinable feeling of awe crept over me: I trembled; I felt my horsetrembling between my thighs. He was covered with foam and sweat; so wasI--the effects of the hard ride: but the cold perspiration of terror wasfast breaking upon me. The mystery was heavy and appalling! CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE PHANTOM-HORSE. I have encountered dangers--not a few--but they were the ordinary perilsof flood and field, and I understood them. I have had one limb broken, and its fellow bored with an ounce of lead. I have swum from a sinkingship, and have fallen upon the battle-field. I have looked at themuzzles of a hundred muskets aimed at my person, at less than thirtyyards' distance, and felt the certainty of death though the volley wasfired, and I still live. Well, you will no doubt acknowledge these to be perils. Do not mistakeme; I am not boasting of having encountered them; I met them with moreor less courage--some of them with fear--but if the fears inspired byall were combined into one emotion of terror, it would not equal inintensity that which I experienced at the moment I pulled up my horseupon the prairie. I have never been given to superstition; perhaps my religion is notstrong enough for that; but at that moment I could not help yielding toa full belief in the supernatural. There was no _natural_ cause--Icould think of none--that would account for the mysterious disappearanceof the horse. I had often sneered at the credulous sailor and hisphantom-ship; had I lived to look upon a phenomenon equally strange yettrue--a phantom-horse? The hunters and trappers had indeed invested the white steed with thischaracter; their stories recurred to my memory at the moment. I hadused to smile at the simple credulity of the narrators. I was nowprepared to believe them. They were true! Or was I dreaming? Was it not all a dream? The search for the whitesteed--the surround--the chase--the long, long gallop? For some moments I actually fancied that such _might_ be the case; butsoon my consciousness became clear again: I was in the saddle, and mypanting, smoking steed was under me. That was real and positive. Iremembered all the incidents of the chase. They, too, were real of acertainty; the white steed had been there: he was gone. The trappersspoke the truth. The horse was a phantom! Oppressed with this thought--which had almost become a conviction--I satin my saddle, bent and silent, my eyes turned upon the earth, but theirgaze fixed on vacuity. The lazo had dropped from my fingers, and thebridle-reins trailed untouched over the withers of my horse. My belief in the supernatural was of short duration, how long I knownot, for during its continuance I remained in a state of bewilderment. My senses at length returned. My eyes had fallen upon a freshhoof-print on the turf, directly in front of me. I knew it was thatmade by the white steed, and this awoke me to a process of reasoning. Had the horse been a phantom, he could not have made a track. I hadnever heard of the track of a ghost; though a _horse-ghost_ might bedifferent from the common kind! My reflections on this head ended in the determination to follow thetrail as far as it should lead; of course to the point where the steedmust have mounted into the air, or evaporated--the scene of hisapotheosis. With this resolve, I gathered my reins, and rode forward upon the trail, keeping my eyes fixed upon the hoof-prints. The line was direct, and I had ridden nearly two hundred yards, when myhorse came to a sudden stop. I looked out forward to discover the causeof his halting; with that glance vanished my new-born superstitions. At the distance of some thirty paces, a dark line was seen upon theprairie, running transversely to the course I was following. Itappeared to be a narrow crack in the plain; but on spurring nearer, itproved to be a fissure of considerable width--one of those formationsknown throughout Spanish America as _barrancas_. The earth yawned, asthough rent by an earthquake; but water had evidently something to dowith the formation of the chasm. It was of nearly equal width at topand bottom, and its bed was covered with a _debris_ of rocks rounded byattrition. Its sides were perfectly vertical, and the stratification, even to the surface-turf, exactly corresponded--thus rendering itinvisible at the distance of but a few paces from its brink. Itappeared to shallow to the right, and no doubt ended not far off in thatdirection. Towards the left, on the contrary, I could see that itbecame deeper and wider. At the point where I had reached it, itsbottom was nearly twenty feet from the surface of the prairie. Of course, the disappearance of the white steed was no longer a mystery. He had made a fearful leap--nearly twenty feet sheer! There was thetorn turf on the brink of the chasm, and the displacement of the loosestones, where he had bounded into its bed. He had gone to the left--down the barranca. The abrasion of his hoofs was visible upon therocks. I looked down the defile: he was not to be seen. The barranca turnedoff by an angle at no great distance. He had already passed round theangle, and was out of sight! It was clear that he had escaped; that to fellow would be of no use;and, with this reflection, I abandoned all thoughts of carrying thechase farther. After giving way to a pang or two of disappointment, I began to think ofthe position in which I had placed myself. It is true I was nowrelieved from the feeling of awe that, but a moment before, hadoppressed me; but my situation was far from being a pleasant one. I wasat least thirty miles from the rancheria, and I could not tell in whatdirection it lay. The sun was setting, and therefore I had the pointsof the compass; but I had not the slightest idea whether we had riddeneastward or westward after leaving the settlements. I might ride backon my own trail; _perhaps_ I might: it was a doubtful point. Neitherthrough the timber, nor on the open prairie, had the chase gone in adirect line. Moreover, I noticed in many places, as we glided swiftlyalong, that the turf was cut up by numerous hoof-tracks: droves ofmustangs had passed over the ground. It would be no easy matter for meto retrace the windings of that long gallop. One thing was evident: it would be useless for me to make the attemptbefore morning. There was not half-an-hour of sun left, and at nightthe trail could not be followed. I had no alternative but to remainwhere I was until another day should break. But how remain? I was hungry; still worse, I was choking with thirst. Not a drop of water was near; I had seen none for twenty miles. Thelong hot ride had made me thirsty to an unusual degree, and my poorhorse was in a similar condition. The knowledge that no water was nearadded, as it always does, to the agony, and rendered the physical wantmore difficult to be endured. I scanned the bottom of the barranca, and tracked it with my eye as faras I could see: it was waterless as the lain itself. The rocks restedupon dry sand and gravel; not a drop of the wished-for element appearedwithin its bed, although it was evident that at some time a torrent musthave swept along its channel. After some reflection, it occurred to me that by following the barranca_downward_, I might find water; at least, this was the most likelydirection in which to search for it. I rode forward, therefore, directing my horse along the edge of the chasm. The fissure deepened as I advanced, until, at the distance of a milefrom where I first struck it, the gulf yawned full fifty feet into theplain, the sides still preserving their vertical steepness! The sun had now gone down; the twilight promised to be a short one. Idared not traverse that plain in the darkness; I might ride over theprecipitous edge of the barranca. Besides, it was not the only one: Isaw there were others--smaller ones--the beds of tributary streams inseasons of rain. These branched off diagonally or at right angles, andwere more or less deep and steep. Night was fast closing over the prairie; I dared not ride farther amidthese perilous abysms. I must soon come to a halt, without findingwater. I should have to spend the long hours without relief. Theprospect of such a night was fearful. I was still riding slowly onward, mechanically conducting my horse, whena bright object fell under my eyes, causing me to start in my saddlewith an exclamation of joy. It was the gleam of water. I saw it in awesterly direction, the direction in which I was going. It proved to be a small lake, or--in the phraseology of the country--apond. It was not in the bottom of the ravine, where I had hitherto beenlooking for water, but up on the high prairie. There was no timberaround it, no sedge; its shores were without vegetation of any kind, andits surface appeared to correspond with the level of the plain itself. I rode towards it with joyful anticipation, yet not without someanxiety. Was it a _mirage_? It might be--often had I been deceived bysuch appearances. But no: it had not the filmy, gauze-like halo thathangs over the mirage. Its outlines were sharply defined by the prairieturf, and the last lingering rays of the sun glistened upon its surface. It _was_ water! Fully assured of this, I rode forward at a more rapid rate. I had arrived within about two hundred paces of the spot--still keepingmy eyes fixed upon the glistening water--when all at once my horsestarted, and drew back! I looked ahead to discover the cause. Thetwilight had nearly passed, but in the obscurity I could stilldistinguish the surface of the prairie. The barranca again frownedbefore me, running transversely across my path. To my chagrin, Iperceived that the chasm had made a sudden turn, and that the pond wason its _opposite side_! CHAPTER NINETEEN. A PRAIRIE DREAM. There was no hope of crossing in the darkness. The barranca was heredeeper than at any point above; so deep that I could but indistinctlysee the rocky boulders at its bottom. Perhaps with the daylight I mightbe able to find a crossing-place; but from that doubtful hypothesis Iderived little consolation. It had now grown quite dark, and I had no choice but to pass the nightwhere I was, though I anticipated a night of torture. I dropped to the ground, and having led my horse a few rods into theprairie--so as to keep him clear of the precipice--I relieved him of hissaddle and bridle, and left him to browse to the full length of thelazo. For myself, I had but few preparations to make: there was no supper tobe cooked, but eating was a matter of secondary importance on thatoccasion. I should have preferred a cup of water to a roast turkey. I had but few implements to dispose of in my temporary camp--only myrifle and hunting-knife, with horn and pouch, and the double-headedgourd, which served as water-canteen, and which, alas! had been emptiedat an early hour of the day. Fortunately, my Mexican blanket wasbuckled to the croupe. This I unstrapped, and having enveloped myselfin its ample folds, and placed my head in the hollow of my saddle, Icomposed myself as well as I could, in the hope of falling asleep. For a long time this luxury was denied me. The torture of thirst willrob one of sleep as effectually as the stinging pain of toothache. Iturned and turned again, glaring at the moon: she was visible only atintervals, as black clouds were coursing across the canopy; but when sheshone out, her light caused the little lake to glisten like a sheet ofsilver. Oh! how that bright water mocked me with its wavy ripple! Icould comprehend the sufferings of Tantalus. I thought at the time thatthe gods could not have devised a more exquisite torture for the royalLydian. After some time, the pain of thirst was less intensely felt. Perhapsthe cold damp air of night had the effect of relieving it; but it ismore likely that fatigue and long endurance had rendered the sense lessacute. Whatever may have been the cause, I suffered less, and feltmyself yielding to sleep. There was no sound to keep me awake: perfectstillness reigned around; even the usual howling bark of theprairie-wolf did not reach my ear. The place seemed too lonely for thisalmost ubiquitous night-prowler. The only sign of life that told me Iwas not alone was the occasional stroke of my steed's hoof upon the hardturf, and the "crop crop" that told me he was busy with the shortbuffalo-grass. But these were soothing sounds--as they admonished methat my faithful companion was enjoying himself after his hard gallop--and strengthened my desire for repose. I slept, but not lightly. No; my sleep was heavy and full of troubleddreams. I have a sort of half belief that the _role_ we play in thesedream-scenes wears the body as much as if we enacted it in reality. Ihave often awaked from such visions feeble from fatigue. If such be thefact, during that night upon the prairie I went through the toils of thepreceding day with considerable additions. First of all, I was in the presence of a lovely woman: she wasdark-eyed, dark-haired--a brunette--a beauty. I traced the features ofIsolina. I gazed into her eyes; I was happy in her smiles; I fancied Iwas beloved. Bright objects were around me. The whole scene wasrose-colour. This was a short episode: it was interrupted. I heard shouts and savageyells. I looked out: the house was surrounded by Indians! They werealready within the enclosure; and the moment after, crowds of thementered the house. There was much struggling and confusion, battledwith such arms as I could lay hold of; several fell before me; but one--a tall savage, the chief, as I thought--threw his arms around mymistress, and carried her away out of my sight. I remember not how I got mounted; but I was upon horseback, andgalloping over the wide prairie in pursuit of the ravisher. I could seethe savage ahead upon a snow-white steed, with Isolina in his arms. Iurged my horse with voice and spur, but, as I thought, for long, longhours in vain. The white steed still kept far in advance; and I couldget no nearer to him. I thought the savage had changed his form. Hewas no longer an Indian chief, but the fiend himself: I saw the hornsupon his head; his feet were cloven hoofs! I thought he was luring meto the brink of some fell precipice, and I had no longer the power tostay my horse. Ha! The demon and his phantom-horse have gone over thecliff! They have carried her along with them! I must follow--I cannotremain behind. I am on the brink. My steed springs over the chasm. Iam falling--falling--falling!-- I reach the rocks at length. I am not killed: how strange it is I havenot been crushed! But no; I still live. And yet I suffer. Thirstchokes and tortures me: my heart and brain are aching, and my tongue ison fire. The sound of water is in my ears: a torrent rushes by, nearme. If I could only reach it, I might drink and live: but I cannotmove; I am chained to the rocks. I grasp one after another, andendeavour to drag myself along: I partially succeed; but oh, whatefforts I make! The labour exhausts my strength. I renew my exertions. I am gaining ground: rock after rock is passed. I have neared therushing water; I feel its cold spray sprinkling me. I am saved! After such fashion was my dream. It was the shadow of a reality, somewhat disorganised; but the most pleasant reality was that whichawoke me. I found myself in the act of being sprinkled, not by thespray of a torrent, but by a plashing shower from the clouds! Under other circumstances, this might have been less welcome, but now Ihailed it with a shout of joy. The thunder was rolling almostcontinuously; lightning blazed at short intervals; and I could hear theroar of a torrent passing down the barranca. To assuage thirst was my first thought; and for this purpose, Istretched out my concave palms, and held my mouth wide open, thusdrinking from the very fountains of the sky. Though the drops fell thick and heavy, the process was too slow, and abetter plan suggested itself. I knew that my _serape_ was water-proof:it was one of the best of Parras fabric, and had cost me a hundredsilver dollars. This I spread to its full extent, pressing the centralparts into a hollow of the prairie. In five minutes' time, I hadforgotten what thirst was, and wondered how such a thing should havecaused me so much torture! Moro drank from the same "trough, " and betook himself to the grassagain. The under side of the blanket was still dry, and the patch of groundwhich it had sheltered. Along this I stretched myself, drew the serapeover me; and after listening a while to the loud lullaby of the thunder, fell fast asleep. CHAPTER TWENTY. LOST UPON THE PRAIRIE. I slept sweetly and soundly. I had no dreams, or only such as werelight, and forgotten with the return of consciousness. It was late when I awoke. A bright sun was mounting into the blue andcloudless sky. This orb was already many degrees above the horizon. Hunger was the father of my first thought. I had eaten nothing since anearly hour of the preceding day, and then only the light _desayuna_ ofsweet-cake and chocolate. To one not accustomed to long fasting, asingle day without food will give some idea of the pain of hunger; thatpain will increase upon a second day, and by the third will have reachedits maximum. Upon the fourth and fifth, the body grows weaker, and thebrain becomes deranged; the nerve, however, is less acute, and thoughthe suffering is still intense, hunger is never harder to endure thanupon the second or third days. Of course, these remarks apply only to those not habituated to longfasts. I have known men who could endure hunger for six days, and feelless pain than others under a fast of twenty-four hours. Indians orprairie-hunters were those men, and fortunately for them that they areendowed with such powers of endurance, often driven as they are intocircumstances of the most dire necessity. Truly, "the Lord tempers thewind to the shorn lamb!" As I have said, my first thought was of something to eat. I rose to my feet, and with my eye swept the prairie in every direction:no object living or dead, greeted my sight; beast or bird there wasnone; my horse alone met my glance, quietly browsing on his trail-rope. I could not help envying him, as I scanned his well-filled sides. Ithought of the bounty of the Creator in thus providing for his lessintelligent creatures--giving them the power to live where man wouldstarve. Who does not in this recognise the hand of a Providence? I walked forward to the edge of the barranca, and looked over. It was agrim abyss, over a hundred feet in depth, and about the same in width. Its sides were less precipitous at this point. The escarpment rocks hadfallen in, and formed a sort of shelving bank, by which a man on footmight have descended into its bed, and climbed out on the opposite side;but it was not passable for a horse. Its cliffs were furrowed anduneven; rocks jutted out and hung over; and in the seams grew cactusplants, bramble, and small trees of dwarf cedar (_Juniperus prostrata_). I looked into its channel. I had heard the torrent rolling down in thenight. I saw traces of the water among the rocks. A large body musthave passed, and yet not a cupful could now have been lifted from itsbed! What remained was fast filtering into the sand, or rising back tothe heavens upon the heated atmosphere. I had brought with me my rifle, in hopes of espying some livingcreature; but after walking for a considerable distance along the edge, I abandoned the search. No trace of bird or quadruped could be found, and I turned and went back to the place where I had slept. To draw the picket-pin of my horse and saddle him, was the work of a fewminutes; this done, I began to bethink me of _where I was going_. Backto the rancheria, of course! That was the natural reply to such a question; but there was another farless easily answered: How was I to find the way? My design of the previous night--to follow back my own trail--was nolonger practicable. _The rain had effaced the tracks_! I rememberedthat I had passed over wide stretches of light dusty soil, where thehoof scarcely impressed itself. I remembered that the rain had been ofthat character known as "planet showers, " with large heavy drops, that, in such places, must have blotted out every trace of the trail. Tofollow the "back-track" was no longer possible. I had not before thought of this difficulty; and now, that it presenteditself to my mind, it was accompanied by a new feeling of dread. I feltthat _I was lost_! As you sit in your easy-chair, you may fancy that this is a merebagatelle--a little bewilderment that one may easily escape from who hasa good horse between his thighs. It is only to strike boldly out, andby riding on _in a straight line_, you must in time arrive _somewhere_. No doubt, that is your idea; but permit me to inform you that thesuccess of such a course depends very much upon circumstances. It wouldindeed be trusting to blind chance. You might arrive "somewhere, " andthat somewhere might be the very point from which you had started! Do you fancy you can ride ten miles in a direct line over a prairie, without a single object to guide you? Be undeceived, then; you cannot! The best mounted men have perished under such circumstances. It maytake days to escape out of a fifty-mile prairie, and days bring death. Hunger and thirst soon gain strength and agony--the sooner that you knowyou have not the wherewith to satisfy the one, nor quench the other. Besides, there is in your very loneliness a feeling of bewilderment, painful to an extreme degree, and from which only the oldest prairie-menare free. Your senses lose half their power, your energy is diminished, and your resolves become weak and vacillating. You feel doubtful ateach step, as to whether you be following the right path, and are readyat every moment to turn into another. Believe me, it is a fearful thingto be alone when lost upon the prairies! I felt this keenly enough. I had been on the great plains before, butit was the first time I had the misfortune to wander astray on them, andI was the more terrified that I already hungered to no common degree. There was something singular, too, in the circumstances that had broughtme into my present situation. The disappearance of the white steed--although accounted for by perfectly natural causes--had left upon mymind a strange impression. That he should have lured me so far, andthen eluded me in such a way! I could not help fancying design in it:and fancying so, I could attribute such design only to a higherintelligence--in fact, to some supernatural cause! I was again on the edge of superstition. My mind began to give way andyield itself to hideous fancies. I struggled against such thoughts, and succeeded in rousing myself toreflect upon some active measures for my safety. I saw that it was of no use to remain where I was. I knew that I couldmake a straight path for a couple of hours at least--the sun was in thesky, and that would guide me--until near the meridian hours. Then Ishould have to halt, and wait a while; for in that southern latitude, and just at that time of the year, the sun at noon is so near the zeniththat a practised astronomer could not tell north from south. I reflected that before noon I might reach the timber, though that wouldnot insure my safety. Even the naked plain is not more bewildering thanthe openings of the mezquite groves and the chapparal that border it. Among these you may travel for days without getting twenty miles fromyour starting-point, and they are often as destitute of the means oflife as the desert itself! Such were my reflections as I had saddled and bridled my horse, andstood scanning the plain in order to make up my mind as to the directionI should take. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. A PRAIRIE REPAST. In gazing out, my eye was attracted by some objects. They were animals, but of what species I could not tell. There are times upon the prairieswhen form and size present the most illusory aspects: a wolf seems aslarge as a horse; and a raven sitting upon a swell of the plain, hasbeen mistaken for a buffalo. A peculiar state of the atmosphere is themagnifying cause, and it is only the experienced eye of the trapper thatcan reduce the magnified proportions and distorted form to their propersize and shape. The objects I had noticed were full two miles off; they were in thedirection of the lake, and of course on the other side of the barranca. There were several forms--five I counted--moving phantom-like againstthe rim of the horizon. Something drew my attention from them for a short while--a period ofperhaps three or four minutes' duration. When I looked out again they were no longer to be seen; but by the edgeof the pond, at less than five hundred yards' distance, five beautifulcreatures were standing, which I knew to be antelopes. They were soclose to the pond, that their graceful forms were shadowed in the water, and their erect attitudes told that they had just halted after a run. Their number corresponded with the objects I had seen but the momentbefore far out upon the prairie. I was convinced they were the same. The distance was nothing: these creatures travel with the speed of aswallow. The sight of the prong-horns stimulated my hunger. My first thought washow to get near them. Curiosity had brought them to the pond; they hadespied my horse and myself afar off; and had galloped up to reconnoitreus. But they still appeared shy and timid, and were evidently notinclined to approach nearer. The barranca lay between them and me, but I saw that if I could enticethem to its brink, they would be within range of my rifle. Once more staking down my horse, I tried every plan I could think of. Ilaid myself along the grass, upon my back, and kicked my heels in theair, but to no purpose: the game would not move from the water's edge. Remembering that my serape was of very brilliant colours, I bethought meof another plan which, when adroitly practised, rarely fails of success. Taking the blanket, I lashed one edge to the ramrod of my rifle, havingfirst passed the latter through the upper swivel of the piece. With thethumb of my left hand I was thus enabled to hold the rammer steady andtransverse to the barrel. I now dropped upon my knees--holding the gunshoulder-high--and the gay-coloured serape, spread out almost to itsfull extent, hung to the ground, and formed a complete cover for myperson. Before making these arrangements, I had crept to the very edge of thebarranca--in order to be as near as possible should the antelopesapproach upon the opposite side. Of course every manoeuvre was executed with all the silence and cautionI could observe. I was in no reckless humour to frighten off the game. Hunger was my monitor. I knew that not my breakfast alone, but my life, might be depending on the successful issue of the experiment. It was not long before I had the gratification of perceiving that mydecoy was likely to prove attractive. The prong-horned antelope, likemost animals of its kind, has one strongly developed propensity--that of_curiosity_. Although to a known enemy it is the most timid ofcreatures, yet in the presence of an object that is new to it, itappears to throw aside its timidity, or rather its curiosity overcomesits sense of fear; and, impelled by the former, it will approach verynear to any strange form, and regard it with an air of bewilderment. The prairie-wolf--a creature that surpasses even the fox in cunning--well knows this weakness of the antelope, and often takes advantage ofit. The wolf is less fleet than the antelope, and his pursuit of it ina direct manner would be vain; but with the astute creature, stratagemmakes up for the absence of speed. Should a "band" of antelopes chanceto be passing, the prairie-wolf lays himself flat upon the grass, clewshis body into a round ball, and thus rolls himself over the ground, orgoes through a series of contortions, all the while approaching nearerto his victims, until he has them within springing distance! Usually heis assisted in these manoeuvres by several companions--for theprairie-wolf is social, and hunts in packs. The square of bright colours soon produced its effect. The fiveprong-horns came trotting around the edge of the lake, halted, gazedupon it a moment, and then dashed off again to a greater distance. Soon, however, they turned and came running back--this time apparentlywith greater confidence, and a stronger feeling of curiosity. I couldhear them uttering their quick "snorts" as they tossed up their tinymuzzles and snuffed the air. Fortunately, the wind was in my favour, blowing directly from the game, and towards me; otherwise, they wouldhave "winded" me, and discovered the cheat--for they both know and fearthe scent of the human hunter. The band consisted of a young buck and four females--his wives; thenucleus, no doubt, of a much larger establishment in prospect--for theantelope is polygamous, and some of the older males have an extensivefollowing. I knew the buck by his greater size and forking horns, whichthe does want. He appeared to direct the actions of the others, as theyall stood in a line behind him, following and imitating his motions. At the second approach, they came within a hundred yards of me. Myrifle was equal to this range, and I prepared to fire. The leader wasnearest, and him I selected as the victim. Taking sight I pulled trigger. As soon as the smoke cleared off, I had the satisfaction of seeing thebuck down upon the prairie, in the act of giving his last kick. To mysurprise, none of the others had been frightened off by the report, butstood gazing at their fallen leader, apparently bewildered! I bethought me of reloading; but I had incautiously risen to my feet, and so revealed my form to the eyes of the antelopes. This produced aneffect which neither the crack of the rifle nor the fall of theircomrade had done; and the now terrified animals wheeled about and spedaway like the wind. In less than two minutes, they were beyond thereach of vision. The next question that arose was, how I was to get across the barranca. The tempting morsel lay upon the other side, and I therefore set aboutexamining the chasm in order to find a practicable crossing. This I fortunately discovered. On both sides, the cliff was somewhatbroken down, and might be scaled, though not without considerabledifficulty. After once more looking to the security of my horse's trail-rope, Iplaced my rifle where I had slept, and set out to cross the barranca, taking only my knife. I could have no use for the gun, and it wouldhinder me in scaling the cliffs. I succeeded in reaching to the bottom of the ravine, and commencedascending on the opposite side where it was steeper; but I was assistedby the branches of the trailing cedar that grew among the rocks. Inoticed, and with some surprise, that the path must have been usedbefore, either by men or animals. The soil that laid upon the ledgeswas "paddled" as by feet, and the rock in some places scratched anddiscoloured. These indications only caused me a momentary reflection. I was toohungry to dwell upon any thought but that of eating. At length I reached the scarp of the cliff, and having climbed out uponthe prairie, soon stood over the carcass of the prong-horn. My knifewas out in a trice, and next moment I was playing the part of thebutcher. You will no doubt fancy that the next thing I did was to go in search ofsomething to make a fire for the purpose of cooking my breakfast. I didnothing of the sort ate my breakfast without cooking. _I ate it raw_;and you been in my situation, delicate as you are, you would have donethe same. It is true that, after I had satisfied the first cravings of appetitewith the tongue of the antelope, and a few morsels of steak, I becamemore fastidious and thought a little roasting might improve the venison. For this purpose, I was about to return to the barranca, in order togather some sticks of cedar-wood, when my eyes fell upon an object thatdrove all thoughts of cookery out of my head, and sent a thrill ofterror to my heart. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. CHASED BY A "GRIZZLY. " The object that inspired me with such alarm was an animal--the mostdreaded of all that inhabit the prairies--the _grizzly bear_. This bear was one of the largest; but it was not his size that impressedme with fear, so much as the knowledge of his fierce nature. It was notthe first time I had encountered the grizzly bear; and I knew his habitswell. I was familiar with the form and aspect, and could not be mistaken as tothe species; the long shaggy pelage, the straight front, and broadfacial disk--which distinguishes this species from the _UrsusAmericanus_--the yellowish eyes, the large teeth, but half concealed bythe lips, and, above all, the long curving claws--the most prominentmarks of the grizzly bear, as they are his most formidable means ofattack--were all easily identified. When my eyes first rested upon the brute, he was just emerging out ofthe barranca at the very spot where I had climbed up myself. It was_his_ tracks, then, I had observed while scaling the cliff! On reaching the level of the prairie, he advanced a pace or two, andthen halting, reared himself erect, and stood upon his hind-legs; at thesame time he uttered a snorting sound, which resembled the "blowing" ofhogs when suddenly startled in the forest. For some moments he remainedin this upright attitude, rubbing his head with his fore-paws, andplaying his huge arms about after the manner of monkeys. In fact, as hestood fronting me, he looked not unlike a gigantic ape; and hisyellowish-red colour favoured a resemblance to the great ourang. When I say that I was terrified by the presence of this unwelcomeintruder, I speak no more than truth. Had I been on horseback, I shouldhave regarded the creature no more than the snail that crawled upon thegrass. The grizzly bear is too slow to overtake a horse; but I wasafoot, and knew that the animal could outrun me, however swift I mightdeem myself. To suppose that he would not attack me would have been to suppose animprobability. I did not reckon upon such a chance; I knew too well thedisposition of the enemy that was approaching. I knew that in ninecases out of ten the grizzly bear is the assailant--that no animal inAmerica will willingly risk a contest with him; and I am not certainthat the lion of Africa would wear his laurels after an encounter withthis fierce quadruped. Man himself shuns such an encounter, unless mounted upon the friendlyhorse; and even then, where the ground is not clear and open, theprudent trapper always gives "old Ephraim"--the prairie sobriquet of thegrizzly--a wide berth, and rides on without molesting him. The whitehunter reckons a grizzly bear equal in prowess to two Indians; while theIndian himself accounts the destruction of one of these animals a greatfeat in his life's history. Among Indian braves, a necklace of bear'sclaws is a badge of honour--since these adornments can be worn only bythe man who has himself killed the animals from which they have beentaken. On the other hand, the grizzly bear fears no adversary; he assails thelargest animals on sight. The elk, the moose, the bison, or wild-horse, if caught, is instantly killed. With a blow of his paw, he can lay openthe flesh, as if it had been gashed with an axe; and he can drag thebody of a full-grown buffalo to any distance. He rushes upon man, whether mounted or on foot; and a dozen hunters have retreated beforehis furious assault. A dozen bullets--ay, nearly twice that number--have been fired into the body of a grizzly bear without killing him; andonly a shot through the brain or the heart will prove instantaneouslymortal. Gifted with such tenacity of life and sanguinary fierceness ofdisposition, no wonder the grizzly bear is a dreaded creature. Were hepossessed of the fleetness of the lion or tiger, he would be a moreterrible assailant than either; and it is not too much to say that hishaunts would be unapproachable by man. Compared with the horse, however, he is slow of foot; and there is another circumstance scarcelyless favourable to those who pass through his district--he is not atree-climber. Indeed, he does not inhabit the forest; but there isusually some timber in the neighbourhood of his haunts; and many a lifehas been saved by his intended victim having taken refuge in a tree. I was well acquainted with these points in the natural history of thegrizzly bear; and you may fancy the feelings I experienced at findingmyself in the presence of one of the largest and fiercest upon the nakedplain, alone, dismounted, almost unarmed! There was not a bush where I could hide myself, not a tree into which Imight climb. There was no means of escape, and almost none of defence;the knife was the only weapon I had with me; my rifle I had left uponthe other side of the barranca, and to reach it was out of the question. Even could I have got to the path that led down the cliff, it wouldhave been madness to attempt crossing there; for although not atree-climber, the grizzly bear, by means of his great claws, could havescaled the cliff more expeditiously than I. Had I made the attempt, Ishould have been caught before I could have reached the bottom of theravine. The bear was directly in the path. It would have been literallyflinging myself "into his embrace" to have gone that way. These reflections occupy minutes of your time to _read_; I _thought_them in less than moments. A single glance around showed me the utterhelplessness of my situation; I saw there was no alternative but adesperate conflict--a conflict with the knife! Despair, that for a moment had unnerved, now had the effect of bracingme; and, fronting my fierce foe, I stood ready to receive him. I had heard of hunters having conquered and killed the grizzly bear withno other weapon than a knife--but; after a terrible and protractedstruggle--after many wounds; and sore loss of blood. I had read in thebook of a naturalist, that "a man might end a struggle with a bear in afew instants, if one hand be sufficiently at liberty to grasp the throatof the animal with the thumb and fingers externally, _just at the rootof the tongue_, as flight degree of compression there will generallysuffice to produce a spasm of the glottis, that will soon suffocate thebear beyond the power of offering resistance or doing injury. " Beautiful theory! Sagacious naturalist! How wouldst thou like to makethe experiment? Hast thou ever heard of birds being caught by theapplication of "salt to the tail!" The theory is as correct as thine, and I am certain the practice of it would not be more difficult! But I digress among these after-thoughts. I had no time to reflect upon"compressions of the tongue" or "spasms of the glottis. " My antagonistsoon finished his reconnaissance of me, and, dropping upon all-fours anduttering a loud scream, rushed towards me with open mouth. I had resolved to await his onset; but as he came nearer, and I beheldhis great gaunt form, his gleaming teeth, and his senna-coloured eyesflashing like fire, changed my design; a new thought came suddenly intomy mind; I turned and fled. The thought that prompted me to adopt this course was, that just then Iremembered the antelope I had shot; the bear might be attracted by thecarcass, and pause over it--maybe long enough to give me a start, orenable me to escape altogether. If not, my situation could be no worsethan it then was. Alas! my hope was short-lived. On reaching the antelope, the fiercemonster made no halt. I glanced back to see; he was already past it, and following rapidly upon my heels. I am a swift runner--one of the swiftest. Many a school-day triumph canI remember; but what was my speed against such a competitor! I was onlyrunning myself out of breath. I should be less prepared for thedesperate conflict that must, after all, take place; better for me toturn, and at once face the foe! I had half resolved--was about to turn, in fact--when an object flashedbefore my eyes that dazzled them. Inadvertently I had run in thedirection of the pond; I was now upon its edge. It was the sun gleamingfrom the water that had dazzled me--for the surface was calm as amirror. A new idea--a sort of half-hope--rushed into my mind. It was the strawto the drowning man. The fierce brute was close behind me; anotherinstant, and we must have grappled. "Not yet, not yet, " thought I. "I shall fight him in the water--in thedeep water: that may give me an advantage. Perhaps, then, the contestwill be more equal; perhaps I may escape by diving. " I sprang into the pond without a moment of hesitation. The water was knee-deep. I plunged onward, making for the centre; thespray rose round me; the pond deepened as I advanced; I was soon up tothe waist. I glanced around with anxious heart; the bear was standing upon theshore. To my surprise and joy, I saw that he had halted, and seemeddisinclined to follow me. I say, to my surprise I saw this, for I knew that water has no terrorsfor the grizzly bear; I knew that he could swim; I had seen many of hiskind crossing deep lakes and rapid rivers. What, then, hindered himfrom following me? I could not guess, nor, indeed, did I try to guess, at the moment; Ithought of nothing but getting farther from the shore, and waded on tillI had arrived near the centre of the lake and stood neck-deep in thewater. I could go no farther without swimming, and therefore came to astand, with my face turned towards my pursuer. I watched his every movement. He had risen once more upon hishind-quarters, and in this attitude stood looking after me, but stillapparently without any intention of taking to the water. After regarding me for some moments, he fell back upon all-fours, andcommenced running round the border of the pond, as if searching for aplace to enter. There were still not over two hundred paces between us, for the pond wasonly twice that in diameter. He could easily have reached me, had hefelt so disposed; but for some reason or other, he seemed disinclined toa "swim, " though for nearly half-an-hour he kept running backwards andforwards along the shore. Now and then he made short excursions out into the prairie; but alwaysreturned again, and regarded me afresh, as though determined not to losesight of me for any length of time. I was in hopes that he might strayround to the other side of the pond, and give me the chance of making arush for the ravine; but no; he continued on that side where he hadfirst appeared, as though he suspected my design. I knew not how long the siege was to last; but as I well understood theimplacable disposition of the grizzly bear, I could not hope that thescene would be otherwise than protracted. It lasted a long while--more than an hour I should think. I began todespair. I shivered. The pond must have been a spring, so chill wereits waters. I shivered, but kept my place; I dared not move out of it. I even feared to agitate the water around me, lest by so doing I mightexcite my fierce enemy, and tempt his onset. I shivered, but stoodstill. My patience was at length rewarded. The bear, making one of his shorttours into the prairie, espied the carcass of the antelope. I saw thathe had halted over something, though I could not tell what, for my eyeswere below the level of the plain. Presently his head was raised again, and in his jaws were the remains ofthe prong-horn. To my joy I perceived that he was dragging it towardsthe barranca, and in another minute he had disappeared with it behindthe cliff. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE TOUGHEST STRUGGLE OF MY LIFE. I swam a few strokes, and then wading gently and without noise, I stoodupon the sandy shore. With shivering frame and dripping garments, I stood, uncertain whatcourse to pursue. I was upon the opposite side of the lake--I meanopposite to where I had entered it. I had chosen that sideintentionally, lest the bear should suddenly return. He might depositthe carcass in his lair, and come back to look after me. It is a habitof these animals, when not pressed by immediate hunger, to bury theirfood or store it in their caves. Even the devouring of the littleantelope would have been an affair of only a few minutes' time, and thebear might still return, more ravenous that he had tasted blood. I was filled with irresolution. Should I run off across the plainbeyond the reach of pursuit? I should have to return again for my horseand rifle. To take to the prairie on foot would be like going to seawithout a boat. Even had I been sure of reaching the settlements insafety without my horse, I could not think of leaving him behind. Iloved my Moro too well for that: I would have risked life itself ratherthan part with the noble creature. No; the idea of deserting him wasnot entertained for a moment. But how was I to join him? The only path by which I could cross thebarranca had just been taken by the bear. The latter was no doubt stillupon it, in the bottom of the ravine. To attempt passing over would beto bring myself once more under the eyes of the fierce brute; and Ishould certainly become his victim. Another idea suggested itself--to go up the barranca, and find acrossing, or else head the chasm altogether, and come down upon theopposite side. That was possibly the best plan to pursue. I was about starting forward to execute it, when, to my dismay, I againbeheld the bear; this time, not upon the same side with myself, but uponthe opposite one, where Moro was picketed! He was just climbing out of the ravine when I first saw him--slowlydragging his huge body over the escarpment of the cliff. In a moment hestood erect upon the open plain. I was filled with a new consternation; I perceived too surely that hewas about to attack the horse! The latter had already observed the bear's approach, and seemed to befully aware of his danger. I had staked him at the distance of aboutfour hundred yards from the barranca, and upon a lazo of about twenty inlength. At sight of the bear he had run out to the end of histrail-rope, and was snorting and plunging with affright. This new dilemma arrested me, and I stood with anxious feelings to watchthe result. I had no hope of being able to yield the slightest aid tomy poor horse--at least none occurred to me at the moment. The bear made directly towards him, and my heart throbbed wildly as Isaw the brute approach almost within clawing distance. The horse spranground, however, and galloped upon a circle of which the lazo was theradius. I knew, from the hard jerks he had already given to the rope, that there was no chance of its yielding and freeing him. No; it was araw-hide lazo of the toughest thong. I knew its power, and I rememberedhow firmly I had driven home the picket-pin. This I now regretted. What would I have given to have been able at that moment to draw theblade of my knife across that rope! I continued to watch the struggle with a painful feeling of suspense. The horse still kept out of the bear's reach by galloping round thecircumference of the circle, while the boar made his attacks by crossingits chords, or running in circles of lesser diameter. The whole scenebore a resemblance to an act at the Hippodrome, Moro being the steed, and the bear taking the part of the ring-master! Once or twice, the rope circling round, and quite taut, caught upon thelegs of the bear, and, after carrying him along with it for somedistance, flung him over upon his back. This seemed to add to his rage, since, after recovering his legs again, he ran after the horse withredoubled fury. I could have been amused at the singular spectacle, butthat my mind was too painfully agitated about the result. The scene continued for some minutes without much change in the relativeposition of the actors. I began to hope that the bear might be baffledafter all, and finding the horse too nimble for him, might desist fromhis attacks, particularly as the horse had already administered to himseveral kicks that would have discomfited any other assailant. These, however, only rendered the brute more savage and vengeful. Just at this time the scene assumed a new phase, likely to bring aboutthe _denouement_. The rope had once more pressed against the bear; butthis time, instead of trying to avoid it, he seized it in his teeth andpaws. I thought at first he was going to cut it, and this was exactlywhat I wished for; but no--to my consternation I saw that he wascrawling along it by constantly renewing his hold, and thus graduallyand surely drawing nearer to his victim! The horse now screamed withterror! I could bear the sight no longer. I remembered that I had left my riflenear the edge of the barranca, and some distance from the horse; Iremembered, too, that after shooting the antelope, I had carefullyreloaded it. I ran forward to the cliff, and dashed madly down its face; I climbedthe opposite steep, and clutching the gun, rushed towards the scene ofstrife. I was still in time; the bear had not yet reached his victim, though nowwithin less than six feet of him. I advanced within ten paces, and fired. As though my shot had cut thethong, it gave way at the moment, and the horse with a wild neigh sprangoff into the prairie! I had hit the bear, as I afterwards ascertained, but not in a vitalpart, and my bullet had no more effect upon him than if it had been adrop of snipe-shot. It was the strength of despair that had broken therope, and set free the steed. It was my turn now--for the bear, as soon as he perceived that the horsehad escaped him, turned and sprang upon me, uttering, as he did so, aloud scream. I had no choice but fight. I had no time to reload. I struck the bruteonce with my clubbed rifle, and flinging the gun away, grasped thereadier knife. With the strong keen blade--the knife was a bowie--Istruck out before me; but the next moment I felt myself grappled andheld fast. The sharp claws tore up my flesh; one paw was griped over my hips, another rested on my shoulder, while the white teeth gleamed before myeyes. My knife-arm was free: I had watched this when grappling, andwith all the energy of despair I plunged the keen blade between the ribsof my antagonist. Again and again I plunged it, seeking for the heartat every stab. We rolled together upon the ground, over and over again. The red bloodcovered us both. I saw it welling from the lips of the fierce monster, and I joyed to think that my knife reached his vitals. I was wild--Iwas mad--I was burning with a fierce vengeance--with anger, such as onemight feel for a human foe! Over and over the ground in the fierce struggle of life and death. Again I felt the terrible claws, the tearing teeth; again sank my bladeup to the hilt. Gracious heaven! how many lives has he? Will he never yield to the redsteel? See the blood!--rivers of blood--the prairie is red--we roll inblood. I am sick--sick--I faint-- CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. OLD COMRADES. I fancied myself in a future world, battling with some fearful demon. No; those forms I see around me are of the earth. I still live! My wounds pain me. Some one is binding them up. His hand is rude; butthe tender expression of his eye tells me that his heart is kind. Whois he? Whence came he? I am still upon the wide prairie; I see that clearly enough. Where ismy terrible antagonist? I remember our fierce fight--everything thatoccurred; but--_I thought he had killed me_! I certainly _was_ dead. But no; it cannot have been. I still live! I see above me the blue sky--around me the green plain. Near me areforms--the forms of men, and yonder are horses too! Into whose hands have I fallen? Whoever they be they are friends; theymust have rescued me from the gripe of the monster? But how? No one was in sight: how could they have arrived in time? Iwould ask, but have not strength. The men are still bending over me. I observe one with large beard andbrown bushy workers. There is another face, old and thin, and tanned toa copper colour. My eyes wander from one to the other; some distantrecollections stir within me. Those faces-- Now I see them but dimly--I see them no longer I fainted, and was againinsensible. Once more I became conscious, and this time felt stronger: I couldbetter understand what was passing around me. I observed that the sunwas going down; a buffalo robe, suspended upon two upright saplings, guarded his slanting rays from the spot where I lay. My seraph wasunder me, and my head rested in my saddle, over which another robe hadbeen laid. I lay upon my side, and the position gave me a view of allthat was passing. A fire was burning near, by which were two persons, one seated, the other standing. My eyes passed from one to the other, scanning each in turn. The younger stood leaning on his rifle, looking into the fire. He wasthe type of a "mountain man, " a trapper. He was full six feet in hismoccasins, and of a build that suggested the idea of strength and Saxonancestry. His arms were like young oaks; and his hand grasping themuzzle of his gun, appeared large, fleshless, and muscular. His cheekwas broad and firm, and was partially covered with a bushy whisker, thatmet over the chin; while a beard of the same colour--dull brown--fringedhis lips. The eye was grey, or bluish grey, small, well-set, and rarelywandering. The hair was light brown; and the complexion of the face, which had evidently once been blonde, was now nearly as dark as that ofa half-breed. Sun-tan had produced this metamorphosis. The countenancewas prepossessing: it might have been once handsome. Its expression wasbold, but good-humoured, and bespoke a kind and generous nature. The dress of this individual was the well-known costume of his class--ahunting-shirt of dressed deer-skin, smoked to the softness of a glove;leggings reaching to the hips, and fringed down the seams; moccasins oftrue Indian make, soled with buffalo hide (_parfleche_). Thehunting-shirt was belted around the waist, but open above, so as toleave the throat and part of the breast uncovered; but over the breastcould be seen the under-shirt, of finer material--the dressed skin ofthe young antelope, or the fawn of the fallow-deer. A short cape, partof the hunting-shirt, hung gracefully over the shoulders, ending in adeep fringe cut out of the buckskin itself. A similar fringeembellished the draping of the skirt. On the head was a raccoon-cap--the face of the animal over the front, while the barred tail, like aplume, fell drooping over the left shoulder. The accoutrements were a bullet-pouch, made from the undressed skin of atiger-cat, ornamented with the head of the beautiful summer-duck. Thishung under the right arm, suspended by a shoulder-strap; and attached, in a similar manner, was a huge crescent-shaped horn, upon which wascarved many a strange souvenir. His arms consisted of a knife andpistol--both stuck in the waist-belt--and a long rifle, so straight thatthe line of the barrel seemed scarcely to deflect from that of the butt. But little attention had been paid to ornament in either his dress, arms, or equipments; and yet there was a gracefulness in the hang of histunic-like shirt, a stylishness about the fringing and bead-embroidery, and an air of jauntiness in the set of the 'coon-skin cap, that showedthe wearer was not altogether unmindful of his personal appearance. Asmall pouch or case, ornamented with stained porcupine quills, hung downupon his breast. This was the pipe-holder--no doubt a _gage d'amour_from some dark-eyed, dark-skinned damsel, like himself a denizen of thewilderness. His companion was very different in appearance; unlike him, in almostevery respect, unlike anybody in the world. The whole appearance of this individual was odd and striking. He wasseated on the opposite side of the fire, with his face partially turnedtowards me, and his head sunk down between a pair of long lank thighs. He looked more like the stump of a tree dressed in dirt-colouredbuckskin than a human being; and had his arms not been in motion, hemight have been mistaken for such an object. Both his arms and jawswere moving; the latter engaged in polishing a rib of meat which he hadhalf roasted over the coals. His dress--if dress it could be called--was simple as it was savage. Itconsisted of what might have once been a hunting-shirt, but which nowlooked more like a leathern bag with the bottom ripped open, and sleevessewed into the sides. It was of a dirty-brown colour, wrinkled at thehollow of the arms, patched round the armpits, and greasy all over; itwas fairly "caked" with dirt. There was no attempt at either ornamentor fringe. There had been a cape, but this had evidently been drawnupon from time to time for patches and other uses, until scarcely avestige of it remained. The leggings and moccasins were on a par withthe shirt, and seemed to have been manufactured out of the same hide. They, too, were dirt-brown, patched, wrinkled, and greasy. They did notmeet each other, but left bare a piece of the ankle, and that also wasdirt-brown like the buckskin. There was no undershirt, waistcoat, orother garment to be seen, with the exception of a close-fitting cap, which had once been catskin; but the hair was all worn off, leaving agreasy, leathery-looking surface, that corresponded well with the otherparts of the dress. Cap, shirt, leggings, and moccasins, looked as ifthey had never been stripped off since the day they were first tried on, and that might have been many a year ago. The shirt was open, displaying the naked breast and throat; and these, as well as the face, hands, and ankles, had been tanned by the sun and smoked by the fire tothe hue of rusty copper. The whole man, clothes and all, looked as ifhe had been smoked on purpose. His face bespoke a man of sixty, or thereabout; his features were sharp, and somewhat aquiline; and the small eyes were dark, quick, andpiercing. His hair was black, and cut short; his complexion had beennaturally brunette, though there was nothing of the Frenchman orSpaniard in his physiognomy. He was more likely of the black-Saxonbreed. As I looked at this man, I saw that there was a strangeness about him, independently of the oddness of his attire. There was somethingpeculiar about his head--something _wanting_. What was it that was wanting? It was his ears! There is something awful in a man without his ears. It suggests somehorrid drama--some terrible scene of cruel vengeance: it suggests theidea of crime committed and punishment inflicted. I might have had such unpleasant imaginings, but that I chanced to knowwhy those ears were wanting. I remembered the man who was sittingbefore me! It seemed a dream, or rather the re-enactment of an old scene. Yearsbefore, I had seen that individual, and for the first time, in asituation very similar. My eyes first rested upon him, seated as he wasnow, over a fire, roasting and eating. The attitude was the same; the_tout ensemble_ in no respect different. There was the same greasycatskin cap, the same scant leggings, the same brown buckskin coveringover the lanky frame. Perhaps neither shirt nor leggings had been takenoff since I last saw them. They appeared no dirtier, however; that wasnot possible. Nor was it possible, having once looked upon the wearer, ever to forget him. I remembered him at a glance--Reuben Bawling, or"Old Rube, " as he was more commonly called, one of the most celebratedof trappers. The younger man was "Bill Garey, " another celebrity of the sameprofession, and old Rube's partner and constant companion. My heart gladdened at the sight of these old acquaintances. I knew Iwas with friends. I was about to call out to them, when my eye wandering beyond restedupon the group of horses, and what I saw startled me from my recumbentposition. There was Rube's old, blind, bare-ribbed, high-boned, long-earedmare-mustang. Her lank grizzled body, naked tail, and mulish look, Iremembered well. There, too, was the large powerful horse of Garey, andthere was my own steed Moro picketed beside them! This was a joyfulsurprise to me, as he had galloped off after his escape from the bear, and I had felt anxious about recovering him. But it was not the sight of Moro that caused me to start withastonishment; it was at seeing another well-remembered animal--anotherhorse. Was I mistaken? Was it an illusion? Were my eyes or my fancyagain mocking me? No! It was a reality. There was the noble form, the graceful andsymmetrical outlines, the smooth coat of silver white, the flowing tail, the upright jetty ears--all were before my eyes. It was he--_the whitesteed of the prairies_! CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. A QUEER CONVERSATION. The surprise, with the exertion I had made in raising myself, overcameme, and I fell back in a swoon. It was but a momentary dizziness, and in a short while I was againconscious. Meanwhile, the two men had approached, and having applied something coldto my temples, stood near me conversing: I heard every word. "Durn the weemen!" (I recognised Rube's voice); "thur allers a gittin afellur into some scrape. Hyur's a putty pickle to be in, an all througha gurl. Durn the weemen! sez I. " "We-ell, " drawlingly responded Garey, "pre-haps he loves the gal. Theysez she's mighty hansum. Love's a strong feelin, Rube. " Although I had my eyes partially open, I could not see Rube, as he wasstanding behind the suspended robe; but a gurgling, clucking sound--somewhat like that made in pouring water from a bottle--reached my ears, and told me what effect Garey's remark had produced upon his companion. "Cuss me, Bill!" the latter at length rejoined--"cuss me! ef yur ain'tas durned a fool as the young fellur hisself! Love's a strong feelin!He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo! Wal, I guess it must a be to make sichdodrotted fools o' reezunable men. As yit, it hain't afooled thischild, I reck'n. " "You never knewd what love war, old hoss?" "Thur yur off o' the trail, Bill-ee. I _did_ oncest--yis, oncest I wurin love, plum to the toe-nails. But thet wur a gurl to git sweet on. Ye-es, thet she wur, an no mistake!" This speech ended in a sigh that sounded like the blowing of a buffalo. "Who wur the gal?" inquired Garey after a pause. "White, or Injun?" "Injun!" exclaimed Rube, in a contemptuous tone. "No; I reck'n not, boyee. I don't say thet, _for a wife_, an Injun ain't jest as good as awhite, an more convaynient she are to git shet of when yur tired o' her. I've hed a good grist o' squaws in my time--hef-a-dozen maybe, an maybemore--but this I _kin_ say, an no boastin neyther, thet I never sold asquaw yet for a plug o' bacca less than I gin for her; an on most o' 'emI made a clur profit. Thurfur, Billee, I don't object to a Injun fur awife: but _wives_ is one thing, an _sweethearts_ is diff'rent, when itcomes to thet. Now the gurl I'm a-talkin 'bout wur my sweetheart. " "She wur a white gal, then?" "Are allyblaster white? She wur white as the bleached skull o' ahuffier; an sesh har! 'Twur as red as the brush o' a kitfox! Eyes, too. Ah, Billee, boy, them wur eyes to squint out o'! They wur as bigas a buck's, an as soft as smoked fawn-skin. I never seed a pair o'eyes like hern!" "What wur her name?" "Her name wur Char'ty, an as near as I kin remember, her other name wurHolmes--Char'ty Holmes. Ye-es, thet wur the name. "'Twur upon Big-duck crick in the Tennessee bottom, the place whur thischild chawed his fust hoe-cake. Let me see--it ur now more'n thirtyyeer ago. I fust met the gurl at a candy-pullin; an I reccollex well wewur put to eat taffy agin one another. We ate till our lips met; anthen the kissin--thet wur kissin, boyee. Char'ty's lips wur sweeterthan the treakle itself! "We met oncest agin at a corn-shuckin, an arterwards at ablanket-trampin, an thur's whur the bisness wur done. I seed Char'ty'sankles as she wur a-trampin out the blankets, as white an smooth aspeeled poplar. Arter thet 'twur all up wi' Reuben Rawlins. Iapproached the gurl 'ithout more ado; an sez I: `Char'ty, ' sez I, `Ifreeze to you;' an sez she: `Reuben, I cottons to you. ' So Iimmeediantly made up to the ole squire--thet ur Squire Holmes--an axedhim for his darter. Durn the ole skunk! he refused to gin her to me! "Jest then, thur kum a pedlar from Kinneticut, all kivered wi' finebroadcloth. He made love to Char'ty; an wud yur b'lieve it, Bill? thegurl married him! Cuss the weemen! thur all alike. "I met the pedlar shortly arter, and gin _him_ sech a larrupin as laidhim up for a month; but I hed to clur out for it, an I then tuk to theplains. "I never seed Char'ty arterward, but I heerd o' her oncest from a fellurI kim acrosst on the Massoury. She wur a splendid critter; an if she urstill livin, she must hev a good grist o' young uns by this, for thefellur said she'd hed a kupple o' twins very shortly arter she wurmarried, with _har an eyes jest like herself_! Wal, thur's no kalklatinon weemen, any how. Jest see what this young fellur's got by tryin tosarve 'em. Wagh!" Up to this moment I took no part in the conversation, nor had Iindicated to either of the trappers that I was aware of their presence. Everything was enveloped in mystery. The presence of the white steedhad sufficiently astonished me, and not less that of my oldacquaintances, Rube and Garey. The whole scene was a puzzle. I was equally at a loss to account for their being acquainted with thecause that had brought _me_ there. That they were so, was evident fromtheir conversation. Where could they have procured their information onthis head? Neither of them had been at the rancheria, nor in the armyanywhere; certainly not, else I should have heard of them. Indeed, either of them would have made himself known to me, as a strongfriendship had formerly existed between us. But they alone could give me an explanation, and, without furtherconjecture, I turned to them. "Rube! Garey!" I said, holding out my hand. "Hilloo! yur a-comin too, young fellur. Thet's right; but thur now--laystill a bit--don't worrit yurself; y'ull be stronger by'm by. " "Take a sup o' this, " said the other, with an air of rude kindness, atthe same time holding out a small gourd, which I applied to my lips. Itwas _aguardiente_ of El Paso, better known among the mountain-men as"Pass-whisky. " The immediate effect of this strong, but not bad spirit, was to strengthen my nerves, and render me abler to converse. "I see you reccollects us, capt'n, " said Garey, apparently pleased atthe recognition. "Well, old comrades--well do I remember you. " "We ain't forgot you neyther. Rube an I often talked about ye. We manya time wondered what hed becomed o' you. We heerd, of coorse, that youhed gone back to the settlements, an that you hed come into gobs o'property, an hed to change yur name to git it--" "Durn the name!" interrupted Rube. "I'd change mine any day for a plugo' Jeemes River bacca; thet wud I sartint. " "No, capt'n, " continued the young trapper, without heeding Rube'sinterruption, "we hedn't forgot you, neyther of us. " "That we hedn't!" added Rube emphatically: "forgot ye--forgot the youngfellur as tuk ole Rube for a grizzly! He, he, he!--ho, ho, hoo! HowBill hyur did larf when I gin him the account o' that bissnes in thecave. Bill, boy, I niver seed you larf so in all my life. Ole Rube tukfor a grizzly! He, he, he!--Ho, ho, hoo!" And the old trapper went off into a fit of laughing that occupied nearlya minute. At the end of it, he continued:-- "Thet wur a kewrious bit o' dodgin--wa'nt it, young fellur? You savedmy ole karkidge thet time, an I ain't a-gwine to forgit it; no, thischild ain't. " "I think you have repaid me; you have rescued me from the bear?" "From _one_ bar _preehaps_ we did, but from t'other grizzly you rescooedyurself; an', young fellur, you must a fit a putty consid'able boutafore the vamint knocked under. The way you hev gin him the bowie ur acaution to snakes, I reck'n. " "What! were there two bears?" "Look thur! thur's a kupple, ain't thur?" The trapper pointed in the direction of the fire. Sure enough, thecarcasses of _two_ bears lay upon the ground, both skinned, andpartially cut up! "I fought with only one. " "An thet wur enuf at a time, an a leetle more, I reck'n. 'Tain't manyas lives to wag thur jaws arter a stan-up tussle wi' a grizzly. Wagh!how you must have fit, to a rubbed out thet bar!" "I _killed_ the bear, then?" "Thet you sartintly did, young fellur. When Bill an me kim on thegroun, the bar wur as dead as pickled pork. We thort yur case wa'nt anybetter. Thur you lay a-huggin the bar, an the bar a-huggin you, as efboth on yur hed gone to sleep in a sort o' friendly way, like thebabbies in the wood, exceptin thet you wa'nt kivered wi' leaves. Butthur wur yur claret a kiverin the paraira for yurds round. Thur wa'ntas much blood in you as wud a gin a leech his breakfist. " "The other bear?" "She kum arterwards out o' the gully. Bill, he wur gone to look arterthe white hoss. I wur sittin aside you, jest hyur, when I seed thevamint's snout pokin up. I knowd it wur the she-bar a-comin to seewhere ole Eph had strayed to. So I tuk up Targuts, an plummed thecritter in the eye, an thet wur the eend o' _her_ trampin. "Now, lookee hyur, young fellur! I ain't no doctur, neyther's Bill, butI knows enough about wownds to be sartint thet you must lay still, anstop talkin. Yur mighty bad scratched, I tell ye, but yur notdangerous, only you've got no blood in yur body, an you must wait tillit gathers agin. Take another suck out o' the gourd. Thur now, come, Billee! leave 'im alone. Le's go an hev a fresh toothfull o' bar-meat. " And so saying, the leathery figure moved off in the direction of thefire, followed by his younger companion. Although I was anxious to have a further explanation about the otherpoints that puzzled me--about the steed, the trappers' own presence, their knowledge of my wild hunt, and its antecedents--I knew it would beuseless to question Old Rube any further after what he had said; I wascompelled, therefore, to follow his advice, and remain quiet. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. VOWS OF VENGEANCE. I soon fell asleep again, and this time slept long and profoundly. It was after nightfall, --in fact, near midnight, when I awoke. The airhad grown chilly, but I found I had not been neglected; my serape waswrapped closely around me, and with a buffalo-robe, had sufficientlyprotected me from the cold while I slept. On awaking, I felt much better and stronger. I looked around for mycompanions. The fire had gone out--no doubt intentionally extinguished, lest its glare amid the darkness might attract the eye of some rovingIndian. The night was a clear one, though moonless; but the heaven wasspangled with its sparkling worlds, and the starlight enabled me to makeout the forms of the two trappers and the group of browsing horses. Ofthe former, one only was asleep; the other sat upright, keeping guardover the camp. He was motionless as a statue: but the small sparkgleaming like a glowworm from the bowl of his tobacco pipe, gave tokenof his wakefulness. Dim as the light was, I could distinguish theupright form to be that of the earless trapper. It was Garey who wassleeping. I could have wished it otherwise. I was anxious to have someconversation with the younger of my companions; I was longing for anexplanation, and I should have preferred addressing myself to Garey. My anxiety would not allow me to wait, and I turned towards Rube. Hesat near me, and I spoke in a low tone, so as not to awake the sleeper. "How came you to find me?" "By follerin yur trail. " "Oh, you followed me then! From the settlements?" "Not so fur. Bill an me wur camped in the chapparil, an spied you agallupin arter the white hoss, as ef all the devils out o' hell wurarter you. I knowd yur at a glimp; so did Bill. Sez I: `Bill, thetur's the young fellur as tuk me for a grizzly up thur in the mountains, 'and the reckoleckshun o' the sark'instance sot me a larfin till my oleribs ached. `It ur the same, ' sez Bill; an jest then, we met a Mexikinwho hed been yur guide, gallupin about in sarch o' you. He gin us astory 'bout some gurl thet hed sent you to catch the white hoss; somesaynyora with a dodrotted long name. `Durn the weemen!' sez I to Bill. Didn't I, Bill?" To this interesting interrogatory, Garey, who was but half asleep, gavean assenting grunt. "Wal, " continued Rube, "seem thur wur a pettycoat in the case, I sez toBill, sez I: `Thet young fellur ain't a-gwine to pull up till eyther hegrups the hoss, or the hoss gits clur off. ' "Now, I know'd you wur well mounted, but I knowd you wur arter thefastest critter on all these parairas; so I sez to Bill, sez I: `Billee, thur boun for a long gallup. ' Sez Bill: `Thet ur sartin. ' "Wal! Bill and me tuk the idee in our heads, thet you mout git lost, for we seed the white hoss wur a makin for the big paraira. It ain'tthe biggest paraira in creashun, but it ur one of the wust to gitstrayed on. Yur greenhorns wur all gone back, so Bill and me catched upour critters, an as soon as we kud saddle 'em, put arter you. When wekumd out in the paraira, we seed no signs o' you, 'ceptin yur trail. Thet we follered up; but it wur night long afore we got half way hyur, an wur obleeged to halt till sun-up. "Wal--in the mornin, the trail wur nurly blind, on account o' the rain;an it tuk us a good spell afore we reached the gully. `Thur, ' sez Bill, `the hoss hes jumped in, an hyur's the trail o' the young fellur leadindown the bank. ' Wal, we wur jest turn in to go down, when we seed yurown hoss a good ways off on the paraira, 'ithout saddle or bridle. Werid straight for him, an when we got closter, we seed somethin on thegroun, right under the hoss's nose. Thet somethin turned out to beyurself an the grizzly, lyin in grups, as quiet as a kupple o' sleepin'possums. Yur hoss wur a squealin like a bag o' wild-cats, an at fustBill an me thort you hed gone under. But upon a closter view, we seedyou wur only a faintin, while the bar wur as dead as a buck. Of coorsewe sot about docterin you, to fotch you roun agin. " "But the steed? the white steed?" "Bill hyur grupped him in the gully. A leetle further down it's stoppedup wi' big rocks. We knowd thet, for we'd been over this groun' afore. We knowd the hoss kudn't a got over the rocks, an Bill went arter anfoun him, on a ledge whur he hed clomb out o' reech o' the flood; anthen he lazooed the critter, an fotched 'im up hyur. Now, young fellur, you've got the hul story. " "An the hoss, " added Garey, rising from his recumbent position, "he'syourn, capt'n. Ef you hadn't rid him down, I couldn't a roped him soeasy. He's yourn, ef yu'll accept o' him. " "Thanks, thanks! not for the gift alone, but I may thank you for mylife. But for you, I might never have left this spot. Thanks! oldcomrades, thanks!" Every point was now cleared up. There was mystery no longer, though, from an expression which Garey had dropped, I still desired a word withhim in private. On further inquiry, I learned that the trappers were on their way totake part in the campaign. Some barbarous treatment they hadexperienced from Mexican soldiers at a frontier post, had rendered bothof them inveterate foes to Mexico; and Rube declared he would never becontented until he had "plugged a score of the yellur-hided vamints. "The breaking out of the war gave them the opportunity they desired, andthey were now on their way, from a distant part of prairie-land, to takea hand in it. The vehemence of their hostility towards the Mexicans somewhat surprisedme--as I knew it was a recent feeling with them--and I inquired moreparticularly into the nature of the ill-treatment they had received. They answered me by giving a detailed account of the affair. It hadoccurred at one of the Mexican frontier towns, where, upon a slightpretext, the trappers had been arrested and flogged, by order of thecommanding officer of the post. "Yes-s!" said Rube, the words hissing angrily through his teeth; "yes-s, flogged!--a mountain-man flogged by a cussed monkey of a Mexikin! Ne'era mind! ne'er a mind! By the 'tarnal God!--an when I say thet, I swarit--this niggur don't leave Mexiko till he hes rubbed out a soger forevery lash they gin him--an that's twenty!" "Hyur's another, old hoss!" cried Garey, with equal earnestness ofmanner--"hyur's another that swars the same oath!" "Yes, Billee, boy! I guess we'll count some in a skrimmage. Thur's twoa'ready! lookee thur, young fellur!" As Rube said this, he held his rifle close to my eyes, pointing with hisfinger to a particular part of the stock. I saw two small notchesfreshly cut in the wood. I knew well enough what these notches meant;they were a registry of the deaths of two Mexicans, who had fallen bythe hand or bullet of the trapper. They had not been the only victimsof that unerring and deadly weapon. On the same piece of wood-work Icould see long rows of similar _souvenirs_, apart from each other, onlydiffering a little in shape. I knew something of the signification ofthese horrible hieroglyphics; I knew they were the history of a lifefearfully spent--a life of red realities. The sight was far from pleasant. I turned my eyes away, and remainedsilent. "Mark me, young fellur!" continued Rube, who noticed that I was notgratified by the inspection; "don't mistake Bill Garey an me for wildbeests; we ain't thet quite; we've been mighty riled, I reck'n; but f'rall thet, we ain't a-gwine to take revenge on weemen an childer, asInjuns do. No--weemen an childer don't count, nor men neyther, unlessthur sogers. We've no spite agin the poor slaves o' Mexiko. _They_never did me nor Bill harm. We've been on one skurry, along wi' theYutaws, down to the Del Nort settlements. Thur's whur I made them twonicks; but neyther Bill or me laid a finger on the weemen an childer. It wur bekase the Injuns _did_, thet we left 'em. We're jest kum fromthur. We want fair fight among Christyun whites; thet's why we're hyur. Now, young fellur!" I was glad to hear Rube talk in this manner, and I so signified to him. Indianised as the old trapper was--with all his savageness, all hisreckless indifference to ordinary emotions--I knew there was still atouch of humanity in his breast. Indeed, on more than one occasion, Ihad witnessed singular displays of fine feeling on the part of Rube. Circumstanced as he was, he is not to be judged by the laws of civilisedlife. "Your intention, then, is to join some corps of rangers, is it not?" Iasked after a pause. "I shed like it, " replied Garey: "I shed like to join your company, capt'n; but Rube hyur won't consent to it. " "No!" exclaimed the other with emphasis; "I'll jine no kumpny. Thisniggur fights on his own hook. Yur see, young fellur, I hev been all mylife a free mountaineeman, an don't understan sogerin, nohow. I moutmake some mistake, or I moutn't like some o' the reg'lashuns; thurfor Iprefers fightin arter my own fashun. Bill an me kin take care o'ourselves, I reck'n. Kin we, Bill?--eh, boyee?" "I guess so, old hoss, " replied Garey mildly; "but for all that, Rube, Ithink it would be better to go at it in a reglar way--particlarly as thecapt'n hyur would make the sogerin part as easy as possible. Wudn'tyur, capt'n?" "The discipline of my corps is not very severe. We are _Rangers_, andour duties are different from those of regular soldiers--" "It ur no use, " interrupted Rube; "I must fight as I've allers fit, freeto kum an free to go whur I please. I won't bind myself to nuthin. Imoutn't like it, an mout desart. " "But by binding yourself, " suggested I, "you draw pay and rations;whereas--" "Durn pay an rashuns!" exclaimed the old trapper, striking the butt ofhis rifle upon the prairie. "Durn pay an rashuns! Young fellur, _Ifights for revenge_!" This was said in an energetic and conclusive manner, and I urged myadvice no further. "Look hyur, cap!" continued the speaker in a more subdued tone. "ThoughI ain't a-gwine to jine yur fellurs, yet thur ur a favour I wud axe fromyur; an thet is, to let me an Bill keep by you, or foller whuriver youlead. I don't want to spunge for rashuns; we'll git thet ef thur's ahead o' game in Mexiko, an ef thur ain't, why we _kin eat a Mexikin_. Can't we, Bill?--eh, boyee?" Garey knew this was one of Rube's jokes, and laughingly assented; addingat the same time, that he would prefer eating any other "sort o' avamint. " "Ne'er a mind!" continued Rube: "we ain't a-gwine to starve. So, youngfellur, ef you agrees to our goin on them tarms, yu'll heve a kupple o'rifles near you thet won't miss fire--_they_ won't. " "Enough! You shall go and come as you please. I shall be glad to haveyou near me, without binding you to any term of service. " "Hooray!--thet's the sort for us! Kum, Billee!--gie's another suck outo' yur gourd. Hyur's success to the Stars and Stripes! Hooray forTexas!" CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. A "Weed"-Prairie on Fire. My recovery was rapid. My wounds, though deep, were not dangerous; theywere only flesh-wounds, and closed rapidly under the cauterisinginfluence of the _lechuguilla_. Rude as my doctors were, in the matterof such a malady, I could not have fallen into better hands. Both, during their lives of accident and exposure, had ample practice in thehealing art; and I would have trusted either, in the curing of arattle-snake's bite, or the tear of a grizzly bear's claw, in preferenceto the most accomplished surgeon. Old Rube, in particular, thoroughlyunderstood the simple pharmacopoeia of the prairies; and his applicationto my wounds of the sap of the _pita_ plant, obtained among the rocks ofthe ravine, bespoke his skill. This plant, a bromelia, is of the samegenus as the _Agave Americana_, and by travellers often confounded withthe latter, though quite a distinct plant from the _maguey_ ofcultivation. It grows in most parts of Mexico and South America, extending as far north as the latitude of 30 degrees, and even farther. There is no spot too arid or barren to give support to it. It is a truedesert plant; and even on the naked rock, its curved and thorny bladesmay be seen radiating on all sides from the tall flower-stalk, thatshoots upward like a signal-staff, to the height of twenty feet. Asalready observed, its uses are manifold: the fibre of its leaves can bemanufactured into thread, cordage, and cloth; fences are constructed ofthe growing plant, and thatch of the blades when cut; its sap, distilled, furnishes the fiery but not unwholesome mezcal; and the largeegg-shaped core or stem is eaten for food. Tribes of Indians--Lipans, Comanches, and Apaches--use it extensively as an article of diet. Onebranch of the great Apache nation are distinguished--"_Mezcaleros_"(eaters of the mezcal-plant). They bake it in ground-ovens of heatedstones, along with the flesh of the wild-horse. It is firm when cooked, with a translucent appearance like candied fruits. I have eaten it; itis palatable--I might say delicious. The mastication of it isaccompanied by a prinkling sensation upon the tongue, singular to oneunaccustomed to it. It is a gift of nature to the desert regions--whereit grows in greatest luxuriance, and where it serves the same purpose inthe economy of the savage natives as the _ixias, mesembryanthemums_, and_zarnias_ (the Caffre bread), upon the arid karoos of Southern Africa. One of the most esteemed qualities of this bromelia is the cauterisingproperty of its juice--well known to the natives of the Mexicantable-land, and to the Peruvians, where several species are found oflike virtues. It will cause ordinary wounds to cicatrise in a fewhours, and even "ugly gashes" will yield to it in time. My companions had full knowledge of its effects; and, having extractedthe sap from its large succulent leaves, and boiled it to theconsistency of honey, they applied it to my wounds. This operation theyfrom time to time repeated, and the scratches were healed in a periodmarvellously short. My strength, too, was soon restored. Garey withhis gun catered for the cuisine, and the ruffed grouse, the prairiepartridge, and roasted ribs of fresh venison, were dainties even to aninvalid. In three days I was strong enough to mount; and bidding adieu to ourcamping-ground, we all three set forth, taking with us our beautifulcaptive. He was still as wild as a deer; but we had adopted precautionsto prevent him from getting away from us. The trappers led him betweenthem, secured to the saddles of both by a lazo. We did not return in the direction of our old trail; my companions knewa shorter route--at least one upon which we should sooner reach water--and that is the most important consideration on a prairie-journey. Weheaded in a more westerly direction; by which, keeping in a straightline, we expected to strike the Rio Grande some distance above therancheria. The sky was leaden-grey--the sun not being visible--and with no guide inthe heavens, we knew that we might easily diverge from a direct course. To provide against this, my companions had recourse to a compass oftheir own invention. On taking our departure from camp, a sapling was stuck into the ground, and upon the top of this was adjusted a piece of bear's-skin, which, with the long hair upon it, could be distinguished at the distance of amile or more. The direction having been determined upon, another wand, similarly garnished with a tuft of the bear's-skin, was set up severalhundred yards distant from the first. Turning our backs upon these signal-posts, we rode off with perfectconfidence, glancing back at intervals to make sure we were keeping theline. So long as they remained in sight, and _aligned_ with each other, we could not otherwise than travel in a straight path. It was aningenious contrivance, but it was not the first time I had been witnessto the ingenuity of my trapper-friends, and therefore I was notastonished. When the black tufts were well-nigh hidden from view, a similar pair--the materials for which had been brought along--were erected; and theseinsured our direction for another stretch of a mile; then fresh saplingswere planted; and so on, till we had passed over six miles of the plain. We now came in sight of timber right ahead of us, and apparently aboutfive miles distant. Towards this we directed our course. We reached the timber about noon, and found it to consist of black-jackand post-oak groves, with mezquite and wild china-trees interspersed, and here and there some taller trees of the honey-locust (_Gleditschiatriacanthos_). It was not a close forest, but a succession of groves, with openings between--avenues and grassy glades. There were many pleasant spots, and, faint with the ride, I would fainhave chosen one of them for a resting-place; but there was no water, andwithout water we could not halt. A short distance farther, and weshould reach a stream--a small _arroyo_, an affluent of the Rio Grande. So promised my companions, and we rode onward. After passing a mile or so through the timber-openings, we came out onthe edge of a prairie of considerable extent. It was full three milesin diameter, and differed altogether from the plain we had left behindus. It was of the kind known in hunter phraseology as a"weed-prairie"--that is, instead of having a grassy turf, its surfacewas covered in a thick growth of flowering-plants, as _helianthus, malvas, altheas, hibiscus_, and other tall annuals standing side byside, and frequently laced together by wild-pea vines and variousspecies of convolvulus. Such a flower-prairie was the one now beforeus, but not a flower was in sight; they had all bloomed, faded, andfallen--perhaps unseen by human eye--and the withered stalks, burned bya hot sun, looked brown and forbidding. They tracked and broke at theslightest touch, their seed-pods shelling their contents like rain uponthe loose earth. Instead of striking across this prairie, we skirted around its edge; andat no great distance arrived on the banks of the arroyo. We had made but a short march; but my companions, fearful that a longerride might bring on fever, proposed to encamp there for the night, andfinish our journey on the following day. Though I felt strong enough tohave gone farther, I made no objection to the proposal; and our horseswere at once unsaddled and picketed near the banks of the arroyo. The stream ran through a little bottom-valley covered with a sward ofgrass, and upon this we staked our steeds; but a better place offeredfor our camp upon the higher ground; and we chose a spot under the shadeof a large locust-tree, upon the edge of the great wilderness of weeds. To this place we carried our saddles, bridles, and blankets, and havingcollected a quantity of dead branches, kindled our camp-fire. We had already quenched our thirst at the stream, but, although we wereall three hungry enough, the dried flesh of the grizzly bear proved buta poor repast. The rivulet looked promising for fish. Garey had bothhooks and line in his "possible sack, " and I proposed the angle. The young trapper soon baited his hooks; and he and I, repairing to thestream, cast our lines, sat down, and waited for a nibble. Fishing was not to Rube's taste. For a few minutes he stood watchingus, but evidently with little interest, either in the sport, or what itmight produce. Rube was not a fish-eater. "Durn yur fish!" exclaimed he at length: "I'd ruther hev a hunk o'deer-meat than all the fish in Texas. I'll jest see ef I kin scare upsomethin; the place looks likely for deer--it do. " So saying, the old trapper shouldered his long rifle, and stalking offup the bank, was soon out of sight. Garey and I continued bobbing with but indifferent success. We had succeeded in drawing out a couple of cat-fish, not the mostpalatable of the finny tribe, when the crack of Rube's rifle sounded inour ears. It seemed to come from the weed-prairie, and we both ran upon the high bank to ascertain what success had attended the shot. Sure enough, Rube was out in the prairie, nearly half a mile distantfrom the camp. His head and shoulders were just visible above the tallstalks of the helianthus; and we could see, by his stooping atintervals, that he was bending over some game he had killed, skinning orcutting it up. The game we could not see, on account of the interposedculms of the weeds. "A deer, I reck'n, " remarked Garey. "Buffler don't often o' late yearsstray so far to the southert, though I've killed some on the Grande, higher up. " Without other remark passing between us, we descended to the arroyo, andrecommenced our fishing. We took it for granted that Rube did notrequire any aid, or he would have signalled to us. He would soon returnwith his game to the camp. We had just discovered that silver-fish (a species of _hyodori_) wereplentiful in the stream, and this kept our attention fixed. We weredesirous of taking some of them for our dinner, knowing them to beexcellent eating, and far superior to the despised "cat. " Having changed our bait for some small pieces of gold-lace, which myuniform furnished, we succeeded in pulling several of these beautifulcreatures out of the water; and were congratulating one another upon thedelicious broil we should have, when our conversation was suddenlyinterrupted by a crackling noise, that caused both of us to turn ourfaces towards the prairie. The sight that met our eyes prompted us to spring simultaneously to ourfeet. Our horses already reared upon their lazoes--neighing withaffright--and the wild screams of Rube's mustang-mare were loud andcontinuous. There was no mystery about the cause; that was obvious at aglance. The wind had blown some sparks among the dry flower-stalks. The weed-prairie was on fire! Though startled at the first sight of the conflagration, for ourselveswe had nothing to fear. The bottom on which we stood was a sward ofshort buffalo-grass; it was not likely to catch fire, and even if itdid, we could easily escape from it. There is not much danger in aburning prairie where the grass is light and short; one can dash throughthe line of flame, with no greater injury than the singeing of his hair, or a little suffocation from the smoke; but upon a plain covered withrank and thick vegetation, the case is very different. We thereforefelt no apprehension for ourselves, but we did for our companion; _his_situation filled us with alarm. Was he still where we had last seen him? This was the first question weasked one another. If so, then his peril was great indeed; his escapewould be almost hopeless! We had observed him a full half-mile out among the weeds, and on foottoo. To have attempted a retreat towards the opposite side of theprairie, would have been folly: it was three miles off. Even onhorseback, the flames would have overtaken him! Mounted, or on foot, hecould not have got out of the way through those tall stalks--laced asthey were by pea-vines and other trailing plants--whose tough tanglewould have hindered the progress even of the strongest horse! To have returned to the near side would be his only chance; but thatwould be in the very face of the fire, and, unless he had started longbefore the flames broke out, it was evident that his retreat in thatdirection would be cut off. As already stated, the weeds were as dry astinder; and the flames, impelled by gusts of wind, at intervals shot outtheir red tongues, licking up the withered stalks, coiling like serpentsaround them, and consuming them almost instantaneously. Filled with forebodings, my companion and I ran in the direction of theprairie. When first noticed by us, the fire had extended but a few yards on eachside of the locust-tree we had chosen for our camp. We were notopposite this point at the moment, having gone a little way down thearroyo; we ran, therefore, not towards the camp, but for the nearestpoint of high ground, in order to discover the situation of our friend. On reaching the high ground, about two hundred yards from the locust, wesaw to our astonishment that the fire had already spread, and was nowburning forward to the spot where we had climbed up! We had only a moment to glance outward, when the conflagration, hissingand crackling as it passed, rolled in front of us, and with its wall offlame shut off our view of the prairie. But that glance had shown us all, and filled our hearts with sorrow anddismay; it revealed the situation of the trapper--no longer a situationof peril, but, as we supposed, of certain death! He was still in the place where we had last seen him; he had evidentlymade no attempt to escape from it. Perhaps the knowledge that such anattempt must have failed, and hindered him from making it. Thereflection that he might as well die where he stood, as be licked up bythe flames in the act of fleeing from them, had bound him to the spot, wavering and undecided! Oh! it was a dread sight to see that old man, hardened sinner that hewas about to be snatched into eternity! I remember his wild look, as the red flame, roiling between us, shut himfrom our sight! We saw him but for a single instant: his head andshoulders were alone visible above the tall weeds. He made no signeither with voice or arm; but I fancied that even at that distance Icould read his glance of despair! Was there no hope? Could no exertion be made to rescue him? Could hedo nothing for himself? Was there no chance of his being able to cleara circle round him, and burn off a space before the line of fire couldcome up? Such a ruse has often availed, but no--never in such a groundas that! The weeds were too thick and tall--it could not be done--Gareysaid it could not be done. There was no hope, then. _The old trapper was lost_! CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. RUBE ROASTED ALIVE. Doomed beyond doubt--doomed to quick, awful, and certain death was theearless trapper. In five minutes more he must perish. The wall offlame, moving faster than charging cavalry, would soon envelope him, andsurer than the carbine's volley or the keen sabre-cut was the deathborne forward upon the wings of that hissing, crackling cohort of fire. Here and there, tall jets, shooting suddenly upward, stalked far inadvance of the main line--fiery giants, with red arms stretched forth, as if eager to grasp their victim. Already their hot breath was uponhim; another minute, and he must perish! In a sort of stupor we stood, Garey and I, watching the advance of theflames. Neither of us uttered a word: painful emotions preventedspeech. Both our hearts were beating audibly. Mine was bitterly wrung;but I knew that the heart of my companion was enduring the very acme ofanguish. I glanced upward to his face: his eye was fixed, and lookedsteadfastly in one direction--as though it would pierce the sheet offlame that rolled farther and farther from where we stood, and nearer tothe fatal spot. The expression of Garey's eye was fearful to behold; itwas a look of concentrated agony. A single tear had escaped from it, and was rolling down the rude weather-bronzed cheek, little used to suchbedewing. The broad chest was heaving in short quick spasms, and it wasevident the man was struggling with his breath. He was listeningthrough all this intensity of gaze--listening for the death-shriek ofhis old comrade--his bosom-friend! Not long was the suspense; though there was no shriek, no cry of humanvoice, to indicate the crisis. If any arose, it was not heard by us. It could not have been; it would have been drowned amid the roar of theflames, and the crackling of the hollow culms, whose pent-up gases, setfree by the fire, sounded like the continuous rolling of musketry. Nodeath-cry fell upon our ears; but, for all that, we were satisfied thatthe drama had reached its _denouement_: the unfortunate trapper had beenroasted alive! Already the flames had passed over the spot where we had last seen him--far beyond--leaving the ground charred and black behind them. Thoughthe smoke hindered our _view_ of the plain, we knew that the climax hadpassed: the hapless victim had succumbed; and it remained only to lookfor his bones among the smouldering ashes. Up to this moment Garey had stood in a fixed attitude, silent and rigidas a statue. It was not hope that had held him thus spell-bound; he hadentertained no such feeling from the first: it was rather a paralysisproduced by despair. Now that the crisis was over, and he felt certain that his comrade hadperished, his muscles, so long held in tension, suddenly relaxed--hisarms fell loosely to his sides--the tears chased each other over hischeeks--his head reclined forward, and in a hoarse husky voice heexclaimed: "O God! he's rubbed out, rubbed out! We've seed the last o' poor OldRube!" My sorrow, though perhaps not so keen as that of my companion, wasnevertheless sufficiently painful. I knew the earless trapper well--hadbeen his associate under strange circumstances--amid scenes of dangerthat draw men's hearts more closely together than any phrases offlattery or compliment. More than once had I seen him tried in the hourof peril; and I knew that, notwithstanding the wildness and eccentricityof his character--of his crimes, I might add--his heart, ill directed byearly education, ill guided by after-association, was still rife withmany virtues. Many proofs of this could I recall; and I confess that afeeling akin to friendship had sprung up between myself and thissingular man. Between him and Garey the ties were still stronger. Long andinseparable companionship--years of participation in a life of hardshipsand perils--like thoughts and habitudes--though perhaps dispositions, age, and characters a good deal unlike--all had combined to unite thetwo in a firm bond of friendship. To use their own expressive phrase, they "_froze_" to each other. No wonder then that the look, with whichthe young trapper regarded that black plain, was one of indescribableanguish. To his mournful speech I made no reply. What could I have said? Icould not offer consolation. I was grieving as well as he: my silencewas but an assent to his sad soliloquy. After a moment he continued, his voice still tremulous with sorrow-- "Come, commarade! It are no use our cryin like a kupple o' squaws. " With his large finger he dashed the tears aside, as if ashamed of havingshed them. "It are all over now, " he continued. "Let's look arter his bones--thatis, if thar's anythin left o' 'em--and gie 'em Christyun burial. Come!" We caught our horses, and mounting, rode off over the burnt ground. The hoofs of the animals tossed up the smouldering ashes as we advanced, the hot red cinders causing them to prance. The smoke pained our eyes, and prevented us from seeing far ahead; but we guided ourselves as wellas we could towards the point where we had last seen the trapper, andwhere we expected to find his remains. On nearing the spot, our eyes fell upon a dark mass that lay upon theplain: but it appeared much larger than the body of a man. We could notmake out what it was, until within a few feet of it, and even then itwas difficult to recognise it as the carcass of a buffalo--though trulyin reality it was. It was no doubt the game which the hunter hadkilled. It rested as it had fallen--as these animals usually fall--uponthe breast, with legs widely spread, and humped shoulders upward. We could perceive that the unfortunate man had nearly finished skinningit--for the hide, parted along the spine, had been removed from the backand sides, and with the fleshy side turned outward, was hanging to theground, so as to conceal the lower half of the carcass. The wholesurface was burnt to the colour of charcoal. But where were the remains of the hunter? They were nowhere to be seennear the spot. The smoke had now cleared away sufficiently to enable usto observe the ground for several hundred yards around us. An object ofsmall dimensions could have been distinguished upon the now baresurface; but none was seen. Yes! a mass lay close to the carcass, whichdrew our attention for a moment; but on riding up to it we perceivedthat it was the stomach and intestines of the buffalo, black and halfbroiled. But where were the bones of Rube? Had he got away from the spot, andperished elsewhere? We glanced towards the fire still raging on the distant plain. No: it was not probable he had moved thence. By the last look we hadobtained of him, he did not appear to be making any effort to escape, and he could scarcely have gone a hundred yards before the flames sweptover the spot and must have enveloped him. How then? Were his bones entirely consumed--calcined--reduced to ashes?The lean, withered, dried-up body of the old mountain-man favoured sucha supposition; and we began seriously to entertain it--for in no otherway could we account for the total absence of all remains! For some moments we sat in our saddles under the influence of strangeemotions, but without exchanging a word. We scanned the black plainround and round. The smoke no longer hindered our view of the ground. In the weed-prairies there is no grassy turf; and the dry herbaceousstems of the annuals had burned out with the rapidity of blazing flax, so that nothing was left to cause a smoke. The fire was red or dead inan instant. We could see clear enough all the surface of the ground, but nothing that resembled the remains of a human being! "No, " said Garey, with a long-drawn sigh. "Poor Old Rube! The classedthing has burned him to ashes--bones an all! Thur ain't as much o' 'imleft as 'ud fill a tabacca-pipe!" "The hell, thur ain't!" replied a voice that caused both of us to startin our saddles, as if it had been Rube's ghost that addressed us--"thehell, thur ain't!" repeated the voice, as though it came out of theground beneath our feet. "Thur's enough o' Ole Rube left to fill thestummuk o' this hyur buffler; an by the jumpin Geehosophat, a tight fitit ur! Wagh! I'm well-nigh sufflocated! Gie's yur claws, Bill, anpull me out o' this hyur trap!" To our astonishment the pendent hide of the buffalo was raised by aninvisible hand; and underneath appeared, protruding through a hole inthe side of the carcass, the unmistakable physiognomy of the earlesstrapper! There was something so ludicrous in the apparition, that the sight ofit, combined with the joyful reaction of our feelings, sent both Gareyand myself into convulsions of laughter. The young trapper lay back inthe saddle to give freer play to his lungs; and his loud cachinnations, varied at intervals by savage yells, caused our horses to dance about asif they anticipated an onslaught of Indians! At first I could detect a significant smile at the angles formed byRube's thin lips; but this disappeared as the laughter continued toolong for his patience. "Cuss yur larfin!" cried he at length. "Kum, Billee, boy! Lay holthyur, an gi' me a help, or I must wriggle out o' meself. The durnedhole ain't es big es twur when I krep in. Durn it, man, make haste!I'm better'n half-baked!" Garey now leaped from his horse, and taking hold of his comrade by the"claws, " drew him out of his singular hiding-place. But the appearanceof the old trapper, as he stood erect--red, reeking, and greasy--was sosupremely ludicrous, that both Garey and I were driven off into a freshfit of laughter, which lasted for several minutes. Rube, once released from his uncomfortable situation, paid not theslightest attention to our mirth; but stooping down, drew out his longrifle--from where he had secured it under the hanging skin--and afterhaving examined the piece, to see that no harm had come to it, he laidit gently across the horns of the bull. Then taking the bowie from hisbelt, he quietly proceeded with the skinning of the buffalo, as ifnothing had happened to interrupt the operation! Meanwhile Garey and I had laughed ourselves hoarse, and, moreover, werebrimful of curiosity to know the particulars of Rube's adventure; butfor some time he fought shy of our queries, and pretended to be "miffed"at the manner in which we had _welcomed him to life_ again. It was all pretence, however, as Garey well knew; and the latter, havingthrust into his comrade's hand the gourd, still containing a small dropof _aguardiente_, soon conciliated him; and after a little more coaxing, the old trapper condescended to give us the details of his curiousescapade. Thus ran his narration:-- "Ee wur both o' yur mighty green to think thet arter fightin grizzly baran Injun for nigh forty yeern on these hyur parairas, I wur a-gwine tobe rubbed out by a spunk o' fire like thet. Preehaps 'twur nat'ralenough for the young fellur hyur to take me for a greenhorn--seein as heoncest tuk me for a _grizzly_. He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo! I say it wur, an ur nat'ral enough for him to a thort so; but _you_ mout a knowdbetter--_you_, Bill Garey, seein as ee oughter knowd _me_. "Wal!" continued Rube, after another "suck" at the gourd, "when I seedthe weeds afire, I knowd it wa'nt no use makin tracks. Preehaps if I'da spied the thing when the bleeze fust broke out, I mout a run for it, an mout a hed time; but I wur busy skinnin this hyur beest, wi' my headclost down to the karkidge, an thurfor didn't see nuthin till I heernthe cracklin, an in coorse thur wa'nt the ghost o' a chance to git clurthen. I seed thet at the fust glimp. "I ain't a-gwine to say I wa'nt skeeart; I wur skeeart an bad skeearttoo. I thort for a spell, I wur boun to _go under_. "Jest then I sot my eyes upon the burner. I hed got the critter 'bouthalf-skinned, as ee see; an the idee kim inter my head, I mout crawlsomehow under, an pull the hide over me. I tried thet plan fust; but Ikudnt git kivered to my saterfaction, an I gin it up. "A better idee then kim uppermost, an thet wur to clur out the anymal'sinside, an thur _cache_. I reck'n I wa'nt long in cuttin out a wheen o'the buffer's ribs, an tarin out the guts; an I wa'nt long neyther insquezzin my karkidge, feet fo'most, through the hole. "I hedn't need to a been long; it wur a close shave an a tight fit, _it_wur. Jest as I hed got my head 'bout half through, the bleeze kimswizzin round, an nearly singed the _ears off me_. He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo!" Garey and I joined in the laugh, at what we both knew to be one of OldRube's favourite jokes; but Rube himself chuckled so long, that webecame impatient to hear the end of his adventure. "Well!" interrupted Garey, "consarn your old skin! what next?" "Wagh!" continued the trapper, "the way thet bleeze did kum wur acaution to snakes. It roared an screeched, an yowlted, an hissed, anthe weeds crackled like a million o' wagon-whups! I wur like to bespinicated wi' the smoke; but I contruv to pull down the flap o' hide, an thet gin me some relief--though I wur well-nigh choked afore I gotthe thing fixed. So thur I lay till I heern you fellurs palaverin abouta 'bacca-pipe, and thurfor I knowd the hul thing wur over. Wagh!" And with this exclamation Rube ended his narration, and once more betookhimself to the butchering of the already half-roasted buffalo. Garey and I lent a hand; and having cut out the hump-ribs and othertitbits, we returned to the camp. What with broiled hyodons, roastribs, tongue, and marrow-bones, we had no reason for that night to bedissatisfied with the hospitality of the prairies. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. THE MESA. After a breakfast of buffalo-flesh, seasoned with splendid appetites, and washed down by a cup of cold water from the arroyo, we "saddled up, "and headed for a high _butte_, just visible over the plain. My companions knew the landmark well. It lay directly in our route. Weshould pass near its base, and a ride of ten miles farther would bringus to the end of our journey; indeed, the eminence was within sight ofthe rancheria. From the roof of the alcalde's house I had frequentlynoticed it outlined against the horizon, in a north-westerly directionfrom the village. In clear weather only was it visible. Struck with the singularity of this prairie-mound, I had longed toexamine it, and had even projected a visit to it; but circumstances hadprevented me from carrying out my intention. I was at length to havethe pleasure of a nearer acquaintance with it. I have called it singular. Most isolated hills are conical, dome-shaped, or ridge-like; this one differed from the usualconfiguration--hence its singularity. It presented the appearance of ahuge box set upon the prairie, not unlike that rare formation, the"cofre, " which crowns the summit of the mountain Perote. Its sides inthe distance appeared perfectly vertical, and its top horizontal as theplain on which it rested. As we drew nearer, I could perceive by the dark parapet-like band alongits crest that it was covered with a growth of timber. This was themore readily observed from contrast with the perpendicular sides, whichwere almost of a snowy whiteness, on account of the gypsum, chalk, ormilky quartz of which the rock was composed. The most peculiar feature of the mound was perhaps its apparentlyregular form--a perfect parallelopipedon. But it was striking in otherrespects. Its sides glistened fantastically under the rays of the sun, as though it were studded with settings of glass. This, however, waseasily accounted for; and I knew that the sparkling effect was producedby plates of mica or selenite that entered into the composition of therock. I had seen large mountains that presented a similar appearance. More than one such exist in the great American Saara, in whoseglittering cliffs, viewed from afar, may be found the origin of thatwild chimera, the _mountain of gold_. Although neither a mountain of gold nor silver, the mound in questionwas an object of rare interest. A very enchanted castle it did appear, and it was difficult to assign its formation to nature alone. Humanagency, one could not help fancying, must have had something to do inpiling up a structure so regular and compact. But he who has travelled over much of the earth's surface will have metwith many "freaks" of nature, exhibiting like appearance of design, inher world of inorganic matter. It was, in fact, one of thoseformations, of which many are met with in the plateaux-lands of America, known in Spanish phraseology as _mesas_. This name is given to them inallusion to the flat table-like tops, which distinguish them from otherelevated summits. Sometimes one of these mesas is found hundreds of miles from any similareminence; more frequently a number of them stand near each other, liketruncated cones--the summits of all being on the same level, and oftencovered with a vegetation differing materially from that of thesurrounding plains. Geologists have affirmed that these table-tops are the ancient level ofthe plains themselves; and that all around, and intervening betweenthem, has either sunk or submitted to the degradation of water! It is a vague explanation, and scarcely satisfies the speculative mind. The _mesa_ of Mexico is still a geological puzzle. As we approached this singular object, I could not help regarding itwith a degree of curiosity. I had seen mesa heights before--in the"mauvaise terre, " upon the Missouri, in the Navajo country west of theRocky Mountains, and along the edges of the "Llano Estacado, " which ofitself is a vast mesa. The mound before us was peculiar, from its very regular form, and thesparkling sheen of its cliffs. Its complete isolation, moreover, addedto the effect--for no other eminence appeared in sight. The low hillsthat bordered the Rio Grande could barely be distinguished in thedistance. On getting nearer to it, its character became somewhat altered; thesquare box-like form appeared less regular, and it was then perceivedthat the parallelopipedon was not perfect. Slight ledges could betraced traversing the face of its cliffs, and here and there therectangular lines were broken to the eye. Nature, after all, had notbeen so exact in her architecture. Yet, with every deduction, it was a singular structure to look upon, notthe less so that its summit was inaccessible to human foot. A precipicefifty yards sheer fronted outward on all sides. No one had ever scaledthis precipice--so alleged my companions, who were well acquainted withthe locality. We had approached within less than a mile of its base; our conversationhad dropped--at least so far as I was concerned; my thoughts wereoccupied with the mound, and my eyes wandering over its outlines. I was endeavouring to make out the character of the vegetation whichseemed to flourish luxuriantly on its summit. The dark foliage wasevidently that of some species of acicular trees, perhaps the common redcedar (_Juniperus Virginiana_), but there were others of lighter hue--inall likelihood _pinons_, the pines with edible cones, peculiar to thisregion. I noticed, also, growing upon the very edge of the cliff, yuccas and aloes, whose radiating blades, stretching out, curvedgracefully over the white rock. Forms of cactus, too, were apparent, and several plants of the great _pitahaya_ rose high above the cliff, like gigantic candelabra--strange objects in such a situation. My companions seemed to have no eyes for these rare vegetable beauties;I could hear them at intervals engaged in conversation; but the subjecthad no reference to the scene, and I paid little attention to what theywere saying. All at once I was startled by the voice of Garey, giving utterance tothe emphatic announcement-- "Injuns, by God!" "Indians!--where?" The interrogation as it escaped my lips, was half involuntary, andneeded no reply. Garey's glance guided me; and following its direction, I observed a string of horsemen just debouching from behind the mesa, and spurring forward upon the plain. Both my companions had drawn bridle, and halted. I followed theirexample; and all three of us sat in our saddles, scanning this suddenapparition of mounted men. A dozen had now cleared themselves frombehind the mesa, and were riding towards us. We were yet nearly a mile from them; and at that distance it isdifficult to distinguish a white man from an Indian--I should rather sayimpossible. Even at half the distance, the oldest prairie-men aresometimes puzzled. The garments are often not very dissimilar, andsun-bronze and dust confound the complexions. Although Garey, at first sight of them, had pronounced the horsemen tobe Indians--the most probable supposition under the circumstances--itwas but a random conjecture, and for some time we remained in doubt. "If they're Injuns, " suggested Garey, "they're Comanche. " "An if thur Kimanch, " added Rube, with ominous emphasis, "we've got tofight. If thur Kimanch, thur on the war-trail, an thur'll be mischiefin 'em. Wagh! Look to yur flints an primin!" Rube's counsel was instantly followed. Necessity quickened ourprecautions. All of us well knew, that, should the approaching horsementurn out to be Comanches, we had no alternative but fight. This warlike nation occupies the whole western area of Texas, rangingfrom the Rio Grande on the south, to the Arkansas on the north. Theyare to-day, with their kindred tribes, the most powerful Indian allianceon the continent. They affect the ownership of all prairie-land, styling themselves its "lords, " though their sovereignty towards thenorth is successfully disputed by the Pawnees, Sioux, Blackfeet, andothers as warlike as they. From the earliest times, they have been the_fiend_ of the Texan settler; and a detailed account of their forays andpillaging expeditions would fill a score of volumes. But from thesethey have not gone back unscathed. The reprisals have outnumbered theassaults, and the rifle of the border-ranger has done its work ofvengeance. In Mexico they have found less puissant defenders of the hearth andhome; and into the north-eastern provinces of that unhappy country, theComanches have been for the last half-century in the habit of making anannual expedition of war and plunder. In fact, plunder has become thebetter part of their subsistence, as they usually return from theserieving incursions laden with spoil, and carrying with them vast drovesof horses, mules, horned cattle, and _captive women_! For a short time, these dusky freebooters were at peace with theAnglo-American colonists of Texas. It was but a temporary armistice, brought about by Houston; but Lamar's administration, of a less pacificcharacter, succeeded, and the settlers were again embroiled with theIndians. War to the knife was declared and carried on; red and whitekilled each other on sight. When two men met upon the prairie, thecolour of the skin determined the relations between them! If theydiffered in this, the were enemies without parley, and to kill the otherwas the first thought of each. The _lex talionis_ was the custom of thehour. If the rancour could possibly have been augmented, an incident had justtranspired calculated to produce that effect. A band of Comanchewarriors had offered their services to the commander-in-chief of theAmerican army. They held the following language:-- "Let us fight on your side. We have no quarrel with you. You arewarriors: we know it, and respect you. We fight against the cowardlyMexicans, who robbed us of our country. _We fight for Moctezuma_!" These words, uttered along the whole northern frontier of Mexico, arefull of strange import. The American commander prudently declined the Comanche alliance; and theresult was the bitter _triangular_ war in which, as already noticed, wewere now engaged. If, then, the approaching horsemen were Indians of the Comanche tribe, Rube's forecast was correct; we had "got to fight. " With this understanding, we lost no time in putting ourselves in anattitude of defence. Hastily dismounting, and sheltering our bodies behind those of ourhorses, we awaited the approach of the band. CHAPTER THIRTY. GUERRILLEROS. The manoeuvre had occupied only a few seconds of time, and the horsemenwere yet distant. They had thrown themselves into a formation, and_were riding_ "_by twos_!" This movement took us by surprise. The tactics were not Indian:Comanches never march in double file. The horsemen could not beIndians. Who, then? A sudden hope crossed my mind, that it might be a party of my ownpeople, out in search of me. "By twos" was our favourite and habitualorder of march. But no; the long lances and streaming pennons at oncedissipated the hope: there was not a lance in the American army. Theycould not be "rangers. " Comanches on the _war-trail_ would have been armed with the lance, butclearly they were _not_ Comanches. "Wagh!" exclaimed Rube, after eyeing them intently. "Ef thur Injuns, I'm a niggur! Ef thur Injuns, they've got beards an sombrayras, an thetain't Injun sign nohow. No!" he added, raising his voice, "thur a gango' yellur-bellied Mexikins! thet's what they ur. " All three of us had arrived simultaneously at the same conviction. Thehorsemen were Mexicans. It was no great source of rejoicing to know this; and the knowledgeproduced no change in our defensive attitude. We well knew that a bandof Mexicans, armed as these were, could not be other than a hostileparty, and bitter too in their hostility. For several weeks past, the_petite guerre_ had been waged with dire vengeance. The neutral groundhad been the scene of reprisals and terrible retaliations. On one side, wagon-trains had been attacked and captured, harmless teamstersmurdered, or mutilated whilst still alive. I saw one with his arms cutoff by the elbow-joints, his heart taken out, and thrust between histeeth! He was dead; but another whom I saw still lived, with the crossdeeply gashed upon his breast, on his brow, upon the soles of his feet, and the palms of his hands--a horrid spectacle to behold! On the other side, ranchos had been ransacked and ruined, villages givento the flames, and men on mere suspicion shot down upon the spot orhanged upon the nearest tree. Such a character had the war assumed; and under these circumstances, weknew that the approaching horsemen were our deadly foes. Beyond a doubt, it was either a scouting-party of Mexican lancers, a_guerrilla_, or a band of robbers. During the war, the two last werenearly synonymous, and the first not unfrequently partook of thecharacter of both. One thing that puzzled us--what could any of the three be doing in thatquarter? The neutral ground--the scene of _guerrilla_ operations--lay between thetwo armies; and we were now far remote from it; in fact, altogether awayfrom the settlements. What could have brought lancers, guerrilleros, orrobbers out upon the plains? There was no _game_ in that quarter forany of these gentry--neither an American force to be attacked, nor atraveller to be plundered! My own troop was the extreme out-picket inthis direction, and it was full ten miles off. The only thing likely tobe met with near the mesa would be a war-party of Comanches, and we knewthe Mexicans well enough to be convinced that, whether soldiers orfreebooters, they were _not_ in search of that. Such reflections, made in double-quick time, occurred to us as wescanned the advancing troop. Up to this moment, they had ridden directly towards us, and were nownearly in a line between us and the mesa. On getting within about half-a-mile of our position, they turned sharplytowards the west, and rode as if to make round to our rear! This manoeuvre of course placed us upon their flank; and now outlinedagainst the sky, we could distinctly trace their forms and note theirhabiliments and armour. Nearly all wore broad-brimmed sombreros, withjacket, sash, and calzoneros. They carried lances, lazoes, and carbinesor _escopettes_. We could distinguish sabres and _machetes_--theuniversal weapon of the Mexican ranchero. They could not be drilledtroops. Their costumes, as well as a certain irregularity in theirmanoeuvring, forbade this supposition. Their lances, moreover, wereborne in all sorts of ways--some couched, some resting in the stirrupand held correctly, while others were carried over the shoulder like afirelock! No, they could not be a troop of regulars. They were either_guerrillos_ or true _salteadores_. After riding nearly a half-circle round--still keeping at the samedistance--the troop suddenly made front towards as, and halted. We had been puzzled by their going round; we could not divine theirobject in so doing. It could not be to cut off our retreat. The timberin the back direction was miles off. Had it been near enough, we shouldcertainly have retreated to it long before; but we knew it was toodistant. Rube and his old mare would have been overtaken by ourwell-mounted enemies long ere we could have gained the woods; we knewthis, and therefore did not think of making the attempt. On the otherside was the _mesa_, which, by their late movement, had been left opento us. It was but a half-mile off, and perhaps, by making a dash, wemight have reached it; but not a tree grew near it--except those on itssummit--and its rocky wall apparently offered no advantage to us, anymore than the open plain. The enemy seemed to be aware of this, elsethey would not have ridden round, and by so doing left the way clear. Until the moment of their halt, therefore, we remained ignorant of theirmotive in moving to our rear. _Then_ it was explained. Their objectwas evident to all of us: they had halted between us and the sun! It was a cunning manoeuvre--worthy of a war-party of Indians--and toldus we had no common enemy to deal with. By approaching us from thatdirection, they would have a decided advantage: our aim would be spoiledby the sun--now low down upon the horizon, and gleaming right in oureyes. My companions were wroth at the trick that had been thus played soadroitly; though we could not have hindered it even if forewarned oftheir intention. We were allowed but little time to reflect upon the matter; we saw bythe movements of the horsemen that they were preparing to charge. Onewho appeared to be the leader, mounted upon a larger horse than any ofthe rest was addressing them. He rode along the line speaking in a loudtone, and gesticulating violently; he was answered with _vivas_, whichwe could plainly hear. Every moment, we looked to see them gallopforward. We knew there was no alternative but fight or surrender--though not oneof us entertained an idea of the latter. For myself, I should as soonhave thought of turning my pistol to my own head. My uniform, tatteredas it was, would easily reveal my character to the enemy; and, ifcaptured, I knew that I should be hung, or perhaps, in the absence oftrees, shot down upon the spot. My comrades had reasons for knowingthat _their_ shrift would be equally short: neither thought for a momentof tamely yielding. "No!" emphatically pronounced Rube, "this child don't guv in, till he'srubbed out, _he_ don't! Tarnation odd too!" he added, looking towardthe troop; "twelve agin three o' us. Durn the odds! I've got clur o'wuss scrapes than't looks yit, and so've you, Bill Garey--hain't we, boyee? Durn the odds! let 'em kum on!" "Ay, " responded Garey, without the slightest show of excitement, "they'dbetter not come too near 'ithout telling thar bisness. I see one saddlethat I'll empy the minnit they pass yon weed. " And the speakerindicated a bunch of the _artemisia_ plant that grew some two hundredpaces off in the direction of the horsemen. The reckless talk of the old trapper, with the contrasted cool bearingof his younger companion, had fixed my nerves fully. At the first sightof so many adversaries, I was not without some misgivings--in truth, Ifelt fear. Such odds against us--four to one--was fair cause forapprehension. But it was not my first fight against large odds, bothIndian and Mexican; and on that account, I regarded it the lessseriously. Notwithstanding the superiority of our enemy in numbers, I knew we werenot so unequal. Unless shot down by the first volley of their carbinesand escopettes, each of our three rifles was sure of its man. I hadconfidence in my own weapon, and a still more perfect reliance on thoseof my comrades. They were men that never missed--men who never fired arandom shot--never drew trigger till their aim was sure. I feltcertain, therefore, that should the horsemen charge upon us, only _nine_of the twelve would ever get within pistol-shot of us, and for thatdistance we were well prepared. I carried in my belt a six-chamberedrevolver, one of Colt's best; Garey had another--a present I had madehim many years before--and Rube was armed with a pair of stoutsingle-barrels, likely enough to do good service. "Sev'nteen shots! wid our bowies to fall back upon!" cried Gareytriumphantly, as we finished a hasty survey of our arms. As yet the enemy did not advance. Notwithstanding their _vivas_ andejaculations, they appeared to hesitate about charging. Their leader, and another--a lieutenant, perhaps--were still seen riding along theirline, as if animating them by further speech, giving them orders how toact. Meanwhile, _we_ had not been idle; we had _formed square_ to receive thecharge! You may smile, but such was in reality the case. We had formed square--with our horses! There were four of them, for the wild-horse countedone. Garey, who _rode_ like a Comanche, had broken him at our lastcamp, and he was now perfectly tractable. The shake of a lazo renderedhim docile as a lamb. The four were tied head to head, and croup to croup, and each formed oneside of the square. They could not have broken it even under a chargeof cavalry; bridles must be untied or cut, and lazoes set loose, beforethat _formation_ could be destroyed! Within stood we, fronting our foes--the large horse of Garey forming ourbarricade towards them--our heads and feet alone visible to the enemy. Thus did we await their onset. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. THE PARLEY. Another chorus of _vivas_ announced that the guerrilla captain hadfinished his oration, and that the attack was about to be made. We sawthe chief himself, with one or two others, advance in front of the line, and head towards us, as if intending to lead the charge. "Now!" muttered Rube, in a sharp quick tone, "guns ready, boys! no wasteshots, d'yur hear? Lead counts hyur--_it_ do. See! By the jumpinGeehosophat, thur a gwine to ride right down! Let 'em kum on, and bedamned! Thur's one o' 'em won't git thie fur--I mout say two--I moutsay three i'deed. Durn the glint o' thet sun! Billee!" he continued, addressing Garey, "ee 'll shoot fust; yur gun's furrest carry. Plug thebig un on the clay-bank hoss. This child's for Number 2 on the greymustang. An, young fellur! ee'll jest pick off thet niggur on the roan. I know yur wild-cat to the back-bone, but keep yur eye skinned an yurnarves steady, d'yur hear?" "Yes, yes!" I hurriedly answered, though at the time steadiness ofnerves was easier promised than practised. My heart was heaving inquick pulsations at the near prospect of the terrible drama about to beenacted. At this moment the "Forward" fell upon our ears, and with the wild notesof the bugle came the words-- "_Andela! anda! Dios y Guadalupe_!" (On! forward! God and Guadalupe!) In an instant, the troop was in motion, galloping down to the charge. They had not made many stretches before their line became broken, several of the swiftest or most courageous having forged ahead of theothers. "The three 'most!" cried Rube, in the same sharp tone--"the threefo'most! Thet'll fotch 'em up wi' a roun turn, or this child'smistaken. Now, boyees! mind yur eyes! Steady! Stea-dy--stea-d-y--" All at once, Rube's muttered cautions, slowly drawled out, were changedto an exclamation that betokened surprise, followed by a long lowwhistle of the same import! The cause was clear! The guerrilleros had got within three hundredyards of us, still going at a gallop, but we could perceive that theirpace slackened as they advanced; already it was more of an amble thanthe forward dash of an earnest charge. It was evident they had nostomach for the business--now that they were near enough to see theshining barrels and black hollow tubes of our levelled rifles. Garey was waiting till the foremost should pass the artemisia-bush; forby that he had calculated the point-blank range of his rifle. Anothermoment, and its crack would have been heard; but the horseman, as ifwarned by instinct, seemed to divine the exact limit of danger. Beforereaching the bush, his heart failed him, and in a wavering, irresolutemanner, he drew bridle, and halted! The others, nothing loath, followed his example, until the whole troophad pulled up within less than three hundred yards of the muzzles of ourguns! "Cowed, by God!" shouted Rube, with a derisive laugh, "Hulloo!"continued he, raising his voice still louder, and addressing the haltedline: "what do ee want anyhow? Why the hell don't ee come on?" Whether Rube's comical interrogatory was understood or not, it eliciteda reply:-- "_Amigos! somos amigos_!" (We are friends!) shouted back the leader ofthe band. "Friends, be damned!" exclaimed the trapper, who knew enough of Spanishto understand the signification of _amigos_. "Nice friends, you, i'deed! Wagh! D'yur think to bamfoozle us thet-away? Keep yurdistance now!" continued he, raising his rifle in a threatening manner, as a movement was perceptible among the horsemen. "Keep yur distance, or, by the 'tarnal airthquake! I'll plug the fust o' ye thet rideswithin reach. Damn sich friends as you!" The leader now conversed in a low tone with his lieutenant, and some newdesign seemed to be discussed between them. A change of tactics wasevidently devised during this pause in the action. After a while the chief again addressed us, speaking as before inSpanish. "We are friends!" said he: "we mean you no harm. To prove it, I shallorder my men to fall back upon the prairie, while my lieutenant, unarmed, will meet one of you on the neutral ground. Surely, you canhave no objection to that?" "And why such an arrangement?" inquired Garey, who spoke Spanishfluently. "We want nothing of _you_. What do you want from _us_, withall this infernal fuss?" "I have business with you, " replied the Mexican; "and _you_, sir, inparticular. I have something to say to you I don't wish others tohear. " As he said this, the speaker turned his head, and nodded significantlytowards his own following. He was candid with them at least. This unexpected dialogue took all three of us by surprise. What couldthe man want with Garey? The latter knew nothing of him--had never, ashe declared, "sot eyes on the niggur afore;" although at such adistance--with the sun in his face, and the Mexican's sombrero slouchedas it was--Garey might be mistaken. It might be some one whom he hadmet, though he could not recall him to mind. After a short consultation, we agreed that Garey should accept theproposal. No evil could result from it--none that we could think of. Garey could easily get back, before any attack could be made upon him, and Rube and I should still be ready to protect him with our pieces. Ifthey meditated treachery, we could not perceive the advantage they wereto gain from the proceeding. The "parley" therefore was accepted, and the conditions arranged withdue caution on our part. The horsemen--with the exception of the leader and his lieutenant--wereto ride back to the distance of half-a-mile; the leader was to remainwhere he was; and halfway between him and us, Garey and the lieutenantwere to meet, both of them on foot and unarmed. At an order from their chief, the guerrilleros fell back. Thelieutenant dismounted, laid his lance along the ground, unbuckled hissabre, drew the pistols from his belt, and placing them beside thelance, advanced towards the appointed spot. Garey had likewise disarmed himself; and leaving his weapons in chargeof Rube and myself, stepped forth to meet the Mexican. In another minute, the two stood face to face, and the "parley" began. It was of short duration. The speaking, which appeared to beprincipally done by the Mexican, was carried on in a low tone; and Rubeand I saw that he pointed frequently in our direction, as if we were thesubject of his discourse! We observed that his harangue was suddenlyinterrupted by Garey, who, turning round at the same instant, cried outto us in English-- "Hillow, Rube! what do yer think the skunk wants?" "How shed I know?" replied Rube. "What do 'e want?" "Why, he wants"--Garey's voice rose louder with indignation--"he wantsus to give up the _ranger-captain_; an sez, if we do, you an me can gofree. Ha, ha, ha!" and the young trapper ended his announcement with ascornful laugh. Simultaneous with Garey's laugh, I could hear Rube utter a low whistle, and the words, "Thet's how the stick floats;" and then raising hisvoice, he called out-- "An what answer hev you gin him, Billee?" "I hain't answered him yet, " was the prompt reply: "but hyar's theanswer!" I saw Garey's arm raised, with his huge fist clenched; I saw it descendlike a trip-hammer upon the face of the Mexican, who under the blow fellheavily to the earth. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. A DEAD SHOT. The unexpected closing of the conference elicited an angry shout fromthe Mexican horsemen; and, without waiting for orders, they galloped upto their chief. Halting at long-range, they fired their carbines and escopettes; buttheir bullets cut the grass far in front of us, and one or two thathurtled past were wide of the mark. The lieutenant, who had been only stunned, soon recovered his legs, butnot his temper. His wrath overbalanced his prudence, else the moment hefound his feet he would have made the best of his way to his horse andcomrades. Instead of doing so, he turned full front towards us, raised his arm inthe air, shook his clenched fist in a menacing manner, accompanying theaction with a torrent of defiant speech. Of what he said, we understood but the concluding phrase, and that wasthe bitter and blasphemous _carajo_! that hissed through his teeth withthe energetic aspiration of rage and revenge. That oath was the last word he ever uttered; his parting breath scarcelycarried it from his lips ere he ceased to live. I heard the fierceword, and almost simultaneously the crack of a rifle, fired close to myear. I saw the dust puff out from the embroidered spencer of theMexican, and directly over his heart; I saw his hand pass rapidly to thespot, and the next moment I saw him fall forward upon his face! Without a groan, without a struggle, he lay as he had fallen, spread, dead, and motionless upon the prairie! "Thur now, an damn yur carajo!" cried a voice at my shoulder; "ee won't_bid_ for me agin, ye skunk--thet yur won't!" Though I turned involuntarily to the speaker it was not for anexplanation. Of course, it was Rube who spoke. His rifle was smokingat the muzzle, and he was proceeding to reload it. "Wa-hoo--woop!" continued he, uttering his wild war-cry; "thet shortensthur count, I reck'n. Another nick for Targuts! Gi' me _her_ for agun. Wagh! a long pull it wur for the ole weepun; an the glint in myeyes too! The niggur riled me, or I wudn't a risked it. Hold yurhosses, boys!" he continued in a more earnest tone: "don't fire till I'mloaded--for yur lives, don't!" "All right, Rube!" cried Garey, who hastily passing under the belly ofhis horse, had re-entered the square, and once more handled his rifle. "All right, old boy! Ne'er a fear! we'll wait for ye. " Somewhat to our surprise, Rube was allowed ample time to reload, and ourthree barrels once more protruded over the shoulders of Garey's horse. Our animals still held their respective positions. Three of them weretoo well used to such scenes, to be startled by the detonation of arifle; and the fourth, fastened as he was, kept his place perforce. I say, to our surprise we were allowed time to get into our oldvantage-ground; for we had expected an immediate charge from theguerrilla. Vengeance for the death of their comrade would give them courage enoughfor that; so thought we; but we were mistaken, as their ire only venteditself in fierce yells, violent gestures, and ejaculations. They had now clustered around their chief without order or formation, though they seemed to pay but slight regard to his authority. Someappeared to be urging him to lead them on! Others came gallopingnearer, and fired their carbines or shook their lances in a threateningmanner; but one and all were careful to keep outside that perilouscircle, whose circumference marked the range of our rifles. Theyseemed, even less inclined for close quarters than ever; the fate oftheir comrade had awed them. The dead man lay about half-way between them and us, glittering in hispicturesque habiliments. They were weaker by his loss--for not only hadhe been one of their leaders, but one of their best men. They saw hewas dead, though none had dared to approach him. They knew the Texanrifle of old--these spangled heroes; they knew, moreover, that we werearmed with revolvers, and the fame of this terrible weapon had beenalready carried beyond the frontier of the Rio Grande. Notwithstanding all that, men of our race, under similar circumstances, would have charged without hesitation. So, too, would men of theirsthree centuries ago. Perhaps in that band was an Alvarado, a Sandoval, a Diaz, or De Soto!only in name. O Cortez! and you _conquistadores_! could you have beheldyour degenerate descendants! And yet not all of them were cowards; some, I dare say, were braveenough, for there _are_ brave men among the Mexicans. A few wereevidently willing to make the attack, but they wanted combination--theywanted a leader: he who acted as such appeared to be endowed with moreprudence than valour. Meanwhile we kept our eyes fixed upon them, listening to their variedcries, and closely watching their movements. In perfect coolness, we regarded them--at least so much can I say for mycomrades. Though life or death rested upon the issue, both were as coolat that moment as if they had been only observing the movements of agang of buffaloes! There was no sign of trepidation--hardly a symptomof excitement visible in the countenance of either. Now and then, ahalf-muttered ejaculation, a rapid exchange of thought--relating to somefresh movement of the enemy--alone told that both were alive to theperil of the situation. I cannot affirm that I shared with them this extreme and perfect _sangfroid_; though upon my nerves, less indifferent to danger, their examplehad its effect, and inspired me with courage sufficient for theoccasion. Besides, I drew confidence from another source. In case ofdefeat, I had a resource unshared by my companions--perhaps unthought ofby them. Trusting to the matchless speed of my horse, as a last resort, I might possibly escape. I could have ridden off at that moment withoutfear of being overtaken, but the craven thought was not entertained foran instant. By my honour, no! I should have accepted death upon thespot rather than desert the brave men who stood by my side. To _them_ Iwas indebted for my life. 'Twas for _me_ that theirs were now in peril;and from the first moment I had determined to stand by them to the end, and sell my blood at its dearest. In the event of both falling beforeme, it would then be time enough to think of flight. Even this contingency had the effect of strengthening my courage, and atthat moment I viewed the vengeful foe with a coolness and freedom fromfear that now, in the retrospect, surprises me. During the interval of inaction that followed, I was cool enough toreflect upon the demand which the guerrilla leader had made--thesurrender of my person. Why was I singled out? We were all enemiesalike--all Americans or Texans--on Mexican soil, and armed for strife. Why did they want _me_ alone? Was it because I was superior in rank to my companions? But how knewthey this?--how knew they I was a "ranger-captain"? Ha! they must haveknown it before; they must have come out specially in search of me! A light flashed suddenly into my mind--a suspicion strong almost ascertainty. But for the sun glancing in my eyes, I might have earlierobtained an explanation of the mystery. I drew down the visor of my forage-cap, stretching it to its fullextent; I increased the shade with my flattened palms, and from underthem strained my eyes upon the leader of the band. Already his voice, while in conversation with Garey, had aroused a faint recollectionwithin me. I had heard that voice only once, but I thought I rememberedit. Guided by my suspicion, I now scrutinised more closely thecountenance of the man. Fortunately the face was turned towards me, and, despite the dazzling of the sunbeams, despite the slouchedsombrero, I recognised the dark features of Rafael Ijurra! In thatglance I comprehended the situation. He it was who wanted the"ranger-captain!" There was doubt no longer. My suspicion was a certainty; but with thenext throb of my heart rose another, a thousand times more painful--asuspicion of-- With an effort, I stifled my emotions; a movement was perceptible amongthe guerrilleros; the moment of action had arrived! CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. A RUNNING-SHOT. Though our enemies were once more in motion, we no longer anticipated adirect attack; the time for that had passed. The fate of their comradehad evidently checked their ardour, and too much shouting and bravadohad cooled, rather than heightened, their enthusiasm. We could tell by their manoeuvring that some new mode of assault hadbeen planned, and was about to be practised. "Cowardly skunks!" muttered Rube; "they hain't the pluck to charge us!Who ever heerd o' fair fight in a Mexikin? Damn 'em, thur arter sometrick, " he continued, in a more serious tone. "What do 'ee think it be, Billee?" "I'm thinkin', old boy, " replied Garey, whose keen grey eye had been forsome time fixed on the movements of the guerrilla--"I'm thinkin' thara-goin to gallup roun, an try a shot at us Injun fashion. " "Yur right, " assented Rube; "thet's thur game! Scalp me ef 'taint!Look yanner!--thur they go!" The horsemen were no longer in line, nor formed in any fashion. Irregularly grouped, they exhibited a "clump" upon the prairie, somestanding still, others in motion. As Rube uttered the last words, one of them was seen to shoot out fromthe main body, spurring his steed into a gallop as he parted from thecrowd. One might have fancied he was about to ride off from the ground: but no;that was not his intention. When he had made half-a-dozen stretchesover the plain, he guided his horse into a curve, evidently with thedesign of riding around us. As soon as he had gained some score of yards from the troop, a secondhorseman followed, repeating the manoeuvre; and then another andanother, until five of the band, thus deployed, galloped round us incircles. The remaining six kept their ground. We observed that the five had left their lances behind them, and carriedonly their carbines. We were not astonished at this: we divined the intention of our enemies. They were about to practise an old prairie-tactic--a stratagem of thehorse-Indians--with which all three of us were familiar. We might have been more apprehensive about the result had it been reallyIndians who were going to practise the manoeuvre--since in an attack ofthis kind, the bow, with its many missiles in a minute, is far moredangerous than either carbine or rifle. But the fact that ourassailants understood the stratagem, told us we were opposed to men whohad seen Indian fight--no doubt, the picked men of the frontier--and todefend ourselves would require all the courage and cunning we possessed. It did not surprise us that only a portion of the band galloped out toeffect the surround; there was design in that, and we knew it. The fivewho had been detached were to wheel round us in circles, dash atintervals within range, fire their carbines, kill some of our horses, keep us distracted, and if possible, _draw_ the fire of our rifles. This purpose effected, the other six--who had already approached as nearas was safe for them--would charge forward, empty their guns, and thenuse their lazoes with effect. Of this last _weapon_ my companions had more dread than of all theothers carried by our foes. They had reason. They knew that our riflesonce empty, the lazo could be used beyond pistol-range; and by such men, with far surer aim than either carbine or escopette! We were allowed but scant time to entertain these doubts, fears, andconjectures, or to communicate them to one another. They passed beforeus like the lightning's flash: the quicker that they were old thoughts--things familiar from experience. We were conscious that the stratagemof our enemy had increased the peril of our situation; but we thoughtnot yet of yielding to despair. In an instant we had altered our relative positions. The three of us nolonger fronted in one direction, but stood back to back--each to guardthe third of the circle before his face. Thus stood we, rifles in hand. The five horsemen were not slow in the execution of their manoeuvre. Once or twice they galloped round us in a wide circle; and thenfollowing a spiral curve, drew nearer and nearer. When within carbine-range, each fired his piece; and, retreating outwardupon the main body, hastily exchanged his empty gun for one that wasloaded, and galloped back as before. In the first volley, most of their bullets, discharged at random, hadpassed over our heads. We heard them hissing in the air high above us. One, however, had been better aimed, and struck Rube's mare in the hip, causing the old mustang to squeal and kick violently. It did but littledamage, though it was an earnest of what we might expect; and it waswith increased apprehension that we saw the horsemen come back on theircircling career. You will wonder why we did not return their fire? Our guns carried asfar as theirs. Why did we not use them, while the horsemen were withinrange? Not one of the three of us thought of drawing a trigger! Youwill wonder at this? It requires explanation. Know, then, that the five men who galloped round us were five of thebest horsemen in the world--no doubt the picked riders of the band. Notin Arabia, not in the hippodromes of Paris or London, could they havefound their superiors--perhaps not their equals--for these men literallylive in the saddle. Each, as he approached the dangerous circle coveredby our rifles, disappeared _behind the body of his horse_. A boot andspur over the hollow of the deep saddle-tree, perhaps a hand graspingthe wither-lock of the horse, were all of the rider that could be seen. Presently a face might be observed, suddenly veiled by a puff of smokefrom the carbine, and then ducked instantly out of sight. Perhaps thebarrel of the piece might be noticed glancing along the horse's counter, while the stream of fire pouring forth, told that the rider had takenaim under the throat of his steed, the latter all the while going atfull gallop! During these manoeuvres, sharp shots as my comrades were, and fairmarksman as I was myself, there was no instant when we could have hitany one of the five horsemen. It would have been easier to have broughtdown a bird upon the wing. Their horses we might have killed orcrippled, but that would not have repaid us for the risk of an emptyrifle. We dared not waste a bullet on the horses. That was our reasonfor reserving our fire. Do not fancy from this my prolixity of explanation, that _we_ were soslow in comprehending all these points. No, we understood our situationwell enough; we knew that to discharge our pieces--even though a horseshould fall to every shot--was just what the enemy desired. That wasthe main object of their _ruse_; but we were too well used to the wilesof Indian warfare to be beguiled by so shallow an artifice. Words ofcaution passed between us, and we stood to our guns with as muchpatience as we could command. It was tempting enough--provoking, I should rather say--thus to be firedat, without the chance of returning it; and my companions, notwithstanding their habitual coolness, chafed angrily under theinfliction. Once more the five horsemen came galloping around us, and dischargedtheir pieces as before; but this time with more effect. A bullet struckGarey in the shoulder, tearing away a patch of his hunting-shirt, anddrawing the blood; while another went whizzing past the cheek of OldRube, creasing his catskin cap! "Hooray!" shouted the latter, clapping his hand over the place where thelead had wounded him. "Clost enough thet wur! Cuss me, eft hain'tcarried away one o' my ears!" And the old trapper accompanied the remark with a wild, reckless laugh. The rent of the bullet, and the blood upon Garey's shoulder, now fellunder his eye, and suddenly changing countenance, he exclaimed-- "By the 'tarnal! yur hit, Bill? Speak, boyee!" "It's nothin', " promptly replied Garey--"nothin'; only a grease. Idon't feel it. " "Yur sure?" "Sartin sure. " "By the livin catamount!" exclaimed Rube, in a serious tone, "we can'tstan this no longer. What's to be done, Billee? Think, boy!" "We must make a burst for it, " replied Garey; "it's our only chance. " "Tur no use, " said Rube, with a doubtful shake of the head. "The youngfellur mout git clur; but for you 'n me thur's not the shaddy o' achance. They'd catch up wi' the ole mar in the flappin' o' a beaver'stail, an yur hoss ain't none o' the sooplest. Tur no use. " "I tell you it are, Rube, " replied Garey impatiently. "You mount thewhite hoss--he's fast enough--an let the mar slide; or you take mine, anI'll back whitey. We mayent get clar altogether; but we'll string theniggers out on the parairy, an take them one arter another. It's betterthan stannin' hyar to be shot down like buffler in a penn. What do_you_ think, capt'n?" added he, addressing himself to me. Just then an idea had occurred to me. "Why not gallop to the cliff?" Iinquired, looking toward the mesa: "they can't surround us there? Withour backs to the rock, and our horses in front of us, we may defy therabble. We might easily reach it by a dash--" "Scalp me! ef the young fellur ain't right, " cried Rube, interrupting myspeech. "It's the very idee, plum centre!" "It are!" echoed Garey--"it are! We hain't a second to lose; they'll beround us again in a squ'll's jump. Look yonder!" This conversation had occupied but a few seconds of time. It occurredjust after the five horsemen had the second time emptied their guns, andgalloped back to exchange them. Before they could return to deliver a third fire, our determination wastaken, and we had hastily undone the fastenings of our horses, and wereready to mount. This we accomplished so quietly, that it was evident the enemy had notperceived us, and therefore entertained no suspicion of our design;hence the road towards the mesa was still perfectly open to us. Inanother minute, however, the five riders would have been circling aroundus, and that would have naturally altered our situation. "Hurry, Rube!" cried Garey--"hurry, man, and let's be off!" "Keep cool, Billee, " rejoined Rube, who was adjusting the bridle ofGarey's horse. "Plenty o' time, I _tell ee_; they ain't a comin' yit. He woo! ole gal!" he continued, addressing himself to the mare--"ho-woo!we're a-gwine to leave you ahint a bit, but I reck'n yu'll turn up agin. They won't eat ye, anyhow; so don't be skeeart about thet, ole gal!Now, Billee, I'm ready. " It was time, for the riders were again spurring forward to surround us. Without waiting to observe further, we all three leaped simultaneouslyon horseback; and, plying the spur deeply, shot off in a direct line ofthe mesa. A glance behind showed us the guerrilleros--the whole band coming infull tilt after us, while their cries sounded in our ears. To oursatisfaction, we saw we had gained ground upon them--our sudden starthaving taken them by surprise, and produced in their ranks a momentaryhesitation. We had no fear of being able to reach the mesa before theycould overtake us. For my own part, I could soon have ridden out of sight altogether; socould Garey, mounted on the white steed, that, with only a raw-hidehalter, was behaving splendidly. It was Garey's own horse, a strong butslow brute, that delayed us; he was ridden by Rube; and it was well thechase was not to be a long one, else our pursuers would have easilyoverhauled _him_. Garey and I kept by his side. "Don't be afeerd, Rube!" shouted Garey, in a tone of encouragement; "weain't a-goin to leave you--we'll stick thegither!" "Yes, " added I, in the excitement of the moment, "we live or dietogether!" "Hooray, young fellur!" cried Rube, in a burst of wildgratitude--"hooray for you! I know yur the stuff, an won't leave meahint, though I gin you the slip oncest--when you mistuk me for thegrizzly. He, he, hoo! But then, you ses twur no use o' my stickin' toyou--ne'er a bit o' good. Wagh! them niggurs ur gettin' nigher!" We were riding directly for the middle of the mesa, whose cliff, like avast wall, rose up from the level plain. We headed for its centralpart, as though we expected some gate to open in the rock and give usshelter! Shouts of astonishment could be heard mingling with the hoof-strokes. Some of the expressions we heard distinctly. "Whither go they?""_Vaya_! do they intend to ride up the cliff?" "_Carrambo! bueno! bueno!van en la trampa_!" (Good! they are going into the trap!) Shouts of exultation followed, as they saw us thus voluntarily placingourselves in a position from which retreat appeared impossible. They had been apprehensive, on our first galloping off, that we might bemounted on swift horses, and meditated escaping by speed; but ondiscovering that this was not our intention, cries of joyful import wereheard; and as we approached the cliff, we saw them deploying behind us, with the design of hemming us in. It was just the movement we hadanticipated, and the very thing we desired them to do. We galloped up close to the rocky wall before drawing bridle; then, suddenly flinging ourselves to the ground, we placed our backs to thecliff, drew our horses in front of us, and holding the bridles in ourteeth, raised our rifles towards the foe. Once more the three shining tubes were levelled, promising certain deathto the first who should approach within range. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. RUBE'S CHARGER. Our attitude of defence, thus suddenly assumed, produced a quick effectupon our pursuers, who pulled up simultaneously on the prairie. Somewho had been foremost, and who fancied they had ridden too near, wheeledround and galloped back. "Wagh!" ejaculated Rube; "jest look at 'em! they've tuk care to putplenty o' paraira atween our guns an thur cowardly karkidges. Wagh!" We at once perceived the advantage of our new position. We could allthree show front wherever the enemy threatened. There was no longer anydanger of their practising the surround. The half-circle behind us wascovered by the mesa, and that could not be scaled. We had only to guardthe semicircle in front--in fact, less than a semicircle, for we nowperceived that the place was _embayed_, a sort of re-entering angleformed by two oblique faces of the cliff. The walls that flanked itextended three hundred yards on either side, so that no cover commandedour position. For defence, we could not have chosen a better situation;gallop round as they might, the guerrilleros would always find us withour teeth towards them! We saw our advantage at a glance. Neither were our enemies slow to perceive it, and their exulting shoutschanged to exclamations that betokened their disappointment. Almost as suddenly, their tone again changed, and cries of triumph wereonce more heard along their line. We looked forth to discover the cause. To our dismay, we perceived areinforcement just joining them! Five fresh horsemen were riding up, evidently a portion of the band. They appeared to have come from behind the mesa--from the direction ofthe rancheria--though, as we galloped forward, we had not observed them;the mound had concealed them from our view. Notwithstanding this accession to their strength, their courage did notappear to gain by it, as no charge was attempted. Almost on the instant that their new allies arrived upon the ground, thetroop filed off by twos, and deployed across the mouth of the little bayin which we had taken shelter. The movement was soon completed, and sixpair of them were now ranged before us at equal distances from eachother. The remaining three men--Ijurra and two others--kept theirplaces directly in front of us. In one of the new-comers I recognised a ruffian whom I had frequentlynoticed at the rancheria. He was a man of large size, and, what is rareamong Mexicans, red-haired; but I believe he was a _Vizcaino_, amongwhom red-haired men are not uncommon. He was familiarly known by thesobriquet of _El Zorro_ (the Fox), probably on account of the hue of hishair; and I had heard from good authority--that of the _alcaldehimself_!--that the fellow was neither more nor less than a _salteador_. Indeed, El Zorro made little secret of his calling. The brigand ofMexico is usually well known to his countrymen. During his intervals ofleisure he appears in the populous town, walks boldly through thestreets, and freely mingles in society. Such was El Zorro, one of theright-hand men of Ijurra. The design of our enemy was now manifest: they had no intention ofmaking an immediate attack upon us; they saw that our retreat wasimpossible, and had resolved to hold us in siege, perhaps till thirstand hunger should force us to surrender. Their calculation was founded on probability. If their valour was weak, their cunning was strong and subtle. Rube was now greatly "out of sorts. " When he saw the guerrilleros"fixing" themselves in the manner described, he seemed to regret that wehad taken our stand there. "We're hyur!" he exclaimed peevishly, "an how are we to git clur agin?Scalp me, Bill! ef we hedn't better a fit 'em on the paraira, afore wegits weak wi' hunger. Wagh! I kud eat a griskin now, an a good chunko' a one. Ay, smoke away!" (some of the Mexicans had lighted theircigars, and were coolly puffing at them)--"smoke away, durn yur! yuryeller-skinned skunks! I'll make some o' ye smoke afore mornin, or myname ain't Rube Rawlins. Gi's a bit o' bacca, Bill; maybe it'll takethe edge off o' my stummuk. Wagh! I feel as holler about the kidneysas my ole mar--Geehosophat! See the mar!" The emphatic utterance of the last words caused Garey and myself to looktowards the speaker, and then in the direction in which he pointed. Aspectacle came before our eyes, that, spite the depression of ourspirits, caused both of us to break into loud laughter. The "ole mar, " that for many long years had carried Rube over themountains and prairies, was a creature that scarce yielded to himself inpeculiarity. She was a lank, bare-ribbed, high-boned animal, long-eared like all ofher race--for she belonged to the race of Rosinante. The long earscaused her to look mulish, and at a distance she might have beenmistaken for a mixed breed; but it was not so--she was a true mustang, and, spite of her degenerate look, a pure Andalusian. She seemed tohave been, at an earlier period of her life, of that dun yellowishcolour known as "clay-bank"--a common hue among Mexican horses--but timeand scars had metamorphosed her, and grey hairs predominated, particularly about the head and neck. These parts were covered with adirty grizzle of mixed colour. She was badly wind-broken, and at statedintervals, of several minutes each, her back, from the spasmodic actionof the lungs, heaved up with a jerk, as though she was trying to kick, and couldn't. Her body was as thin as a rail, and her head habituallycarried below the level of her shoulders; but there was something in thetwinkle of her solitary eye--for she had but one--that told you she hadno intention of giving up for a long time to come. As Rube oftenalleged, "she was game to the backbone. " Such was the "ole mar, " and it was to her that our attention was now sosuddenly called. Having parted from her on the prairie, in the wild gallop that followed, we had thought no more of the creature, not caring--that is, Garey andmyself--what became of her. Rube, however, was far from sharing our indifference as to her fate. Hewould almost as soon have parted with one of his "claws" as that samefaithful companion; and we had heard him expressing his hopes that noharm would come to her. Or course, we had concluded that she would either be shot or lazoed byone of the guerrilleros. It appeared, however, that this was not to be her fate just then. Resolving not to be parted from her master so easily, she had gallopedafter us. Being slow, she soon fell behind, and for a while was mixedup with the horses of the guerrilleros. Of course the men had noticedher, but seeing that she was a worthless brute, had not deigned to makea capture of her. In due time she fell into the rear of the whole troop; but even that didnot turn her from her original intention, and at the moment of Rube'sexclamation, she was just breaking through the line of deployment on herway to join her master. From the manner in which her nose was held asshe ran, she appeared to be trailing him by the scent! Seeing her pass, one of the guerrilleros dashed after to capture her;perhaps because there was an old saddle with some of Rube's trapsbuckled upon it. Mare, saddle, and all, were scarcely worth the fling of lazo, and so theman appeared to think; for instead of using his lazo, he rode forwardwith the intention of seizing the mare by the bridle. The feat proved not so easy of accomplishment. As the fellow bent downto grasp the rein, the old mare uttered one of her wild squeals, slewedher hind-quarters about, and raising her heels high in air, deliveredthem right upon the ribs of the Mexican. The heavy "thud" was heard by all of us; and the man swayed from hissaddle, and fell to the ground--to all appearance badly hurt, and mostprobably with a pair of broken ribs. The squeal of the mare was echoed by a shrill laugh from the throat ofher delighted master; and not until she had galloped up to him, did hecease to make the locks ring with his wild cachinnations. "Wa-hoo--woop! yur thur, ole gal!" he shouted as the animal haltedbefore him. "You gin 'im a sockdolloger--_you_ did. Yeeup! oleblue-skin! yur welkum back! an ye've fotched my saddle too! Hooray!Ain't she a beauty, Bill? She's wuth her weight in beaver-plew. Wagh!that 'ee ur, ole beeswax! Kum hyur this away--thur now!" And the speaker proceeded, after some more apostrophising, to draw theanimal closer up to the cliff, placing her body as an additionalbarricade in front of his own. Our involuntary mirth was of short duration; it was interrupted by anobject that filled our hearts with new apprehension. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. EL ZORRO. The new object of dread was a large gun, which had been brought upon theground by one of those lately arrived. In all probability, it belongedto El Zorro, as it was in his hands we first observed it. It appearedto be a long musket, or elephant-gun, such as the "roers" in use amongSouth African hunters. Whatever sort of weapon it was, we soon found to our annoyance that itpitched an ounce of lead nearly twice as far as any of our rifles, andwith sufficient precision to make it probable that, before the sun hadset, El Zorro would be able to pick off our horses, and perhapsourselves, in detail. It would be half-an-hour before darkness should screen us with itsfriendly shelter, and he had already commenced practice. His first shothad been fired. The bullet struck the cliff close to my own head, scattering the fragments of gypsum rock about my ears, and then fell, flattened like a Spanish dollar, at my feet. The report was far louder than that of either carbine or escopette; andan ejaculation from Rube, as he saw the effect of the shot, followed byhis usual ominous whistle, told that the old trapper was not disposed tomake light of this new piece of ordnance. Neither was Garey. His looktestified to what all three of us were thinking--which was, that thismode of attack was likely to put us in a more awkward dilemma than wehad yet been placed in. El Zorro might shoot us down at his leisure. With our rifles, we could neither answer his fire, nor silence it. Ourperil was obvious. The salteador had delivered his first shot "off hand, " for we had seenhim level the piece. Perhaps it was fortunate for us he had not takenaim over a "lean;" but fortune from that source was not going to favourus any farther; for we now observed Ijurra stick two lances obliquely inthe ground, so that they crossed each other at a proper height, thusforming as perfect a rest as marksman could have desired. As soon as the gun was reloaded, El Zorro knelt behind the lances, placed his barrel in the fork, and once more took aim. I felt satisfied he was aiming at _me_, or my horse. Indeed, thedirection of the long dark tube would have told me so; but I saw Ijurradirecting him, and that made me sure of it. I had little fear for myself. I was sheltered sufficiently, but Itrembled for the brave horse that shielded me. I waited with anxious heart. I saw the blaze of the priming as itpuffed upward; the red flame projected from the muzzle, andsimultaneously I felt the shock of the heavy bullet striking upon myhorse. Splinters of wood flew about my face; they were fragments of thesaddle-tree. The ball had passed through the pommel, but my noble steedwas untouched! It was a close shot, however--too close to allow ofrejoicing, so long as others of the like were to follow. I was getting as "riled" as Rube himself, when, all at once, asignificant shout from the old trapper drew my attention from El Zorroand his gun. Rube was on my right, and I saw that he was pointing along the bottom ofthe cliff to some object in that direction I could not see what it was, as his horses were in the way; but the next moment I observed himhurrying them along the cliff, at the same time calling to Garey andmyself to follow. I lost no time in putting my horse in motion, and Garey as hastilytrotted after. We had not advanced many paces, before we comprehended the strangebehaviour of our companion. Scarcely twenty yards from where we had first halted, a large rockrested upon the plain. It was a fragment that had fallen from thecliff, and was now lying several feet from its base; it was of suchsize, and in such a position, that, there was ample space behind it toshelter both men and horses--room for us all! We were only astonished we had not observed it sooner; but this was notto be wondered at, for its colour corresponded exactly with that of thecliff, and it was difficult, even at twenty yards' distance, todistinguish it from the latter. Besides, our eyes, from the moment ofour halting, had been turned in another direction. We did not stay to give words to our surprise; but hurrying our horsesalong with us, with joyful exclamations glided behind the rock. It was not an echo of our joy, but a cry of disappointed rage, thatpealed along the line of the guerrilla. They saw at once that theirlong gun would no longer avail them, and both Ijurra and his marksmanwere now seen dancing over the ground like madmen. El Zorro's _metier_was at an end. A more perfect "harbour of refuge" could not have been found in allprairie-land. As Garey alleged, it "beat tree-timber all hollow!" Alittle fortress, in fact, in which we might defy even twice the numberof our assailants--unless, indeed, they should wax desperately brave, and try us hand to hand. Our sudden disappearance had created a new sensation in their ranks. From their shouts, we could tell that some of them regarded it withfeelings of wonder--perhaps with emotions of a still stronger kind. Wecould hear the exclamations "_Carrai!" "Carrambo_!" with the phrase"_los demonios_!" passing from mouth to mouth. Indeed, from theposition which they occupied, it must have appeared to them that we hadgone into the cliff--for the separation of the rock from the wall behindit was not perceptible from the plain, else _we_ should have perceivedit as we rode forward. If our enemies knew of this outlying boulder, it was strange they hadleft the way open to so safe a retreat--strange, since it did notcorrespond with the cunning they had otherwise given proofs of--and yetstranger they should be ignorant of its existence. Most of them werenatives of this frontier, and must have frequently visited the mesa, which was one of the "lions" of the district. Perhaps they had never troubled their thoughts about it. There is nopeople who take less interest in the rare features of their beautifulcountry than the Mexicans. Nature charms them not. A Mexican dwellingwith a garden around it is a rarity--a lawn or a shrubbery is neverseen; but indeed nature has bounteously supplied them with all these. They dwell amidst scenes of picturesque beauty; they gaze over greensavannas--down into deep barrancas--up to the snow-crowned summits ofmighty mountains--without experiencing one emotion of the sublime. Atortured bull, a steel-galved cock, Roman candles, and the Chinesewheel, are to them the sights of superior interest, and furnish themwith all their petty emotions. So is it with nations, as with men whohave passed the age of their strength, and reached the period ofsenility and second childhood. But there was another, and perhaps a better, reason why none of ouradversaries should be intimate with the locality. As my companionsalleged, the spot was a favourite halting-place of the Comanches--_they_have an eye for the picturesque--but perhaps the existence of a springthat was near had more to do in guiding the preference of these "lordsof the prairies. " The mesa, therefore, had for years been dangerousground, and little trodden by the idle curious. Possibly not one of theheroes we saw before us had for years ventured so far out upon theplains. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. A PLAN OF ESCAPE. If our enemies were awed by our sudden disappearance, it was soon robbedof its mysterious character. Our faces, and the dark barrels of ourrifles, visible around the edges of the white rock, must have dispelledall ideas of the supernatural. Having hastily disposed of our horses, we had placed ourselves thus--in case of a charge being made--though ofthis we had no longer any great apprehension; and still less as wewatched the movements of our adversaries. El Zorro continued for some time to fire his big gun--the bullets ofwhich we could dodge as easily as if they had been turnips hurled atus--and the leaden missiles fell harmlessly at our feet. Seeing this, the salteador at length ceased firing, and with another, rode off in the direction of the settlements--no doubt sent on someerrand by Ijurra. One pair of eyes was sufficient to watch the movements of the besiegers. Garey undertook this duty, leaving Rube and myself free to think oversome plan of escape. That we were not to be attacked was now certain. We had the choice, then, of two alternatives--either to keep the position we were in tillthirst should force us to surrender, or attack _them_, and by a bold_coup_ cut our way through their line. As to the former, we well knew that thirst would soon compel us toyield. Hunger we dreaded not. We had our knives, and before us aplentiful stock of that food on which the prairie wanderer oftensustains life. "Horse-beef" we had all eaten, and could do so again;but for the sister-appetite--thirst--we had made no provision. Ourgourd-canteens were empty--had been empty for hours--we were actuallypushing for the _mesa spring_ when the enemy first came in sight. Wewere then athirst; but the excitement of the skirmish, with the play ofpassion incident thereto, had augmented the appetite, and already werewe a prey to its keenest pangs. We mumbled as we talked, for each of uswas chewing the leaden bullet. Thirst we dreaded even more than ourarmed enemy. The other alternative was a desperate one--now more desperate than ever, from the increased number of our foes. To cut our way through them hadno other signification than to fight the whole party hand to hand; andwe regretted that we had not done so when only eleven were opposed tous. A little reflection, however, convinced us that we were in a yet betterposition. We might make the attempt in the darkness. Night wouldfavour us to some extent. Could we succeed by a bold dash in breakingthrough their deployed line, we might escape under the friendly cover ofthe night, and the confusion consequent upon the melee. There was probability in this. The boldest was clearly the wisestcourse we could pursue. Desperate it appeared. One or other of usmight fall, but it offered the only hope that _any_ of us might getfree, for we knew that to surrender was to be shot--perhapsworse--_tortured_. We had but faint hopes of a rescue; so faint, we scarcely entertainedthem. I knew that my friends, the rangers, would be in search of me. Wheatley and Holingsworth would not give me up without making an effortfor my recovery; but then the search would be made in a differentdirection--that in which I had gone, and which lay many miles from theroute by the mesa. Even had they thought of sending to the mound, thesearch must have been already made, and the party returned from it. Toolong time had elapsed to make any calculation on a chance like this. The hope was not worth holding, and we held it not. For some time, Rube and I thought in combination, canvassing the detailsof the plan that had offered. After a while, we stood apart, and eachpursued the train of his own reflections. I declare that in that hour I had more painful thoughts than those thatarose from the peril of my situation; this I solemnly declare. I have already said, that when I first recognised the leader of theguerrilla, I experienced an unpleasant suspicion. Since then, I had nottime to dwell upon it--self-preservation engrossing all my thoughts. Now that I found more leisure for reflection, the dire doubt returned infull strength, and I bitterly pondered upon it. Need I name the subjectof my wretched reflections? Isolina de Vargas! Knew _she_ of this? Knew she that Ijurra was the chief of a guerrilla?Her cousin--sharer of the same roof--she could scarcely be ignorant ofit! Who set him on our trail? Oh, bitter thought! was the hunt of thewild horse a _ruse_--a scheme--to separate me from my command, and thusrender it an easy prey to the Mexican guerrilleros? Perhaps mystraggling followers were by this cut off? Perhaps the post had beenattacked by a large body of the enemy--captured? I was not only to loselife, but had already lost my honour. I, the proud captain of a boastedtroop, to be thus entrapped by artifice--the artifice of a woman! My heart, overwhelmed with such bitter fancies, stayed not to reason. Presently followed a calmer interval, and I began to discuss theprobability of my suspicions. What motive could she have to plot mydestruction? Surely not from any feeling of love for her country, andhatred towards its enemies? From all I had learned, no such sentimentexisted in her mind, but rather an opposite one--a truer patriotism. She was a woman of sufficient aim and intellect to have a feeling oneway or the other; but had I not good grounds for believing her a friendto our cause; a foe to the tyrants we would conquer? If otherwise, Iwas the victim of profound deception and unparalleled hypocrisy! Perhaps, however, her feeling was personal, not national. Was _I_ alonethe object of her hatred? Had I done aught by word or deed to callforth her antagonism--to deserve such cruel vengeance? If so, I wassadly ignorant of the fact. If she hated me, she hated one who loved_her_, with his whole soul absorbed in the passion. But no, I could notthink that I was an object of hatred to her. Why should she hate me?How _could_ she? I could think of but one motive why she should make herself instrumentalin the accomplishment of my ruin. It was explicable only on thepresumption that she was attached to Ijurra--that Rafael Ijurra was thelord of her heart. If so, he could easily bend it to his will--for thisis but the sequence of the other--could influence her to whatever act. As for Ijurra, there was motive enough for his hostility, even to theseeking of my life. The insult put upon him at our first meeting--theknowledge that I loved _her_--for I was certain he knew it--with theadditional fact that I was an enemy--one of the invaders of his country. These were sufficient motives, though, doubtless, the two first faroutweighed the other: with Rafael Ijurra, revenge and jealousy werestronger passions than patriotism. Then came consolation--thoughts of brighter hue. In the face of all wasthe fact, that _the white steed had been found_, and captured! Therestood the beautiful creature before my eyes. There was no deception inthat--there could be none--no scheme could have contrived a contingencyso remarkable. Ijurra might easily have known of the expedition without _her_ agency. Its result he would have learned from the returned vaqueros. He hadtime enough then to collect his band, and set after me. Perhaps sheeven knew not that he was a leader of guerrilleros? I had heard thathis movements were shrouded in mystery--that mystery which covers thedesigns of the adventurer. He had served in the school of Antonio Lopezde Santa Anna--a fit master of deception. Isolina might be innocenteven of the knowledge of his acts. I re-read Isolina's letter, weighing every word. Strange epistle, butnatural to the spirit that had dictated it. In its pages I could traceno evidence of treason. No; Isolina was loyal--she was true! CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. ELIJAH QUACKENBOSS. While these reflections were passing through my mind, I was standing, orrather leaning, with my back against the boulder, and my face towardsthe wall of the mesa. Directly in front of me was a recess orindentation in the cliff, carried groove-like upward, and deepening asit approached the summit. It was a slight gorge or furrow, evidentlyformed by the attrition of water, and probably the conduit of the rainthat fell upon the table surface of the mound. Though the cliffs on each side were perfectly vertical, the gorge had aconsiderable inclination; and the instant my eyes rested upon it, itoccurred to me that the precipice at this point could be scaled! Up to this moment, I had not thought of such a thing; for I had beenunder the impression--from what my companions had told me--that thesummit of the mesa was inaccessible. Housing myself to more energetic observation, I scrutinised the clifffrom base to summit; and the more I regarded it, the stronger grew myconviction that, without great difficulty, an active climber might reachthe top. There were knob-like protuberances on the rock that wouldserve as foot-holds, and here and there small bushes of the trailingcedar hung out from the seams, that would materially assist any onemaking the ascent. While scanning these peculiarities, I was startled by observing severalabrasions on the face of the rock. These marks appeared quite fresh, and evidently made by some other agency than that of the elements. After a short examination, I became convinced that they were marks madeby a human foot--the scratches of a strong-soled shoe. Beyond a doubt, _the cliff had been scaled_! My first impulse was to communicate the discovery to my companions; butI forbore for a while--in order to satisfy myself that the person whohad made this daring attempt had actually succeeded in reaching thesummit. Twilight was on, and I could get only an indistinct view of the gorge atits upper part; but I saw enough to convince me that the attempt hadbeen successful. What bold fellow had ventured this? and with what object? were thequestions I naturally asked myself. Vague recollections were stirring within me; presently they grew moredistinct, and all at once I was able to answer both the interrogatoriesI had put. I knew the man who had climbed that cliff. I only wonderedI had not thought of him before! Among the many odd characters in the piebald band, of which I had thehonour to be chief, not the least odd was one who answered to theeuphonious name of "Elijah Quackenboss. " He was a mixture of Yankee andGerman, originating somewhere in the mountains of Pennsylvania. He hadbeen a schoolmaster among his native hills--had picked up some littlebook-learning; but what rendered him more interesting to me was the factthat he was a botanist. Not a very scientific one, it is true; but inwhatever way obtained, he possessed a respectable knowledge of _flora_and _sylva_, and evinced an aptitude for the study not inferior toLinneus himself. The more surprising was this, that such inclinationsare somewhat rare among Americans--but Quackenboss no doubt drew hisinstinct from his Teutonic ancestry. If his intellectual disposition was odd, not less so was his physical. His person was tall, crooked, and lanky; and none of those members thatshould have been counterparts of each other seemed exactly to match. His arms were odd ones--his limbs were unlike; and all four looked as ifthey had met by accident, and could not agree upon anything. His eyeswere no better mated, and never consented to look in the same direction;but with the right one, Elijah Quackenboss could "sight" a rifle, anddrive in a nail at a hundred yards' distance. From his odd habits, his companions--the rangers--regarded him as hardly"square;" but this idea was partially derived from seeing him engaged inhis botanical researches--an occupation that to them appeared simplyabsurd. They knew, however, that "Dutch Lige"--such was his sobriquet--could shoot "plum centre;" and notwithstanding his quiet demeanour, hadproved himself "good stuff at the bottom;" and this shielded him fromthe ridicule he would otherwise have experienced at their hands. Than Quackenboss, a more ardent student of botany I never saw. Nolabour retarded him in the pursuit. No matter how wearied with drill orother duties, the moment the hours became his own, he would be off insearch of rare plants, wandering far from camp, and at times placinghimself in situations of extreme danger. Since his arrival on Texanground, he had devoted much attention to the study of the _cactaceae_;and now having reached Mexico, the home of these singular endogens, hemight be said to have gone cactus-mad. Every day his researchesdisclosed to him new forms of cactus or cereus, and it was in connexionwith one of these that he was now recalled to my memory. I rememberedhis having told me--for a similarity of tastes frequently brought usinto conversation--of his having discovered, but a few days before, anew and singular species of _mamillaria_. He had found it growing upona _prairie mound_--which he had climbed for the purpose of exploring hisbotany--adding at the same time that he had observed the species onlyupon the top of this mound, and nowhere else in the surrounding country. This mound was our mesa. It had been climbed by Elijah Quackenboss! If he, awkward animal that he was, had been able to scale the height, why could not _we_? This was my reflection; and without staying to consider what advantagewe should derive from such a proceeding. I communicated the discoveryto my companions. Both appeared delighted; and after a short scrutiny declared the pathpracticable. Garey believed he could easily go up; and Rube in histerse way said, that his "jeints wa'nt so stiff yit;" only a month agohe had "clomd a wuss-lukin bluff than it. " But now the reflection occurred, to what purpose should we make theascent? We could not escape in that way! There was no chance of ourbeing able to descend upon the other side, for there the cliff wasimpracticable. The behaviour of the guerrilleros had given proof ofthis. Some time before, Ijurra, with another, had gone to the rear ofthe mound, evidently to reconnoitre it, in hopes of being able to assailus from behind. But they had returned and their gestures betokenedtheir disappointment. Why, then, should we ascend, if we could not also descend on theopposite side? True, upon the summit we should be perfectly safe from an attack of theguerrilla, but not from _thirst_, and this was the enemy we now dreaded. Water would not be found on the top of the mesa. It could not betterour situation to go there; on the contrary, we should be in a worse"fix" than ever. So said Garey. Where we were, we had our horses--a spare one to eatwhen that became necessary, and the others to aid us in our attempt toescape. Should we climb the cliff, these must be left behind. From thetop was less than fifty yards, and our rifles would still cover themfrom the clutch of our enemies, but to what advantage? Like ourselves, they must in time fall before thirst and hunger. The gleam of hope died within us, as suddenly as it had sprung up. It could in no wise serve us to scale the cliff: we were better in ourpresent position; we could hold that so long as thirst would allow us. We could not do more within the granite walls of an impregnablefortress. This was the conclusion at which Garey and I had simultaneously arrived. Rube had not yet expressed himself. The old man was standing with bothhands clutching his long rifle, the butt of which rested upon theground. He held the piece near the muzzle, partially leaning upon it, while he appeared gazing intently into the barrel. This was one of his"ways" when endeavouring to unravel a knotty question; and Garey and Iknowing this peculiarity on the part of the old trapper, remainedsilent--leaving him to the free development of his "instincts. " CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. RUBE'S PLAN. For several minutes, Rube preserved his meditative attitude, withoututtering a word or making the slightest motion. At length, a low butcheerful whistle escaped his lips, and at the same time his body becameerect. "Eh? what is't, old boy?" inquired Garey, who understood the signal, andknew that the whistle denoted some discovery. Rube's reply was the interrogatory, "How long's yur trail-rope, Bill?" "It are twenty yards--good mizyure, " answered Garey. "An yurs, young fellur?" "About the same length--perhaps a yard or two more. " "Good!" ejaculated the questioner, with a satisfied look. "We'll foolthem niggurs yit--_we_ will!" "Hooraw for you, old boy! you've hit on some plan, hain't you?" Thiswas Garey's interrogatory. "Sartintly, I hez. " "Let's have it then, kummarade, " said Garey, seeing that Rube hadrelapsed into silence; "thar ain't much time to think o' things--" "Plenty o' time, Billee! Don't be so durned impatient, boy. Thur'sgobs o' time. I'll stake my ole mar agin the young fellur's black hoss, thet we'll be out o' this scrape afore sun-up. Geehosophat! how thu 'llcuss when they finds the trap empty. He, he, he!--ho, ho, hoo!" And the old sinner continued to laugh for some seconds, as coolly andcheerfully as if no enemy was within a thousand miles of the spot. Garey and I were chafing with impatience, but we knew that our comradewas in one of his queer moods, and it was no use attempting to push himfaster than he was disposed to go. When his chuckling fit was ended, he assumed a more serious air, andonce more appeared to busy himself with the calculation of some problem. He spoke in soliloquy. "Twenty yurds o' Bill's, " muttered he, "an twenty of the young fellur's, ur forty; an myen--it ur sixteen yurds--make the hul fifty an six;ye-es, fifty-six preezactly. Then thur's the knots to kum off o' thet, though fornenst 'em thur's bridles. Wagh! thur's rope aplenty, anenough over, to string up half a score o' them yeller-bellies, ef iver Igits holt on 'em. An _won't_ I! Wagh!" During this arithmetical process, Rube, instead of gazing any longerinto the barrel of his rifle, had kept his eyes wandering up and downthe cliff. Before he had ceased talking, both Garey and myself haddivined his plan, but we refrained from telling him so. To haveanticipated the old trapper in his disclosure would have been a mortaloffence. We waited for him to make it known. "Now, boyees!" said he at length, "hyur's how we'll git clur. Fust anfo'must, we'll crawl up yanner, soon's it gits dark enough to kiver us. Seconds, we'll toat our trail-ropes along wi' us. Thuds, we'll jine thethree thegither, an ef thet ain't long enough, a kupple o' bridles 'llhelp out. Fo'th, we'll tie the eend o' the rope to a saplin up thur ontop, an then slide down the bluff on t'other side, do ee see? Fift, oncest down on the paraira, we'll put straight for the settlements. Sixt an lastest, when we gits thur, we'll gather a wheen o' the youngfellur's rangers, take a bee-line back to the mound, an gie these hyurniggurs sech a lambaystin as they hain't hed since the war begun. Now?" "Now" meant, What think you of the plan? Mentally, both Garey and I hadalready approved of it, and we promptly signified our approval. It really promised well. Should we succeed in carrying out the detailswithout being detected, it was probable enough that within a few hourswe might be safe in the piazza of the rancheria, and quenching ourthirst at its crystal well. The anticipated pleasure filled us with fresh energy; and we instantlyset about putting everything in readiness. One watched, while the othertwo worked. Our lazoes were knotted together, and the four horses fastened head tohead with their bridles, and secured so as to keep them behind theboulder. This done, we awaited the falling of night. Would it be a dark night? About this we now felt anxious. It was already closing down, and gavepromise of favouring us: a layer of lead-coloured clouds covered thesky, and we knew there could be no moon before midnight. Rube, who boasted he could read weather-sign like a "salt-sea sailor, "scrutinised the sky. "Wal, old hos!" interrogated Garey, "what do ye think o't? Will it bedark, eh?" "Black as a bar!" muttered Rube in reply; and then, as if not satisfiedwith the simile, he added, "Black as the inside o' a buffler bull'sbelly on a burnt paraira!" The old trapper laughed heartily at the ludicrous conceit, and Garey andI could not refrain from joining in the laugh. The guerrilleros musthave heard us; they must have deemed us mad! Rube's prognostication proved correct: the night came down dark andlowering. The leaden layer broke up into black cumulus clouds, thatslowly careered across the canopy of the sky. A storm portended; andalready some big drops, that shot vertically downward, could be heardplashing heavily upon our saddles. All this was to our satisfaction;but at that moment a flash of lightning illumined the whole arch of theheavens, lighting the prairie as with a thousand torches. It was noneof the pale lavender-coloured light, seen in northern climes, but abrilliant blaze, that appeared to pervade all space, and almost rivalledthe brightness of day. Its sudden and unexpected appearance filled us with dismay: werecognised in it an obstacle to our designs. "Durn the tarnal thing!" exclaimed Rube peevishly. "It ur wuss than amoon, durn it!" "Is it going to be the quick-forky, or the long-blazey?" inquired Garey, with a reference to two distinct modes in which upon these southernprairies, the electric fluid exhibits itself. In the former the flashes are quick and short-lived, and the intervalsof darkness also of short duration. Bolts pierce the clouds instraight, lance-like shafts, or forking and zig-zag, followed by thunderin loud unequal bursts, and dashes of intermittent rain. The other is very distinct from this; there are no shafts or bolts, buta steady blaze which fills the whole firmament with a white quiveringlight, lasting many seconds of time, and followed by long intervals ofamorphous darkness. Such lightning is rarely accompanied by thunder, and rain is not always its concomitant, though it was this sort we nowwitnessed, and rain-drops were falling. "Quick-forky!" echoed Rube, in reply to his comrade's interrogatory;"no--dod rot it! not so bad as thet. It ur the blazey. Thur's nothunder, don't 'ee see? Wal! we must grope our way up atween theglimps. " I understood why Rube preferred the "blazey;" the long intervals ofdarkness between the flashes might enable us to carry out our plan. He had scarcely finished speaking, when the lightning gleamed a secondtime, and the prairie was lit up like a theatre during the grand scenein a spectacle. We could see the guerrilleros standing by their horses, in cordon across the plain; we could distinguish their arms andequipments--even the buttons upon their jackets! With their facesrendered ghastly under the glare, and their bodies magnified to giganticproportions, they presented to our eyes a wild and spectral appearance. With the flash there was no thunder--neither the close quick clap, northe distant rumble. There was perfect silence, which rendered the scenemore awfully impressive. "All right!" muttered Rube, as he saw that the besiegers still kepttheir places. "We must jest grope our way up atween the glimps; butfust let 'em see we're still hyur. " We protruded our faces and rifles around the rock, and in this positionawaited another flash. It came, bright as before: the enemy could not fail to have noticed us. Our programme was already prepared: Garey was to ascend first, and takeup the rope. He only waited for the termination of another blaze. One end of thelazo was fastened round his waist, and the rope hung down behind him. When the light gleamed again, he was ready; and the moment it went out, he glided forward to the cliff, and commenced his ascent. Oh, for a long interval of darkness! CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. SCALING THE CLIFF. Oh, for a long interval of darkness! Our hearts beat anxiously--at least I can answer for my own. Rubewatched the guerrilleros, permitting his head to be seen by them. Myeyes were bent upon the rocky wall, but through the thick darkness Ilooked in vain for our comrade. I listened to hear how he wasprogressing; I could distinguish a slight scratching against the cliff, each moment higher and farther away; but Garey climbed with a moccasinedfoot, and the noise was too faint to reach the ears of our enemies. Oh, for a long interval of darkness! It appeared a long one; perhaps it was not five minutes, but it _felt_twice that, before the lightning again blazed forth. With the flash, I ran my eyes up the precipitous wall. Oh, God! Gareywas still upon its face, as yet scarce midway up. He was standing on aledge--his body flattened against the rock--and with his arms extendedhorizontally, he presented the appearance of a man crucified upon thecliff! So long as the glare lasted, he remained in this attitude, motionless asthe rock itself. I turned with anxious look towards the guerrilleros. I heard no voice;I observed no movement. Thank Heaven! they saw him not! Near where he was resting, some bushes of the trailing cedar grew out ofthe cliff; their dark foliage mottled its white face, rendering the formof the climber less conspicuous. Another long spell of darkness, another blaze of light. I scanned the gorge: no human form was visible. I saw a dark line that, like a crack, vertically intersected the cliff from parapet to base: itwas the rope Garey had carried up. He had reached the summit in safety! It was my turn next--for Rube insisted on retaining the post of danger--and with my rifle slung on my back, I stood ready. I had given theparting whisper to my brave steed, and pressed his velvet muzzle to mycheek. With the last flicker of the electric gleam, I seized the hanging lazo, and drew myself upward. I had confidence in the rope: I knew it was fastened above, or safe inthe strong grasp of Garey. With its aid, the ascent was rendered easy. I experienced no difficultyin climbing from ledge to ledge, and before the light came again, I hadreached the crest of the cliff. We lay flat among the bushes that grew by the very brink, scarcelyshowing our faces to the front. I saw that the rope had been fastened round the trunk of a small tree. Presently we perceived by its jerking, that Rube had begun his ascent. Shortly after, we could hear him sprawling and scratching upward, andthen his thin dark form loomed over the edge of the cliff, and, deadbeat for breath, he staggered silently into the bushes beside us. Evenin the darkness I noticed something peculiar in his appearance: his headlooked smaller, but I had no time to question him. We waited only for another glance at the guerrilleros; they were stillat their posts, evidently unconscious of our movements. Rube's cat-skincap, cunningly adjusted upon the boulder, satisfied them that we werestill at ours; and explained, moreover, the oddness I had observed aboutthe upper story of the trapper. Rube had now recovered wind; and gathering up the rope, we stole awayover the table-summit to search for a place of descent. On reaching the opposite side, we at once found what we wanted--a treenear the edge of the cliff. Many small pines grew upon the escarpment;and selecting one, we knotted the rope securely around its trunk. There was yet much to be done before any of us could attempt thedescent. We knew that the cliff was more than a hundred feet invertical height, and to glide down a rope of that length is a tryingfeat, worthy the most expert of tars. None of us might be able toaccomplish it: the first could be lowered down easily enough, and thiswas our intention; so might the second; but the last would have to glidedown the rope without aid. We were not long delayed by the contemplation of this obstacle: mycomrades were men of quick thought; and a plan to get over thedifficulty soon suggested itself. Their knives were out in a trice: a sapling was procured, and cut intoshort pieces; these were notched, and tied at intervals along the rope. Our "Jacob's ladder" was ready. It still remained to make sure that the rope was of sufficient length. The knots had somewhat shortened it; but this point was soon settled, with like ingenuity. A small stone was tied to one end, and then dropped over the cliff. We listened: we heard the dull "thump" of the stone upon the prairieturf. The rope therefore reached to the ground. It was again drawn up, the stone taken out, and the noose fastenedaround the body of Rube, under his armpits. He was the lightest, andfor this reason had been chosen to make the first descent, as he wouldleast try the strength of the rope--still a doubtful point. The ascenthad not proved it--for in climbing up, but one-half of our weight hadbeen upon it, our feet resting either against the cliff, or upon itsledges. On reaching the plain, Rube was to submit the rope to trial, before either Garey or I should attempt to go down. This he was to doby adding a large stone to his own weight--making both at least equal tothat of Garey, who was by far the heaviest of the party. All being arranged, the old trapper slid silently over the edge of thecliff--Garey and I giving out the rope slowly, and with caution. Foot by foot, and yard by yard, it was drawn through our hands, by theweight of the descending body--now lost to our sight over the brow ofthe cliff. Still slowly, and with caution, we allowed the lazo to pass, taking carethat it should glide gradually, so as not to jerk, and cause the body ofour comrade to oscillate with too much violence against the rocks. We were both seated close together, our faces turned to the plain. Morethan three-quarters of the rope had passed from us, and we werecongratulating ourselves that the trial would soon be over, when, to ourdismay, the strain ceased with a suddenness that caused both of us torecoil upon our backs! At the same instant, we heard the "twang" of thesnapping rope, followed by a sharp cry from below! We sprang to our feet, and mechanically recommenced hauling upon therope. The weight was no longer upon it, it was light as packthread, andreturned to our hands without effort. Desisting, we fronted to each other, but not for an explanation. Neither required it; neither uttered a word. The case was clear: therope had broken; our comrade had been hurled to the earth! With a simultaneous impulse, we dropped upon our knees; and, crawlingforward to the brink of the precipice, looked over and downward. Wecould see nothing in the dark abysm that frowned below; and we waitedtill the light should break forth again. We listened with ears keenly set. Was it a groan we heard? a cry of agony? No; its repetition told uswhat it was--the howl of the prairie-wolf. No human voice reached ourears. Alas, no! Even a cry of pain would have been welcome, since itwould have told us our comrade still lived. But no, he was silent--dead--perhaps broken to atoms! It was long ere the lightning gleamed again. Before it did we heardvoices. They came from the bottom of the cliff directly under us; butthere were two, and neither was the voice of the trapper. It is easy todistinguish the full intonation of the Saxon from the shrill treble ofthe sons of Anahuac. The voices were those of our foes. Presently the light discovered them to us. Two there were. They wereon horseback, moving on the plain below, and close into the cliff. Wesaw them distinctly, but we saw not what we had expected--the mangledbody of our comrade! The gleam, long continued, had given us full timeto scrutinise the ground. We could have distinguished upon it anyobject as large as a cat. Rube, living or dead, was certainly notthere! Had he fallen into the hands of the guerrilla? The two we saw carriedlances, but no prisoner. It was not likely they had captured him:besides, we knew that Rube, unless badly crippled, would never havesurrendered without a struggle; and neither shot not shout had beenheard. We were soon relieved from all uneasiness on this score. The brigandscontinued their conversation, and the light breeze wafted their voicesupwards, so that we could distinguish part of what was said. "Carrambo!" exclaimed one impatiently; "you must have been mistaken? Itwas the coyote you heard. " "Capitan! I am confident it was a man's voice. " "Then it must have proceeded from one of the _picaros_ behind the rock. There is no one out here? But come! let us return by the other side ofthe mesa--_vamos_!" The hoof-strokes admonished us that they were passing onward to carryout the design of the last speaker--who was no other than Ijurrahimself. It was a relief to know that our comrade had not yet fallen into theirclutches. How far he was injured, we could not have an idea. The ropehad given way close to the top, and Rube had carried most of it downwith him. In the confusion, we had not noticed how much remained, _behind_ our hands, when he fell; and now we could only guess. Seeing that he had disappeared from the spot, we were in high hope thathe had sustained no serious injury. But whither had he gone? Had he but _crawled_ away, and was yet in theneighbourhood of the mesa? If so, they might still light upon him. Hiding-place there was none, either by the base of the cliff or on thesurrounding plain. Garey and I were anxious about the result--the more so, that theguerrilleros had heard his cry, and were in search of him. He mighteasily be found in such a naked spot. We hastily formed the determination to cross the table summit to theother side, and watch the movements of the two horsemen. Guided by their voices, we once more knelt above them, at the rearmostangle of the mound. They had there halted to examine the ground, andonly waited for the flash; we, too, waited above them, and _withinrange_. "We kin fetch them out o' thar saddles?" whispered my companion. I hesitated to give my assent; perhaps it was prudence that restrainedme, for I had now conceived hopes of a surer deliverance. At that moment gleamed the lightning; the dark horsemen loomed largeunder its yellow glare; they were less than fifty paces from the muzzlesof our guns: we could have sighted them with sure aim; and, bayed as wehad been, I was almost tempted to yield to the solicitations of mycompanion. Just then, an object came under our eyes that caused both of us to drawback our half-levelled rifles--that object was the body of our comradeRube. It was lying flat along the ground, the arms and legs stretched out totheir full extent, and the face buried deep in the grass. From theelevation at which we viewed it, it appeared like the hide of a youngbuffalo, spread out to dry, and pinned tightly to the turf. But we knewit was not that; we knew it was the body of a man dressed in brownbuckskin--the body of the earless trapper! It was not dead neither; nodead body could have placed itself in such an attitude, for it layflattened along the turf like a gigantic newt. The object of this attitude was evident to us, and our hearts beat witha painful anxiety while the light flickered around. The body wasscarcely five hundred yards out; but though perfectly visible from ourposition, it must have been inconspicuous to the horsemen below; for assoon as it darkened, we heard them, to our great relief, ride backtoward the front--Ijurra reiterating his doubts as they passed away. Fortunate it was for both him and his companion they had not espied thatprostrate form--fortunate for Rube--for all of us! Garey and I kept our places, and waited for another flash. When it came, the brown buckskin was no longer in sight! Far off--nearly a mile off, we fancied we could distinguish the same formflattened out as before; but the gloam of the prairie-grass rendered ourvision uncertain. Of one thing, however, we were certain--our comrade had escaped. CHAPTER FORTY. A REINFORCEMENT. For the first time, since encountering the guerrilla, I breathed freely, and felt confident we should get free. My comrade shared my belief; andit is needless to say that we recrossed the summit of the mesa withlighter hearts and step more buoyant. Of course we no longer speculated about making the descent; with thefragment of rope left, that was impossible. We were simply returning tothe front, to keep an eye upon the guerrilleros, and, if possible, prevent them from approaching our horses--should they by any chancediscover that we had retreated from our position behind the rock. We were the more anxious about our horses, now that we had lessapprehension for ourselves; at least I can answer for myself, and theexplanation is easy. So long as I felt the probability that everymoment might be the last of my life, the fate of Moro and the whitesteed was but a secondary consideration. Now that I felt certain Ishould survive this perilous escapade, the future once more urged itsclaims; and I was anxious not only to preserve my own steed, but thebeautiful creature that had led me into all this peril, but whosecapture still promised its rich reward. That all danger was past--that in a few hours we should be free--was thefull belief both of my companion and myself. Perhaps you may notcomprehend from what _data_ we drew so confident and comfortable aconclusion, though our reasoning was simple enough. We knew that Rubewould reach the rancheria, and return with a rescue--that was all. 'Tis true we were not without some anxiety. The rangers might no longerbe there?--the army might have marched?--perhaps the picket waswithdrawn? Rube himself might be intercepted, or slain? The last hypothesis gave us least concern. We had full trust in thetrapper's ability to penetrate to the American camp--to the enemy's, ifnecessary. We had just been favoured with a specimen of his skill. Whether the army had advanced or not, Rube would reach it beforemorning, if he should have to steal a horse upon the way. He would soonfind the rangers; and, even without orders, Holingsworth would _lend_him a few--half-a-dozen of them would be enough. In the worst view ofthe case, there were stragglers enough about the camp--odd birds, thatcould easily be enlisted for such a duty. We had scarcely a doubt thatour comrade would come back with a rescue. As to the time, we were left to conjectures. It might be beforemorning's light--it might not be before late in the following day, oreven the night after. But that was a consideration that now weighedlightly. We could hold our aerial fortress for a week--a month--ay, farlonger, and against hundreds. We could not be assailed. With ourrifles to guard the cliff, no storming-party could approach--no forlornhope could scale our battlements! But what of thirst and hunger, you will ask? Ha! we dreaded not either. Fortune's favours had fallen upon us inshowers. Even on that lone summit, we found the means to assuage theone and satisfy the other! In crossing the table-top, we stumbled upon huge _echino-cacti_, thatgrew over the ground like ant-hills or gigantic bee-hives. They werethe _mamillaria_ of Quackenboss--dome-shaped, and some of them ten feetin diameter. Garey's knife was out in a trice; a portion of the spinous coat of thelargest was stripped off, its top truncated, and a bowl scooped in thesoft succulent mass. In another minute we had assuaged our thirst fromthis vegetable fountain of the Desert. With similar facility were we enabled to gratify the kindred appetite. As I had conjectured, on viewing them from the plain, the trees oflight-green foliage were "pinons"--the "nut-pine" (_Pinus edulis_), ofwhich there are several species in Northern Mexico, whose cones containseeds edible and nutritious. A few handfuls of these we gathered, andhungered no more. They would have been better roasted, but at thatmoment we were contented to eat them raw. No wonder, then, that with such a supply for the present, and such hopesfor the future, we no longer dreaded the impotent fury of our foes. We lay down at the top of the gorge to watch their further movements, and cover our horses from their attack. The flash of the lightning showed them still on guard, just as we hadleft them. One of each file was mounted, while his companion, on foot, paced to and fro in the intervals of the cordon. Their measures werecunningly taken; they were evidently determined we should not steal pastthem in the darkness! The lightning began to abate, and the intervals between the flashesbecame longer and longer. During one of these intervals, we were startled by the sound ofhoof-strokes at some distance off: it was the tramp of horses upon thehard plain. There is a difference between the hoof-stroke of a ridden horse and onethat is riderless, and the prairie-man is rarely puzzled to distinguishthem. My companion at once pronounced the horses to be "mounted. " The guerrilleros, on the alert, had heard them at the same time as we, and two of them had galloped out to reconnoitre. This we ascertainedonly by _hearing_, for we could not distinguish an object six feet fromour faces--the darkness being almost palpable to the touch. The sounds came from a considerable distance, but as they werecontinually growing more distinct we could tell that the horsemen wereadvancing _toward_ the mesa. We drew no hope from this advent. Rube could not yet have even reachedthe rancheria. The new-comers were El Zorro and his companion on theirreturn. We were not kept long in doubt: the horsemen approached, and shouts andsalutations were exchanged between them and the guerrilleros, while thehorses of both parties neighed in response, as if they knew each other. At this moment the lightning shone again, and to our surprise weperceived not only El Zorro, but a reinforcement of full thirty men!The trampling of many hoofs had half prepared us for this discovery. It was not without feelings of alarm that we beheld this accession tothe enemy's strength. Surely they would no longer hesitate to assailour fortress behind the rock? At least then our horses would becaptured? Besides, Rube's rescue might be too weak for such a force?There were now nearly fifty of the guerrilleros. Our anxiety as to the first two points was soon at an end. To ourastonishment, we perceived that no assault was to be made as yet. Wesaw them increase the strength of their cordon of sentries, and makeother dispositions to carry on the siege. Evidently they regarded us as hunters do the grizzly bear, the lion, ortiger--not to be attacked in our lair. They dreaded the havoc whichthey well knew would be made by our rifles and revolvers; and theydetermined to reduce us by starvation. On no other principle could weaccount for the cowardly continence of their revenge. CHAPTER FORTY ONE. THE INDIAN SPY. It was past the hour of midnight. The lightning, that for some time hadappeared only at long intervals, now ceased altogether. Its fitfulglare gave place to a softer, steadier light, for the moon had arisen, and was climbing up the eastern sky. Cumulus clouds still hung in theheavens, slowly floating across the canopy; but their masses weredetached, and the azure firmament was visible through the spacesbetween. The beautiful planet Venus, and here and there a solitarystar, twinkled in these blue voids, or gleamed through the filmybordering of the clouds; but the chiefs of the constellations alone werevisible. The moon's disc was clear and well defined, whiter fromcontrast with the dark cumuli: and her beam frosted the prairie till thegrass looked hoar. There was neither mist nor mirage; the electricfluid had purged the atmosphere of its gases, and the air was cool, limpid, and bracing. Though the moon had passed the full, so brilliantwas her beam, that an object could have been distinguished far off uponthe plain, whose silvery level extended on all sides to the horizon. The thick black clouds, however, moving silently over the sky, occasioned long intervals of eclipse, during which the prairie, asbefore, was shrouded in sombre darkness. Up to this time, Garey and I had remained by the head of the littlegorge, through which we had ascended. The moon was behind us, for theguerrilla was on the western side of the mesa. The shadow of the moundwas thrown far out upon the plain, and just beyond its well-defined edgewas the line of sentinels, thickly posted. On our knees among the lowshrubbery, we were unseen by them, while we commanded a perfect view ofthe whole troop, as they smoked, chattered, shouted, and sang--for theygave such tokens of their jovial humour. After quietly watching them for some time, Garey left me to take a turnround the summit, and reconnoitre the opposite or eastern side. In thatdirection lay the rancheria; and if the picket was still stationedthere, we might soon expect the rescue. My rangers were not the men totarry, called forth on such a duty; and, under Rube's guidance, theywould be most likely to make their approach by the rear of the mound. Garey, therefore, went in that direction to make his reconnaissance. He had not parted from me more than a minute, when a dark object outupon the plain attracted my glance. I fancied it was the figure of aman; though it was prostrate and flattened against the ground, just asold Rube had appeared when making his escape! Surely it was not he? I had but an indistinct view of it, for it wasfull six hundred yards from the mesa, and directly beyond the line ofthe guerrilleros. Just then a cloud crossing the moon's disc, shroudedthe plain, and the dark object was no longer visible. I kept my eyes fixed on the spot, and waited for the returning light. When the cloud passed, the figure was no longer where I had firstnoticed it; but nearer to the horsemen I perceived the same object, andin the same attitude as before! It was now within less than two hundred yards of the Mexican line, but abunch of tufted grass appeared to shelter it from the eyes of theguerrilleros--since none of them gave any sign that it was perceived bythem. From my elevated position, the grass did not conceal it. I had a clearview of the figure, and was certain it was the body of a man, and, stillmore, of a _naked_ man--for it glistened under the sheen of themoonlight, as only a naked body would have done. Up to this time I had fancied, or rather _feared_, it might be Rube. Isay feared--for I had no wish to see Rube, upon his return, presenthimself in that fashion. Surely he would not come back alone? And why should he be thus playingthe spy, since he already knew the exact position of our enemy? The apparition puzzled me, and I was for a while in doubt. But the _naked_ body reassured me. It could not be Rube. The skin wasof a dark hue, but so was that of the old trapper. Though born white, the sun, dirt, gunpowder, and grease, with the smoke of many aprairie-fire, had altered Rube's complexion to the true copper-tint; andin point of colour, he had but little advantage over a full-bloodIndian. But Rube would not have been naked; he never doffed hisbuckskins. Besides, the oily glitter of that body was not Rube's; his"hide" would not have shone so under the moonlight. No; the prostrateform was not his. Another cloud cast new shadows; and while these continued, I saw no moreof the skulking figure. As the moon again shone forth, I perceived that it was gone from behindthe tuft of grass. I scanned the ground in the immediate neighbourhood. It was not to beseen; but on looking farther out, I could just distinguish the figure ofa man, bent forward and rapidly gliding away. I followed it with my eyes until it disappeared in the distance, asthough melting into the moonlight. While gazing over the distant plain in the direction whence the figurehad retreated, I was startled at beholding, not one, but many formsdimly outlined upon the prairie edge. "It _was_ Rube, " thought I; "and yonder are the rangers!" I strained my eyes to the utmost. They were horsemen beyond a doubt;but, to my astonishment, instead of being close together, one followedanother in single file, until a long line was traced against the skylike the links of a gigantic chain. Except in the narrow defile, or the forest-path, my rangers never rodein that fashion. It could not be they! At this crisis a new thought came into my mind. More than once in mylife had I witnessed a spectacle similar to that now under my eyes--morethan once had I looked upon it with dread. That serried line was an oldacquaintance: it was a band of Indian warriors on their midnight march--upon the war-trail! The actions of the spy were explained: he was an Indian runner. Theparty to whom he belonged was about to approach the mesa--perhaps withthe design of encamping there--he had been sent forward to reconnoitrethe ground. What effect his tale would have, I could not guess. I could see thatthe horsemen were halted--perhaps awaiting the return of theirmessenger. They were too distant to be seen by the Mexicans; and theminute after, they were also invisible to my eyes upon thedarkly-shadowed prairie. Before communicating with Garey, I resolved to wait for another gleam ofmoonlight, so that I might have a more distinct story to tell. CHAPTER FORTY TWO. THE CABALLADA. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before the cloud moved away; andthen, to my surprise, I saw a clump of horses--not _horsemen_--upon theprairie, and scarcely half-a-mile distant from the mesa! Not one ofthem was mounted, and, to all appearance, it was a drove of wild-horsesthat had galloped up during the interval of darkness, and were nowstanding silent and motionless. I strained my eyes upon the distant prairie, but the dim horsemen wereno longer to be seen. They must have ridden off beyond the range ofvision? I was about to seek my comrade and communicate to him what had passed, when, on rising to my feet, I found him standing by my side. He hadbeen all around the summit without seeing aught, and had returned tosatisfy himself that the guerrilla were still quiet. "Hillow!" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon the _caballada_. "Whatthe darnation's yonder? A drove o' wild hosses? It's mighty strangethem niggers don't notice 'em! By the etarnal--" I know not what Garey meant to have said. His words were drowned by thewild yell that broke simultaneously from the Mexican line; and the nextmoment the whole troop were seen springing to their saddles, and puttingthemselves in motion. We of course supposed that they had just discovered the caballada ofwild-horses, and it was that that was producing this sudden stampede. What was our astonishment on perceiving that we ourselves were the causeof the alarm; for the guerrilleros, instead of fronting to the plain, rode closer up to the cliff, and screaming wildly, fired their carbinesat _us_! Among the rest, we could distinguish the great gun of ElZorro, and the hiss of its leaden bullet, as it passed close to ourears! We were puzzled at first to know how they had discovered us. A glanceexplained that the moon had risen higher in the heavens, and the shadowcast by the mound had been gradually foreshortened. While gazing out atthe caballada, we had incautiously kept our feet; and our figures, magnified to gigantic proportions, were thrown forward upon the plaindirectly under the eyes of our enemies. They had but to look up to seeus where we stood. Instantly we knelt down among the bushes, clutching our rifles. The surprise occasioned by our appearance upon the cliff seemed to havedeprived our enemies, for the moment, of their habitual prudence, asseveral of them rode boldly within range. Perhaps they were some of thelate arrivals. In the dark shadow, we could not make out their forms;but one had the misfortune to be mounted on a white horse, and thatguided the trapper's aim. I saw him glancing along his barrel, andheard the sharp crack. I fancied I heard a stifled groan from below, and the next moment the white horse was seen galloping out into themoonlight, but the rider was no longer upon his back. Another cloud passed over the moon, and the plain was again shroudedfrom our sight. Garey was proceeding to reload, when a cry arose amidstthe darkness, that caused him to pause and listen. The cry was againrepeated, and then uttered continuously with that wild intonation whichcan alone proceed from the throat of the savage. It was not theguerrilla that was uttering that cry; it was the yell of the Indianwarrior. "Comanche war-hoop!" cried Garey, after listening a moment. "Comanchewar-hoop! by the etarnal! Hooraw! the Injuns are upon 'em!" Amidst the cries, we could hear the rapid trampling of horses, and theground appeared to vibrate under the quick heavy tread. Each moment the strokes sounded nearer. The savages were charging theguerrilla! The moon shot forth from the cloud. There was no longer a doubt. Thewild-horses were mounted; each carried an Indian naked to the waist--hispainted body glaring red in the moonlight, and terrible to behold. By this time the Mexicans had all mounted and faced, towards theunexpected foe, but with evident signs of irresolution in their ranks. They would never stand the charge--no, never. So said Garey; and he wasright. The savages had advanced within less than a hundred paces of the Mexicanline, when they were observed to pull suddenly up. It was but amomentary halt--just time enough to enable them to mark the formation oftheir foes, and send a flight of arrows into their midst. That done, they dashed onward, uttering their wild yells, and brandishing theirlong spears. The guerrilleros only waited to discharge their carbines and escopettes;they did not think of reloading. Most of them flung away their guns as soon as they had fired, and theretreat began. The whole troop turned its back upon the enemy, andspurring their horses to a gallop, came sweeping round the base of themesa in headlong flight. The Indians, uttering their demoniac yells, followed as fast. They wererendered more furious, that their hated foe was likely to escape them. The latter were indebted to us for having put them upon the alert. Butfor that circumstance, the Indians would have charged them whiledismounted, and far different might have been their fate. Mounted andready for flight, most of them would probably get clear. The moment we saw the direction the chase was about to take, Garey and Irushed across the summit to the other side. On arriving at the brow of the precipice, our view was perfect, and wecould see both parties as they passed along, its base directly below us. Both were riding in straggling clumps, and scarcely two hundred pacesseparated the rearmost of the pursued from the headmost of the pursuers. The latter still uttered their war-cry, while the former now rode insilence--their breath bound, and their voices hushed in the deathlikestillness of terror. All at once a cry arose from the guerrilla--short, quick, anddespairing--the voice of some new consternation; at the same moment thewhole troop were seen to pull up. We looked for the cause of this extraordinary conduct; our eyes and earsboth guided us to the explanation. From the opposite direction, and scarcely three hundred yards distant, appeared a band of horsemen coming up at a gallop. They were right inthe moon's eye, and we could see glancing arms, and hear loud voices. The hoofs could be heard pounding the prairie, and my companion and Irecognised the heavy tread of the American horse. Still more certainwere we about that hoarse "hurrah. " Neither Indian nor Mexican couldhave uttered that well-known shout. "Hooraw!--the rangers!" cried Garey, as he echoed the cry at the fullpitch of his voice. The guerrilleros, stupified by surprise at sight of this new enemy, hadpaused for a moment--no doubt fancying it was another party of Indians. Their halt was of short duration; the dim light favoured them; riflesalready played upon their ranks; and, suddenly wheeling to the left, they struck out into the open plain. The Indians, seeing them turn off, leaned into the diagonal line tointercept them; but the rangers, already close, up, had just made asimilar movement, and savage and Saxon were now obliquing towards eachother! The moon, that for some minutes had been yielding but a faint light, became suddenly eclipsed by a cloud, and the darkness was now greaterthan ever. Garey and I saw no more of the strife; but we heard theshock of the opposing bands; we heard the war-whoop of the savagemingling with the ranger's vengeful shout: we heard the "crack, crack, crack" of yager rifles, and the quick detonations of revolvers--theclashing of sabre-blades upon spear-shafts--the ring of breaking steel--the neighing of steeds--the victor's cry of triumph--and the deepanguished groan of the victim. With anxious hearts, and nerves excited to their utmost, we stood uponthe cliff, and listened to these sounds of dread import. Not long did they last. The fierce struggle was soon over. When themoon gleamed forth again, the battle was ended. Prostrate forms, bothof man and horse, were lying upon the plain. Far to the south, a dark clump was seen disappearing over the prairie'sedge: it was the cowardly guerrilla. To the west, horsemen gallopedaway, alone, or in straggling groups; but the cheer of triumph thatreached us from the scene of strife told us who were the masters of theground. The rangers had triumphed. "Whur ur ye, Bill?" cried a voice from the bottom of the cliff, whichboth of us easily recognised. "Hyar I be, " answered Garey. "Wal, we've gin them Injuns goss, I reck'n; but cuss the luck, theyeller-bellies hev got clur off. Wagh!" CHAPTER FORTY THREE. A CHAPTER OF EXPLANATIONS. The fight could not have lasted more than ten minutes. The wholeskirmish had the semblance of a moonlight dream, interrupted byinterludes of darkness. So rapid had been the movements of the forcesengaged, that after the first fire not a gun was reloaded. As for theguerrilleros, the Indian war-cry seemed to have shaken the pieces out oftheir hands, for the ground where they had first broken off wasliterally strewed with carbines, escopettes, and lances. The great gunof El Zorro was found among the spoils. Notwithstanding the shortness of the affair, it proved sufficientlytragical to both Mexicans and Indians; five of the guerrilleros had bitthe dust, and twice that number of savage warriors lay lifeless upon theplain--their bodies glaring under the red war-paint, as if shrouded inblood. The Mexicans lay near the foot of the mesa, having fallen underthe first fire of the rangers, delivered as they galloped up. TheIndians were farther out upon the plain, where they had dropped to thethick rapid detonations of the revolvers, that, so long as the warriorsheld their ground, played upon them with fearful effect. They may haveheard of this weapon, and perhaps have seen a revolver in the hands ofsome trapper or traveller, but, to my knowledge, it was the first timethey had ever encountered a band of men armed with so terrible a powerto destroy; for the rangers were indeed the first military organisationthat carried Colt's pistol into battle--the high cost of the arm havingdeterred the government from extending it to other branches of theservice. Nor did the rangers themselves come unscathed out of the fight; two haddropped out of their saddles, pierced by the Comanche spear; whilenearly a dozen were more or less severely wounded by arrows. While Quackenboss was climbing the cliff, Garey and I found time to talkover the strange incidents to which we had been witness. We were aidedby explanations from below, but without these we had no difficulty incomprehending all. The Indians were a band of Comanches, as their war-cry had already madeknown to us. Their arrival on the ground at that moment was purelyaccidental, so far as we or the Mexicans were concerned: it was awar-party, and upon the war-trail, with the intention of reiving a richMexican town on the other side of the Rio Grande, some twenty leaguesfrom the rancheria. Their spy had discovered the horsemen by the mesa, and made them out to be Mexicans--a foe which the lordly Comanche holdsin supreme contempt. Not so contemptible in his eyes are Mexicanhorses, silver-studded saddles, speckled serapes, mangas of fine cloth, bell-buttoned breeches, arms, and accoutrements: and it was to sweepthis paraphernalia that the attack had been made; though hereditaryhatred of the Spanish race--old as the conquest--and revenge for morerecent wrongs, were of themselves sufficient motives to have impelledthe Indians to their hostile attempt. All this we learned from one of their braves, who remained wounded uponthe ground, and who, upon closer examination, turned out to be a_ci-devant_ Mexican captive, now completely Indianised! Fortunately for the Mexican town, the savages, thus checked, abandonedtheir design, and returned to their mountain fastnesses sadly humbled. The rest of the affair was still of easier explanation to Garey andmyself. Rube, as we conjectured, had arrived safe at the rancheria; andin ten minutes after his story had been told, fifty rangers, withHolingsworth at their head, rode rapidly for the mesa. Rube had guided them with his usual craft. Like the Indians, they hadbeen moving forward during the intervals of darkness; but, coming in theopposite direction, they had kept the mound between them and their foe, and, trusting to this advantage, were in hopes of taking theguerrilleros by surprise. They had approached almost within charging distance, when the war-whoopof the savage sounded in their ears, and they were met by the retreatingband. Knowing that all who came that way must be enemies, they delivered theirfire upon the approaching horsemen, and then galloping forward, foundthemselves face to face with the painted warriors of the plains. The mutual surprise of rangers and Indians, caused by the unexpectedrencontre, proved a happy circumstance for the cowardly guerrilla--who, during the short halt of their double pursuers, and the confused fightthat followed, were enabled to gallop off beyond reach of pursuit. It was a curious conjecture what would have been the result had therangers not arrived on the ground. Certainly the Indians would haverescued us from our not less savage foes. My companion and I might haveremained undiscovered, but we should have lost our precious horses. Asit was, we were soon once more upon their backs; and, free from allthought of peril, now joyfully turned our faces towards the rancheria. Wheatley rode by my side. Holingsworth with a party remained upon theground to collect the "spoils" and bury our unfortunate comrades. As wemoved away, I turned, and for a moment gazed back on the scene ofstrife. I saw Holingsworth dismounted on the plain. He was movingamong the bodies of the five guerrilleros; one after another, he turnedthem over, till the moon glared upon their ghastly features. So oddwere his movements, and so earnest did he appear, that one might havefancied him engaged in searching for a fallen friend, or more like someprowling robber intent upon stripping the dead! But neither object was his--on the contrary, he was searching for a foe. He found him not. After scanning the features of all five, he was seento turn away, and the unconcerned manner in which he moved from the spottold that he who was sought was not among the slain. "The news, Wheatley?" "News, Cap! Grand news, by thunder! It appears we have been barking upthe wrong tree--at least so thinks President Polk. They say we can'treach Mexico on this line; so we're all going to be drawn off, andshipped to some port farther down the gulf, Vera Cruz--I believe. " "Ah! grand news, indeed. " "I don't like it a bit, " continued Wheatley; "the less so since it isrumoured that old `Rough and Ready' is to be recalled, and we're to becommanded by that book martinet Scott. It's shabby treatment of Taylor, after what the old vet has accomplished. They're afraid of him settingup for President next go. Hang their politics! It's a confoundedshame, by thunder!" I could partly understand Wheatley's reluctance to be ordered upon thenew line of operations. The gay lieutenant was never troubled withennui; his leisure hours he contrived to pass pleasantly enough incompany with Conchita, the plump, dark-eyed daughter of the alcalde;more than once, I had unwittingly interrupted them in their amorousdalliance. The rancheria with its mud huts and dusty lanes, in the eyesof the Texan, was a city of gilded palaces, its streets paved with gold. It was Wheatley's heaven, and Conchita was the angel who inhabited it. Little as either he or I had liked the post at first, neither of usdesired a change of quarters. As yet, no order had arrived to call the picket in, but my companionaffirmed that the camp-rumour was a substantial one, and believed thatwe might expect such a command at any moment. "What say they of me?" I inquired. "Of you, Cap? Why, nothing. What do you expect them to say of you?" "Surely there has been some talk about my absence?" "Oh, that! No, not a word, at least at head-quarters, for the simplereason, that you're not yet reported missing. " "Ah! that is good news; but how--" "Why, the truth is, Holingsworth and I thought we might serve you betterby keeping the thing dark--at all events, till we should be sure youwere dead lost. We hadn't given up all hope. The greaser who guidedyou out, brought back word that two trappers had gone after you. Fromhis description, I knew that queer old case Rube, and was satisfied thatif anything remained of you, he was the man to find it. " "Thanks, my friend! you have acted wisely; your discreet conduct willsave me a world of mortification. " "No other news?" I inquired after a pause. "No, " said Wheatley, "none worth telling. Oh, yes!" he continued, suddenly recollecting himself, "there is a bit. You remember thosehang-dog greasers that used to loaf about the village when we firstcame? Well, they're gone, by thunder! every mother's son of them clean_vamosed_ from the place, and not a grease-spot left of them. You maywalk through the whole settlement without seeing a Mexican, except theold men and the women. I asked the alcalde where they had cleared to;but the old chap only shook his head, and drawled out his eternal `Quiensabe?' Of course they're off to join some band of guerrillas. Bythunder! when I think of it, I wouldn't wonder if they were among thatlot we've just scattered. Sure as shootin' they are! I sawHolingsworth examine the five dead ones as we rode off. He'll knowthem, I guess, and can tell us if any of our old acquaintances are amongthem. " Knowing more of this matter than Wheatley himself, I enlightened him asto the guerrilleros and their leader. "Thought so, by thunder! Rafael Ijurra! No wonder Holingsworth was sokeen to start--in such a hurry to reach the mound, he forgot to tell mewho we were after. Deuce take it! what fools we've been to let thesefellows slide. We should have strung up every man of them when we firstreached the place--we should, by thunder!" For some minutes, we rode on in silence. Twenty times a question wasupon my lips but I refrained from putting it, in hopes that Wheatleymight have something more to tell me--something of more interest thanaught he had yet communicated. He remained provokingly silent. With the design of drawing him out, I assumed a careless air, andinquired-- "Have we had no visitors at the post? Any one from the camp?" "Not a soul, " replied he, and again relapsed into meditative silence. "No visitors whatever? Has no one inquired for _me_?" I asked, determined to come boldly to the point. "No, " was the discouraging reply. --"Oh, stay: oh, ah--yes, indeed!" headded, correcting himself, while I could perceive that he spoke in apeculiar tone. "Yes, you _were_ inquired for. " "By whom?" asked I, in a careless drawl. "Well, that I can't tell, " answered the lieutenant in an evident tone ofbadinage; "but there appears to be _somebody_ mighty uneasy about you. A slip of a Mexican boy has been backward and forward something lessthan a million of times. It's plain somebody sends the boy; but he's aclose little shaver that same--he won't tell either who sends him, orwhat's his business: he only inquires if you have returned, and looksdead down in the mouth when he's told no. I have noticed that he comesand goes on the _road that leads to the hacienda_. " The last words were spoken with a distinct emphasis. "We might havearrested the little fallow as a spy, " continued Wheatley, in a tone ofquiet irony, "but we fancied he might have been sent by some friend ofyours. " The speaker concluded with another marked emphasis, and under themoonlight I could see a smile playing across his features. More thanonce I had "chaffed" my lieutenant about Conchita; he was having hisrevenge. I was not in a mood to take offence; my companion could have taken anyliberty with me at that moment--his communication had fallen like sweetmusic upon my ears; and I rode forward with the proud consciousness thatI was not forgotten. Isolina was true. Soon after, my eyes rested upon a shining object; it was the gilded vaneof the little capilla, and beneath glistened the white vails of thehacienda, bathed in the milky light of the moon. My heart beat withstrange emotions as I gazed upon the well-known mansion, and thought ofthe lovely jewel which that bright casket contained. Was she asleep? Did she dream? Of what--of whom, was she dreaming? CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. DUTCH LIGE IN A DIFFICULTY. The soft blue light of morning was just perceptible along the easternhorizon as we rode into the rancheria. I no longer felt hunger. Someof the more provident of the rangers had brought with them well-filledhaversacks, and had made me welcome to the contents. From theircanteens I had satisfied my thirst, and Wheatley as usual carried hisfree flask. Relieved of the protracted strain upon my nerves--of fear and vigil--Ifelt deadly weary, and scarcely undressing, I flung myself upon myleathern _catre_, and at once fell asleep. A few hours' repose had the desired effect, and restored both thestrength of my body and the vigour of my mind. I awoke full of healthand hope. A world of sweet anticipations was before me. The sky andfortune were both smiling. I made my toilette with some care--my _desayuna_ with less--and then, with lighted cigar, ascended to my favourite lounge on the azotea. The beautiful captive was in the midst of a crowd, proudly curving hisneck, as if conscious of the admiration he excited. The rangers, thepoblanas, the hucksters of the piazza, even some sulky leperos, stoodnear, gazing with wondering eyes upon the wild-horse. "Splendid present!" thought I--"worthy the acceptance of a princess!" It had been my intention to make the offering in person--hence the carebestowed upon my toilette. After more mature reflection, I abandonedthis design. I was influenced by a variety of considerations--one among others, beinga delicate apprehension that a persona visit from me might compromisethe family at the hacienda. The _patriotic_ sentiment was every daygrowing more intense. Even the acceptance of a present was a dangerousmatter; but the steed was not to be a gift--only a return for thefavourite that had fallen by my hand--and I was not to appear in thecharacter of a donor. My sable groom, therefore, would convey the beautiful captive. Alreadythe white lazo, formed into a halter, was adjusted around the animal'shead, and the negro only awaited orders to lead him away. I confess that at that moment I felt somewhat annoyed at the publicityof my affair. My rough rangers were men of keen intelligence. I couldtell from some whispers that had reached me, that one and all of themknew _why_ I had gone upon the wild hunt, and I dreaded theirgood-humoured satire. I would have given something at that moment tohave rendered the steed invisible--to have been able to transport him tohis destination, Venus-like, under cover of a cloud. I thought ofwaiting for the friendly shelter of night. Just then, however, an incident occurred which gave me the veryopportunity I wanted--a scene so ludicrous, that the steed was no longerthe cynosure of admiring eyes. The hero of this scene was Elijah Quackenboss. Of all the men in my band, "Dutch Lige" was the worst clad. Not thatthere was less money expended upon his outward man; but partly from hisungainly form and loose untidy habits, and more, perhaps, from the wearand tear caused by his botanising excursions, a suit of broadcloth didnot keep sound upon him for a week. He was habitually in tatters. The skirmish of the night had been profitable to Lige; it was his trueaim that had brought down one of the live guerrilleros. On hisasserting this, his comrades had laughed at it, as an idle vaunt; butQuackenboss proved his assertion to be correct by picking his bullet outof the man's body, and holding it up before their eyes. The peculiar"bore" of his rifle rendered the bullet easy of identification, and allagreed that Lige had shot his man. By the laws of ranger-war, the spoils of this particular individualbecame the property of Quackenboss; and the result was, that he hadshaken off his tattered rags, and now appeared in the piazza in fullMexican costume--comprising calzoneros, and calzoncillos, sash andserape, jacket and glazed hat, botas with gigantic spurs--in short, acomplete set of ranchero habiliments! Never was such a pair of legs encased in Mexican velveteens--never weretwo such arms thrust into the sleeves of an embroidered _jaqueta_; andso odd was the _tout ensemble_ of the ranger thus attired, that hisappearance in the piazza was hailed by a loud burst of laughter, bothfrom his comrades and the natives who stood around. Even the gloomyIndians showed their white teeth, and joined in the general chorus. But this was not the end. Among other spoils, Lige had made capture ofa Comanche mustang; and as his own war-horse had been for a long time onthe decline, this afforded him an excellent opportunity for a remount. Some duty of the day had called him forth, and he now appeared in thepiazza leading the mustang, to which he had transferred his own saddleand bridle. A fine handsome horse it appeared. More than one of hiscomrades envied him this splendid prize. The laughter had scarcely subsided, when the order was given to mount;and with others, Quackenboss sprang to his horse. But his hips werehardly snug in the saddle, when the wicked Comanche "humped" his back, and entered upon a round of kicking which seemed to exhibit every poseand attitude of equestrian exercise. First his hind feet, then his foreones, then all together, could be seen glancing in the air. Now a hoofwhizzed past the ear of the affrighted rider, now a set of teeththreatened his thighs, while every moment he appeared in danger of beinghurled with violence to the earth. The sombrero had long since partedfrom his head, and the rifle from his hand; and what with the flappingof the wide trousers, the waving of the loose serape, the dancing of thesteel scabbard, the distracted motion of the rider's arms, his lankstreaming hair, and look of terror--all combined to form a spectaclesufficiently ludicrous; and the whole crowd was convulsed with laughter, while the piazza rang with such shouts as "Bravo!" "Well done, Lige!" "Hooraw for you, old beeswax!" But what surprised his comrades was the fact that Quackenboss still kepthis seat. It was well known that he was the worst rider in the troop;yet, despite all the doubling and flinging of the mustang, that had nowlasted for several minutes, he was still safe in the saddle. He waswinning golden opinions upon the strength of his splendid horsemanship. The rangers were being astonished. All at once, however, this mystery was explained, and the cause of hisfirm seat discovered. One of the bystanders, sharper than the rest, hadchanced to look under the belly of the mustang, and the next momentshouted out-- "Hoy! look yonder! by Geehorum, _his spars are clinched_!" All eyes were lowered, and a fresh peal of laughter broke forth from thecrowd as they perceived that this was in reality the case. Lige, upon mounting--under the suspicion that the mustang was disposedfor a fling--had clutched firmly with his legs; and these, on account oftheir extreme length, completely enveloped the body of the animal, sothat his heels met underneath. He had forgotten his new spurs, therowels of which, six inches in diameter, irritated the mustang, and wereno doubt the cause of such violent kicking. These, after a few turnshad got "locked, " and of course held Quackenboss as firmly as if he hadbeen strapped to the saddle. But as the rowels were now buried in theribs of the mustang, the fierce brute, maddened with the pain, only grewmore furious at each fling, and it was natural enough he should do hisutmost to rid himself of so cruel a rider. How long he might have kept up the pitching frolic before hisinvoluntary tormentor could have freed himself, is a matter ofconjecture. It would have been an unfortunate "fix" to have been placedin, alone upon the prairies. Lige, however, found a compassionate bystander; who, having flung hislazo around the neck of the mustang brought the spectacle to atermination. CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. A LOVER ON THE TRAIL. Taking advantage of the distraction caused by Quackenboss and histroubles, I despatched the black upon his interesting errand, and withno slight anxiety awaited the result. From my position on the roof, I saw my messenger climb the hill, leadingthe proud steed, and saw him enter the great portal of the hacienda. Promptly--almost directly--the groom came out again _without_ the horse. The present had been accepted. So far well. I counted the moments, till heavy footsteps were heard upon theescalera, and a shining black face rose over the roof. There was no letter, no message beyond "_mil gracias_. " I felt a pang of chagrin. I had expected thanks more formal than thismere phrase of compliment. My man appeared better satisfied. A gold _onza_ gleamed in his purplepalm--a handsome perquisite. "By whom given?" I inquired. "Golly, mass cap'n, a gal guv it! De handsomest quaderoom gal dis niggaever see. " Beyond a doubt, Isolina herself was the donor! I could have broken the rascal's thick skull, but that the queenlydouceur gave proof of the satisfaction with which my offering had beenreceived. Even on this trivial circumstance, I built my hopes of yetreceiving a fuller meed of thanks. Absorbed in these hopes, I continued to pace the azotea alone. It was a _dia de fiesta_ in the rancheria. Bells had already commencedtheir clangour, and other notes of rejoicing fell upon the ear. Thepoblanas appeared in their gayest attire--the Indians in bright naguas, with red and purple threads twisted in their black hair; the denizens ofthe ranchitos were pouring into the piazza, and processions were beingformed by the church; _jararas_ were twanging their guitar-like music;and pyrotechnic machines were set up at the corners of the streets. Tinsel-covered saints were carried about on the shoulders of paintedmaskers; and there were Pilate and the Centurion, and the Saviour--aspectacle absurd and unnatural; and yet a spectacle that may bewitnessed every week in a Mexican village, and which, with but slightvariation, has been exhibited every week for three centuries! I had no eyes for this disgusting fanfarronade of a degradingsuperstition. Sick of the sight, wearied with the sounds, I had givenorders for my horse to be saddled, intending to ride forth and seekrepose for my spirit amid the silent glades of the chapparal. While waiting for my steed, an object came under my eyes that quickenedthe beatings of my pulse: my gaze had been long turned in onedirection--upon the hacienda of Don Ramon de Vargas. Just then, I saw emerging from its gate, and passing rapidly down thehill, a horse with a rider upon his back. The snow-white colour of this horse, and the scarlet manga of therider--both contrasting with the green of the surrounding landscape--could not escape observation even at that distance, and my eyes at oncecaught the bright object. I hesitated not to form my conclusion. It was the white steed I saw;and the rider--I remembered the manga as when first my eyes rested uponthat fair form--the rider was Isolina. She was passing down the slope that stretched from the hacienda to theriver, and the minute after, the thick foliage of the platanus treesshrouded the shining meteor from my sight. I noticed that she halted a moment on the edge of the woods, and fanciedthat she gazed earnestly towards the village; but the road she had takenled almost in the opposite direction. I chafed with impatience for my horse. My resolve, made on the impulseof the moment, was to follow the white steed and his scarlet-clad rider. Once in the saddle I hurried out of the piazza, passed the ranchos ofyucca, and reaching the open country, pressed my horse into a gallop. My road lay up the river, through a heavily timbered bottom of gum andcotton-woods. These were thickly beset with the curious _tillandsia_, whose silvery festoons, stretching from branch to branch, shrouded thesun, causing amongst the tree-trunks the obscurity of twilight. In the midst of one of these shadowy aisles, I met or passed some one: Isaw that it was a Mexican boy; but the sombre light, and the rapiditywith which I was riding, prevented me from noting anything more. Thelad shouted after me, uttering some words, which were drowned by thehoof-strokes of my horse. I deemed it some expression of boyish_esprit_, and, without heeding it, rode on. Not until far out of sight and hearing did it occur to me that I knewthe voice and the lad. I recollected a sort of errand-boy attached tothe hacienda, and whom I had seen more than once at the rancheria. Inow remembered the badinage of Wheatley, and would have returned toquestion the youth; but I had left him too far in the rear. After amoment's reflection, I spurred on. I soon arrived at the base of the hill on which stood the hacienda; andhere leaving the main road, I followed a bridle-path that skirted thehill. A few hundred yards brought me to the spot where I had last observed theobject of my pursuit. The hoof-track of the white horse now guided me, and upon his trail Ientered the woods. For some distance, it followed a well-trodden path--a cattle-track--butall at once it diverged from this, and struck off into a heavilytimbered bottom, where not the semblance of path existed. Keeping the trace in view, I rode after. As I advanced, the timber grew thicker, and the path more difficult. Aclose underwood of arundinaria and sabal palms shut up the way and theview; trailing roots obstructed progress below; while higher up, thetrelliswork of llianas, bamboo briars, sarsaparilla, and giganticgrape-vines, rendered it necessary to bend down in the saddle in orderto pass onward. To my surprise I noticed all this. For what purpose could she havechosen such a path? Was it indeed Isolina I had seen? A white horseand a scarlet manga are not uncommon things in Mexico. It might notbe--But the hoof-print-- I dismounted and examined it: I knew it at a glance--it was that of thenoble steed, and the rider could be no other than Isolina de Vargas. No longer in doubt, though still wondering, I followed the tracks. For a half-mile or more, the path meandered through thick forest, hereturning around some giant trunk, there diverging to the right or left, to avoid the impervious network of canes and llianas. At length it began to slope upwards; and I perceived by the ascent thatI was climbing a hill. The woods became more open as I advanced--hereand there alternating with glades--the trees were of slender growth, andthe foliage lighter and thinner. I was no longer among the heavy trunksof platanus and liquidambar. The _leguminoseae_ were the prevailingtrees; and many beautiful forms of inga, acacia, and mimosa, grewaround. Myrtles, too, mingled their foliage with wild limes, theirbranches twined with flowering parasites, as the climbing _combretum_, with its long flame-like clusters, convolvuli, with large whiteblossoms, and the beautiful twin-leaved bauhinia. It was a wild garden of flowers--a shrubbery of nature's own planting. The eye, wandering through the vistas and glades, beheld almost everyform of inflorescence. There were the trumpet-shaped bignonias--convolvuli in pendulous bells--syngenesists disposed in spreadingumbels; and over them, closely set upon tall spikes, rose the showyblossoms of the bromelias--aloes and _dasylyrium_. Even from the topsof the highest trees hung gaudy catkins, wafted to and fro by the lightbreeze, mingling their sheen and their perfume with the floral_epiphytes_ and parasites that clustered around the branches. I could not help thinking that these flowers are gifted with life, andenjoy, during their short and transient existence, both pleasure andpain. The bright warm sun is their happiness, while the cold cloudy skyis the reflection of their misery. As I rode onward, another reflection passed through my mind; it wascaused by my perceiving that the atmosphere was charged with pleasantperfumes--literally loaded with fragrance. I perceived, moreover, thatthe same breeze carried upon its breath the sweet music of birds, whosenotes sounded clear, soft, and harmonious. What closet-slanderer hath asserted that the flowers of this fair landare devoid of fragrance--that its birds, though brightly plumed, aresongless? Ah, Monsieur Buffon! with all your eloquence, such presumptive assertionwill one day strip you of half your fame. You could never haveapproached within two hundred paces of a _Stanhopea_, of the _epidendrumodoratum_, of the _datura grandiflora_, with its mantle of snow-whiteblossoms? You could never have passed near the pothos plant, theserbereae, and tabernamon taneae, the callas, eugenias, ocotas, andnictiginas?--you could never have ridden through a chapparal of acaciasand mimosas--among orchids whose presence fills whole forests withfragrant aroma? And more, Monsieur! you could never have listened to the incomparablemelody of the mock-bird--the full, charming notes of the bluesong-thrush--the sweet warbling voices of the silvias, finches, andtanagers, that not only adorn the American woods with their gorgeouscolours, but make them vocal with never-ending song? No, Monsieur! you could never have inhaled the perfume of these flowers, nor listed to the melody of these sweet songsters; and sad it was ofyou, and silly as sad, to have yielded to the prejudice of a slenderspirit, and denied their existence. Both exist--the singing birds andthe fragrant flowers--both exist, and thou art gone. On such reflections I dwelt but for a moment; they were merely thenatural impressions of surrounding objects--short-lived sensations, almost instantaneously passing away. The soul, benighted with love, hasneither eye nor ear for aught beyond the object of its passion. Fromthe contemplation of that only does it derive pleasure; and even thefairest pictures of nature may be spread before it without challengingobservation. It was only that the one through which I was passing wasof such transcendent beauty--so like to some scene of paradise--that Icould not help regarding it with momentary admiration. But my eyes soon returned to the earth, and once more taking up thetrace of the steed, I rode on. I had advanced near the summit. The tracks were quite recent; thebranches that had been touched by the flanks of the horse had not yetceased to vibrate; the rider could not be far in advance. I fancied Iheard the hoof-stroke. Silently I pressed on, expecting every moment to catch the gleam of thescarlet manga, or the white sheen of the steed. A few paces farther, and both were under my eyes, glittering through thefeathery frondage of the mimosas. I had followed the true track. Therider was Isolina. I saw that she had halted. She had reached the top of the hill, wherethe growth of timber ceased. An opening of about an acre there was, surrounded on all sides by the flowery woods--the very _beau-ideal_ of asummer glade. The open summit commanded a view of the surroundingcountry--for the hill was a high one--while the charming spot itselfenjoyed perfect privacy and repose. In this glade, she had drawn up, and was sitting silently in the saddleas if to enjoy the warbling of birds, the hum of the bees, and thefragrance of flowers. I myself drew rein, and remained for some moments in a state ofhesitancy, as to whether I should ride forward or go back. A feeling ofshame was upon me, and I believe I would have turned my horse and stolengently away, but just then I saw the fair rider draw forth from herbosom something that glittered in the sun. It was a watch, and sheappeared to note the time. I observed that she looked anxiously overthe tops of the low trees, in the direction of the plain below. These circumstances, trivial as they might appear, produced within me aquick sense of pain. I felt as if hot steel was passing through myheart. I had ridden to my ruin--I had followed to be present at anassignation. Thus only could I explain the solitary ride, and by suchdifficult and devious paths; thus only could I account for theoft-repeated anxious glance, the ear acutely bent. Beyond a doubt, shewas listening for the footsteps of a lover! The rein fell from my fingers. I sat irresolute--I scarcely breathed--my heart felt cold and feeble--the birds mocked me--the parrotsscreeched his name--the _aras_ in hoarse concert cried out "_Ijurra_!" The name nerved me, as blood knits the sinews of the tiger. Once moremy fingers closed upon my bridle, my feet became firm in the stirrups, and heart and arm swelled to their full strength. 'Twas but a lightrapier that hung against my thigh--no matter; he might be no betterweaponed; but even armed from head to heel, I feared him not. Threepassions--hatred, jealousy, and revenge--supplied an arm of treblestrength, and under the influence of these I felt bold and sure ofconquest. Yes, I felt at that moment, as though I could have slain myhated rival with my naked hands. I was no longer troubled with scruples of etiquette. No; this monsterowed me satisfaction--life itself: he had striven to take mine; and nowhis should be forfeit to my vengeance. On that spot--even in herpresence--should he die, or I myself become the victim. The two of usshould never go thence alive. "Oh, that he may reach the ground whilemy blood is thus hot, and my hand ready!" The fierce thoughts stirring within me must have roused my horse, for atthat moment he tossed his head and neighed wildly. A response came likean echo from the glade, and the instant after, a voice called out. -- "_Hola! quien va_?" Concealment was no longer possible. I saw that I was observed; and, spurring my horse into the open ground, I rode up, and halted face toface with Isolina. CHAPTER FORTY SIX. A DECLARATION ON HORSEBACK. Face to face with my beautiful brunette. Her eyes flashed upon me withan expression of surprise. I felt abashed by the glance; my conduct wasnot _en regle_. I bethought me of an apology. What excuse could I offer for suchunceremonious intrusion? Accident? She would not believe it; the timeand the place were against such a supposition. With an intellect likehers, it would be idle to adopt so shallow an artifice. No; I would notdissemble; I would boldly avow the truth. Jealousy had rendered mereckless of the result. "_Adios, cavallero_!" said she, interrupting my hurried reflections. "_Carrambo_! where is your guide? How have you found this place?" "Easily enough, senorita; I followed the tracks of your horse. " "But so soon--I did not expect you--" "No; you expected another?" "Certainly. I thought Cyprio would arrive before you--" "Cyprio!" "Cyprio--yes, Cyprio. " "Senorita! if this be another name for your Protean cousin, I have tosay it will be better for him he should not arrive at all. " "My cousin?--better not arrive? Holy Trinity, capitan! I do notcomprehend you!" Her large brown eyes were rolling in astonishment. I was as muchpuzzled as she, but I had begun my explanation, and was determined tocarry it to the end. "Then, Senorita de Vargas, I shall be more explicit. If Rafael Ijurraappear upon this ground, either he or I leave it not alive. He hasattempted my life, and I have vowed to take his, whenever and wherever Imay meet him. " "Pray heaven you may keep your vow!" "Your cousin?" "My cousin--Rafael Ijurra--my worst foe--the direst enemy of our house!" "Ha! and were you not waiting him?" "Awaiting _him_! Ha, ha, ha! No. Little timid though I be, I shouldnot desire to be here alone with Rafael Ijurra. " "Lady! you astonish me; pray explain--" "_Por dios_! gallant capitan, 'tis you who need explain. I sought thisinterview to thank you for your noble gift. You meet me with anger inyour eye, and bitter words upon your tongue. " "You sought this interview?--say you so, lady?" "Certainly I did. For reasons already known to you, I dared not inviteyou to our house; so I have chosen this pretty glade for mydrawing-room. How do you like it, cavallero?" "In your society, senorita, the rudest spot would appear a paradise. " "Again the poet's tongue! Ah, capitan, remember the yellow domino! Nomore flattery, I pray; we are no longer _en masque_. Face to face, letus be candid with each other. " "With all my heart I accept the conditions. Candour is the very thing Idesire, for, to say the truth, I came prepared for a confession. " "A confession!" "Precisely so; but since you are an advocate for candour, may I firstask a question?" "Ho! you wish to play the confessor with me?" "I do, senorita. " "Bravo, capitan! Proceed! I shall answer you in all sincerity. " "Then, lady, what I would ask first--Who is this Cyprio whom youexpected?" "Cyprio! Ha, ha, ha! Who should Cyprio be but my mozo; he who carriedmy message to you. Why do you put such a question?" "He who carried your message to me?" "Of course. Yonder is the _muchaco_ himself. Hola, Cyprio! you mayreturn to the house. _Carrambo_ capitan! both he and you must have spedwell. I did not expect you for half-an-hour; but you soldiers are soonin the saddle. So much the better, for it is getting late, and I have agreat deal to say to you. " A light had broken upon me. 'Twas Cyprio I had passed in the forestshade; the boy was the bearer of a message--hence his having hailed me. 'Twas I who was expected to keep the assignation; 'twas I for whom thetimepiece had been consulted--for whom those earnest glances had beengiven! The bitter moments were past, and my heart swelled anew with proud andpleasant emotions. As yet she knew not that I had come without invitation. Cyprio, at theword of command, had gone off without making any reply, and my promptappearance upon the ground was still unexplained. I was about to account for it, and offer some apology for my brusquebehaviour, when I was challenged to the confession I had just promised. Minor thoughts gave way before the important purpose I had formed, andto which the banter now recalled me. So fair an opportunity might neveroffer again. In the vicissitudes of a soldier's life, the chance ofto-day should not be disregarded--to-morrow may bring change either inthe scene or the circumstances; and I was skilled enough in love-lore toknow that an hour unimproved is often followed by an age of regrets. But, in truth, I do some wrong to my character; I was but little underthe influence of such cunning cognisance at that moment. I acted not byvolition, but rather under pressure of a passion that held completemastery over my will, and compelled me to the declaration I was about tomake. It was simple enough--three little words in either of the two sweettongues in which we understood each other. I chose the one--of allothers most attuned to the tones of the loving heart--and bending low tothat fair face, and gazing into the liquid depths of those largeinquiring eyes, I whispered the sweet, though oft-repeated phrase-- "_Yo te amo_. " The words quivered upon my lips, but their tone proved the sincerity inwhich I had spoken. No doubt it was further manifest by the earnestnessof my manner as I awaited her reply. The habitual smile had departed from her lips; the damask red deepenedand mounted higher upon her cheeks; the dark fringes drooped downward, and half-concealed the burning orbs beneath: the face of the gay girlhad suddenly assumed the serious air of womanhood. At first, I was terrified by the expression, and could scarcely controlmy dread; but I drew hope from the flushed cheek, the roseate neck, theswelling panting bosom. Strong emotions were stirring in that breast. Oh, what emotions! will she not speak? Will she not declare them? There was a long interval of silence--to me, it seemed an age. "Senor, " she said at length--'twas the first time I had heard that voicetremble--"Senor, you promised to be candid; you have been so: are youequally _sincere_?" "I have spoken from the depth of my soul. " The long lashes were raised, and the love-light gleamed in her liquideyes; for a moment it burned steadily, bathing my heart as with balm. Heaven itself could not have shed a brighter beam upon my spirit. All at once a smile played upon her features, in which I detected, orfancied so, the gay _insouciance_ that springs from indifference. To meit was another moment of pain. She continued-- "And pray, capitan, what would you have _me_ do?" I felt embarrassed, and replied not. "Would you have me declare that I love you?" "Oh! you cannot--you do not--" "You have not asked the question!" "No, lady. I too much dread the answer. " "Ho! what a coward you have grown of late! A pity I am not masked. Shall I draw this veil? Ha, ha, ha!" It was not the manner of love. Love laughs not. My heart was heavy; Imade no reply, but with eyes upon the ground, sat in my saddle, feelinglike one condemned. For some moments her laughter rang in my ears, as I fancied, in mockery. Her sweet silvery voice only grated upon my heart. Oh, that I hadnever listened to its siren tones! I heard the hoof-stroke of her horse; and, looking up, saw that she wasmoving away from the spot. Was she going to leave me thus? She spurred towards the centre of the glade, where the ground washigher, and there again pulled up. "Come hither, cavallero!" she cried, beckoning to me with her smallgloved hand. Mechanically, I moved forward to the spot. "So, gallant capitan! you who are brave enough to meet a score of foes, have not the courage to ask a woman if she loves you!" A dismal smile was my only reply to this bitter badinage. "Ah! capitan, " she continued, "I will not believe it; ere now you haveput that dreaded interrogatory--often, I fear too often. " I looked at her with surprise. There was a touch of bitterness in thetone. The gay smile was gone; her eyelids drooped; her look was turnedupon the ground. Was this real, or only a seeming? the prelude to some abrupt antithesis?some fresh outburst of satire? "Senorita!" said I, "the hypothesis, whether true or false, can have butlittle interest for you. " She answered me with a smile of strange intelligence. I fancied therewas sadness in it. I fancied-- "We cannot recover the past, " said she, interrupting my thoughts; "no, no, no! But for the present--say again--tell me again that you loveme!" "Love you!--yes, lady--" "And I have your heart, your whole heart?" "Never--can I love another!" "Thanks! thanks!" "No more than thanks, Isolina?" For some moments she remained silent, her eyes averted from me; sheappeared struggling with some emotion. "Yes, more than thanks, " she replied at length; "gratitude! three thingsmore--if they will suffice to prove my gratitude. " "Name them!" "Why should prudery tie my tongue? I promised to be candid. I, too, came here to make confession. Listen! Three things I have said. Lookaround you!--north, south, east, and west--the land you see is mine; beit yours, if you will. " "Isolina!" "This, too, can I bestow, "--she held forth her little hand, which Iclasped with fervid emotion. "More! more! the third?" "The third, on second thoughts, I cannot give; 'tis yours already. " "It is--?" "_Mia corazon_" (My heart). Those splendid steeds, like creatures of intelligence, appeared tounderstand what was said; they had gradually moved closer and closer, till their muzzles touched and their steel curbs rang together. At thelast words, they came side by side, as if yoked in a chariot. Itappeared delight to them to press their proud heaving flanks againsteach other, while their riders, closing in mutual clasp, leaned over andmet their lips in that wild fervid kiss--the climax of love. CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. STRAYED FROM THE TRACK. We parted upon the top of the hill. It was not prudent for us to beseen riding together, and Isolina went away first, leaving me in theglade. We had bidden adieu in that phrase of pleasant promise, "_hasta lamanana_" (until to-morrow). To-morrow we should meet again. To-morrow, and to-morrow, we should visit that sweet spot, repeat our burningwords, renew our blissful vows. I remained some minutes on the ground, now hallowed and holy. Within, the tumult of triumphant passion had passed, and was succeeded by thecalm repose of perfect contentment. My heart's longings had beengratified; it had found all that it desired--even to the fullreciprocity of its passion. What would it more? There is no more ofmundane bliss. Life has no felicity to cope with requited love; italone can give us a foretaste of future joys; by it only may we formsome idea of the angel existence of heaven. The world without was in harmony with the spirit within. The scenearound me was rose-coloured. The flowers appeared fresher in tint, andbreathed a sweeter fragrance in the air; the hum of the homeward bee, laden with treasures for his love-queen, fell with a dreamy pleasanceupon the ear; the voices of the birds sounded softer and more musical;even the _aras_ and paroquets, chanting in a more subdued tone, nolonger pronounced that hated name; and the tiny Mexican doves, _laspalomitas_--scarcely so large as finches--walked with proud gait overthe ground, or side by side upon the branches of the myrtles--like typesof tender love--told their heart's tale in soft and amorous cooing. Long could I have lingered by that consecrated spot, even _hasta lamanana_, but duty claimed me, and its calls must not be disregarded. Already the setting sun was flinging purple beams over the distantprairie; and, heading my horse down the hill, I once more plunged underthe shadows of the mimosas. Absorbed in my supreme happiness, I took no heed of aught else; Inoticed neither track nor path. Had I left my horse to himself, most likely he would have taken theright road; but in my reverie, perhaps I had mechanically dragged uponthe rein, and turned him from it. Whether or not, after a lapse oftime, I found myself in the midst of thick woods, with not the semblanceof a trail to guide me; and I knew not whether I was riding in the rightdirection. I ought rather to say that I knew the contrary--else I mustlong before have reached the clearings around the village. Without much reflection, I turned in a new direction, and rode for sometime without striking a trail. This led me once more into doubt, and Imade head back again, but still without success. I was in aforest-plain, but I could find no path leading anywhere; and amid theunderwood of palmettoes I could not see any great distance around me. Beyond a question, I had strayed far out of my way. At an early hour of the day, this would have given me little concern;but the sun had now set, and already under the shadow of themoss-covered trees, it was nearly dark. Night would be down in a fewminutes, and in all probability I should be obliged to spend it in theforest--by no means an agreeable prospect, and the less so that I wasthinly clad and hungry. True, I might pass some hours in sweetreflection upon the pleasant incident of the day--I might dream rosydreams--but, alas! the soul is sadly under the influence of the body;the spiritual must ever yield to the physical, and even love itselfbecomes a victim to the vulgar appetite of hunger. I began to fear that, after all, I should have but a sorry night of it. I should be too hungry to think; too cold either to sleep or dream;besides, I was likely to get wet to the shirt--as the rain had commencedfalling in large heavy drops. After another unsuccessful effort to strike a trail, I pulled up and satlistening. My eyes would no longer avail me; perhaps my ears might dobetter service. And so it chanced. The report of a rifle reached them, apparently firedsome hundred yards off in the woods. Considering that I was upon hostile ground, such a sound might havecaused me alarm; but I knew from the sharp whip-like crack that thepiece was a hunter's rifle, and no Mexican ever handled a gun of thatkind. Moreover, I had heard, closely following upon the shot, a dullconcussion, as of some heavy body dropped from a high elevation to theground. I was hunter enough to know the signification of this sound. It was the game--bird or beast--that had fallen from a tree. An American must have fired that shot; but who? There were only threeor four of the rangers who carried the hunter-rifle--a very differentweapon from the "regulation" piece--old backwoodsmen who had beenindulged in their whim. It might be one of these. Without hesitation, I headed my horse for the spot, and rode as rapidlyas the underwood would permit me. I kept on for five minutes or more without halting. I certainly musthave passed the place where the shot had been fired, and yet I saw noone; but just as I was about to pull up again, a well-known voicereached me from behind with the words-- "By the jumpin Geehosophat! it ur the young fellur--the capt'n!" Turning, I beheld my trapper comrades just emerging from the bushes, where they had cautiously _cached_ themselves, on hearing thehoof-strokes of my horse, and lain hid till I had passed them. Rube carried upon his shoulders a large turkey gobbler--the game I hadheard drop--while upon Garey's back I observed the choice portions of adeer. "You have been foraging to some advantage, " I remarked as they came up. "Yes, capt'n, " replied Garey, "_we_ won't want for rashuns. Not butthat your rangers offered us a plenty to eat; but ye see we couldn't inhonour accept o' it, for we promised to find for ourselves. " "Ye-es, durn it!" added Rube, "we're free mountainee men--ain't a gwineto sponge on nobody--we ain't. " "An', capt'n, " continued Garey, "thar don't appear to be any greateatin' fixins about the place for yurself neyther: if yu'll just accepto' the turkey, and one o' these hyar quarters o' the deer-meat, thar'splenty left for Rube an' me; ain't thar, Rube?" "Gobs!" was the laconic answer. I was not loath to satisfy the wish of the hunters--for to say thetruth, the village larder had no such delicacies as either wild turkeyor venison--and having signified my assent, we all three moved away fromthe spot. With the trappers for my guides, I should soon get into theright road. They, too, were on their return to the post. They had beenin the woods since noon. They were both afoot, having left their horsesat the rancheria. After winding about half-a-mile among the trees, we came out upon anarrow road. Here my companions, who were unacquainted with theneighbourhood, were at fault as well as myself: and knew not whichdirection to take. It was dark as pitch, but, as on the night before, there was lightningat intervals. Unlike the preceding night, however, it was now rainingas if all the sluices of the sky had been set open; and by this time wewere all three of us soaking wet. The whole canopy of heaven wasshrouded in black, without a single streak of light upon it--not even astar. Who could discover the direction in such a night? As the lightning flashed, I saw Rube bending down over the road; heappeared to be examining the tracks. I noticed that there werewheel-tracks--deep ruts--evidently made by the rude block-wheels of a_carreta_. It was these that the trapper was scanning. Almost as soon as a man could have read the direction from afinger-post, Rube raised himself erect, and crying out-- "All right--this-away!" set off along the road. I was curious to know how he had determined the point, and questionedhim. "Wal, yur see, young fellur, it ur the trail o' a Mexikin cart; an'anybody as iver seed thet ur vamint, knows it hez got only two wheels. But thur are four tracks hyur, an' thurfor the cart must a gone back an'fo'th, for I seed they wur the same set o' wheels. Now, 'tur raizonableto s'pose thet the back-track leads to the settlements, an' thet'sthisaway. " "But how could you tell which was the back-track?" "Wagh! thet ur easy as fallin' off a log. The back track ur the fresherby more'n a kupple o' hours. " Pondering upon the singular "instinct" that enabled our guide todistinguish the tracks, I rode on in silence. Shortly after, I again heard the voice of Rube, who was some paces inthe advance. "I kud a knowd the way, " he said, "'ithout the wheel-tracks: they onlymade things more sartint sure. " "How?" I asked. "What other clue had you?" "The water, " replied he; "'ee see, or 'ee mout, ef you'd a looked intothe tracks, thet it ur runnin' this-away. Do ee hear thet thur?" I listened. I heard distinctly the sound of running water, as of asmall stream carried down a rough rocky channel. "Yes--I hear it, but how should the water guide you?" "Wal, " continued the trapper, "it ur a branch made by the rain: we're afollerin it down; an' thurfor must kum to the river jest whur we want togit. Oncest thur, we'll soon find our way, I reck'n. Wagh! how thedurned rain kums down! It 'ud drown a muss-rat. Wagh!" The result proved the trapper's reasoning correct. The road-water wasrunning in the direction we had taken; and shortly after, the brawlingbranch shot out from among the bushes, and crossed our path, divergingfrom it at an acute angle. We could see, however, as we plunged throughthe now swollen streamlet, that the current, in its general direction, was the same with our road: it would certainly guide us to the river. It did so. Half a mile farther on we came out upon its banks, andstruck the main road leading to the rancheria. A few minutes' brisk travelling carried us to the outskirts of thevillage, and we expected soon to be under shelter, when we were allthree brought to a sudden halt by the sharp hail of the sentry, whocalled out the usual interrogatory-- "Who goes there?" "Friends!" I replied; "'tis you, Quackenboss?" I had recognised the voice of the soldier-botanist, and under thelightning saw him standing by the trunk of a tree. "Halt! Give the countersign!" was the response in a firm, determinedtone. I did not know this masonic pass-word. On riding out, I had not thoughtof such a thing, and I began to anticipate some trouble. I resolved, however, to make trial of the sentry. "We haven't got the countersign. 'Tis I, Quackenboss. I am--" I announced my name and rank. "Don't care for all that!" was the somewhat surly rejoinder; "can't pass'ithout the countersign. " "Yer durned fool! it's yur captin, " cried Rube, in a peevish tone. "Maybe, " replied the imperturbable sentry; "can't let him pass 'ithoutcountersign. " I now saw that we were in a real dilemma. "Send for the corporal of the guard, or either of the lieutenants, " Isuggested, thinking that that might be the shortest way to get over thedifficulty. "Hain't got nobody to send, " came the gruff voice of Quackenboss fromout the darkness. "I'll go!" promptly answered Garey--the big trapper thinking, in hisinnocence, there could be no reason why _he_ should not carry themessage to quarters--and as he spoke, he made a step or two forward inthe direction of the sentinel. "Halt there!" thundered the voice of Quackenboss; "halt! another step, and I'll plug you with a bullet. " "What's thet? plug, he sez?" screamed Rube, leaping to the front. "Geezus Geehosophat! yu'll plug 'im, eh? Yur durned mulehead, if 'eeshoot this way, it 'll be the last time yu'll ever lay claw to atrigger. Now then!" and Rube stood with his rifle half raised to thelevel, and threatening to raise it still higher. At that moment, the lightning gleamed; I saw the sentry with _his_ piecealso at a level. I well knew the accuracy of his aim; I trembled for the result. In my loudest voice I called out-- "Hold, Quackenboss! hold your fire! we shall wait till some one comes;"and as I spoke, I caught both my companions, and drew them back. Whether it was the commanding tone of my voice, which the ranger hadheard before, or whether in the light he had recognised my features, Isaw him, before it darkened, lower his piece, and I felt easy again. But he still obstinately refused to let us pass. Further parley was to no purpose, and only led to an exchange of ratherrough compliments between Quackenboss and my two companions; so, afterendeavouring to make peace between them, I stood still to await thechance of some one of the guard coming within hail. Fortunately, at that moment, a ranger, somewhat the worse foraguardiente, appeared in the direction of the piazza. Quackenboss condescended to call him up; and after a crooked palaver, hewas despatched to bring the corporal of the guard. The arrival of the latter ended our troubles, and we were permitted toreach the piazza without further hindrance; but as we passed the sternsentry, I could hear Rube mutter to him-- "Ee durned mulehead! ef I hed ye out upon the parairas, wudn't I!Wagh!" CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. AN ADIOS. To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow--a demi-lune of love, whoseevery hour was consecrated to its god. At earliest dawn, by the rosyrays of Aurora; at golden noon, shadowed under sweet acacias; in thegleam of the purple twilight; 'neath the silvery light of the moon. That both laid our hearts upon his altar, and willing knelt before theshrine, witness ye bright birds and perfumed flowers!--ye green myrtlesand mimosas!--witness ye blue skies of Anahuac! Ye alone were ourwitnesses. For you who have loved, I need not portray the pleasure of this noblepassion; for you who have not loved, I cannot. Love is a delight thatmay be known only to those who have experienced it. Ours was a half-month of happiness without alloy. True, there weremoments of pain--the moments of daily parting--but these were brief, andperhaps only prevented the cloyment of too much joy--if such a thing bepossible. Moreover, these short-lived sorrows were in part neutralised by theknowledge we should soon meet again; we never parted without exchangingthat fair promise. In the morning, it was "_hasta la tarde_;" at night, our last words were "_manana por la manana_" Lovers have felt, and poetshave sung, the pleasures of hope; oft the anticipation of a pleasurerivals in piquancy its actual enjoyment. Let memory not be forgotten; it, too, has its joys; and oh, how sweetthe retrospect of those blissful hours! If there was monotony, it was amonotone of which my heart could never tire. It was an intoxication Icould have endured for life. There is no surfeit of such sweets. Whyare we not permitted to enjoy them for ever? Alas! there is an ending. There was so. A crisis came, and we must part--not with the prettypromise upon our lips--"until the morning", "until the evening, " but forlong weeks, months, maybe years--an uncertain time--"_hasta se acabo laguerra_" (until the war is over). Oh, the misery of that parting! Cruel destiny of war! Never felt I soweary of wearing a sword. There was a struggle 'twixt love and duty. No, not duty: I might havesheathed my sword, and wronged no one; I was but a cipher amongthousands, whose blade would scarcely have been missed. Nor would Ihave wronged myself. I was simply, as I have already declared, anadventurer. The country for which I fought could not claim me; I wasbound by no political conscience, no patriotic _esprit_. Perhaps, nowand then, I entertained the idea that I was aiding the designs of"manifest destiny"--that I was doing God's work in battling against thedespotic form. Yes, I may confess that such sparks glowed within me atintervals, and at such intervals only did I feel enthusiasm in thecause. But it was no consideration of this kind that hindered me fromdeserting my banner. Far otherwise: I was influenced by a motive purelyselfish--pride. I could not--an adventurer almost penniless--I _would_ not presume toclaim that richly dowried hand. Fortune I might never have to equalhers, but fame is worthy wealth, and glory mates with beauty. I knewthat I was gifted with an apt head and bold aspiring heart; I knew thatI carried a keen blade, and hoped to hew my way to rank and fame. Perhaps I might return with a star upon my shoulder, and a better handleto my name, and then-- Ah, for all that, it was a bitter parting! It was hard to listunheeding to those earnest entreaties, adjuring me to stay--terrible toentwine those tender arms--terrible to utter that last _adios_! Our troth was plighted within that same glade that had echoed our firstvows. It had been plighted a hundred times, but never sadly as now, amidst sobs and tears. When the bright form, screened by the frondage, had passed out of sight, I felt as if the sun had become suddenlyeclipsed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I lingered not long, though I could have stayed for hours upon thehallowed spot. Again duty, that stern commander, summoned me away. Itwas already close upon sunset, and by to-morrow's dawn I must be _enroute_ with my troop. I was about heading my horse into the track, now well known to me;Isolina had gone down the hill on the opposite side, by a path that ledmore directly to the hacienda. From precaution this had been ourhabitual mode of parting; and we also met from opposite sides. In thewild region of the _cerro_--for by this name was the hill known--wenever encountered a human being. There was no habitation near, and thevaqueros rarely strayed that way, so that our place of meeting remaineda secret--at least we fancied so--and we acted without muchapprehension, and perhaps without sufficient caution. Each hour we hadgrown more confident of security, and, blinded by love, had taken lesspains to conceal the fact of our daily assignation. It was only thatmorning I had heard a whisper that our affair was known, and that theyof the rancheria were not as benighted as we supposed them. Wheatleywas my informant--Conchita, his. The lieutenant had added some friendlyadvice, cautioning me against the imprudence of going so far from thepost unattended. Perhaps I might have treated his remonstrance with less neglect; but asthis was to be our last meeting for a long time, my heart grew heavyunder the prospect of the parting scene. I preferred goingcompanionless; I had no apprehension that any enemy was near. As forIjurra, he was no longer in the neighbourhood; he had not been seensince the night of the battle; and we had positive information that hehad joined his band with the guerrilla of the celebrated Canales, thenoperating on the road between Camargo and Monterey. Indeed, had Ijurrabeen near, he could hardly have escaped the keen search of Holingsworthand the rangers, who, night and day, had been upon the scout, in hopesof overhauling him. I was about turning into the old track, when a yearning came over me--adesire to obtain one more look at my beloved. By this time she wouldhave reached her home; I should pass near the house; perhaps I might seeher upon the azotea--a distant glance--a wave of the hand--haply thesweet prayer "_va con Dios_!" wafted upon the breeze: something of thekind I anticipated. My horse seemed to divine my wishes; scarcely waiting for the guidanceof the rein, he moved forward upon the path taken by the steed ofIsolina. I soon reached the bottom of the hill, and, entering the heavy timber, traversed a tangled wood--similar to that on the other side of thecerro. There was no path, but the tracks of the white steed were easilyfollowed, and, guiding myself by them, I rode forward. I had not gone five hundred yards from the hill, when I heard voicesthrough, the woods, directly in front of me, and apparently at no greatdistance. Years of frontier-life had imbued me with an intuitivecaution that resembled instinct; and, as if by mechanical effort, Ipulled up and listened. A woman was speaking; and instantly I recognised the voice. There wasbut one that rang with that rich metallic tone. I might well rememberit, for the sweet, sad sounds of the _va con Dios_ had not yet ceased tovibrate in my ears. With whom was she in converse? Whom had she encountered in such aplace, amid the wild woods? She ceased speaking. With ears keenly set, I listened for the rejoinder. Naturally, Iexpected it in the voice of a man; but not that man. Oh, heavens! itwas the voice of Rafael Ijurra! CHAPTER FORTY NINE. THREATS. Yes, the voice was Ijurra's. I knew it well. While listening to it bythe mesa, I had noted its tones sufficiently to remember them--round, sonorous, of true Spanish accent, and not inharmonious--though at thatmoment they grated harshly upon my ear. An indescribable feeling came over me: it was not jealousy--I was tooconfident to be jealous--and yet, I shame to confess, I felt a sensationsadly akin to it. After those earnest oaths, those tears and frenziedkisses--so soon after! Oh, shame upon me! Alas! the experienced heart no more enjoys the tranquil continuity offaith. Its belief is like a broken dream--an intermittence of light andshade. It was my misfortune, my error, perhaps my crime, to remembertoo many pairs of pretty perjured lips. In a word, I was once more jealous, in spite of all that had passed--ofsighs, and tears, and plighted vows--once more jealous of Ijurra! But the moment before, his name was on her tongue, and spoken withscorn; in the same breath I was assured that he was no longer in theneighbourhood, that he was far away! No; he was upon the spot, in close conversation with her, and scarcelyfive minutes after the oath had been sworn that bound her to me forlife! Less wonder I was jealous. That the feeling lasted only for aninstant might be some palliation, but it was no merit of mine thatbrought it so quickly to a termination. I cannot screen my conductbehind an act of volition; for although the poisoned sting rankled butfor a few seconds of time, during that short period I yielded obedienceto its demoniac promptings. I slipped down gently from my saddle; and with the crouching gait andsilent tread of the jaguar, approached the speakers. My horse, welltrained to such tactics stayed where I had dismounted, without tie orhopple. No fear that his hoof would betray me. Step by step I advanced, with my hands cautiously parting the boughs. The fronds of a curious sabal palm befriended me. They grew verticallyon short petioles, like large green fans; and overlying one another, formed a perfect screen, through which the keenest eye could notperceive the approach of an intruder. In a few seconds, I stood behind the last row that bounded the edge of asmall opening; and peering through the serrate interstices of theleaves, I saw my betrothed and her cousin. Isolina was still in the saddle. Ijurra was on foot, and standing byher stirrup, with one hand resting upon the pommel, the other graspingthe rein. Up to this moment, my heart had continued its painful throbbing; but theattitude of Ijurra, with his troubled and angry look, at once produced arevulsion in my feelings. I saw that the encounter had beenaccidental--at least on the part of Isolina; I saw that she was_detained_. I could not see her face; it was turned in the opposite direction, andtowards Ijurra; but the tones of her voice reached me, and by these Iperceived that she addressed him in anger. Oh, how those accents ofindignation ravished my heart; sweeter were they to me than the softestmelody! As yet, I had heard nothing of what had passed between them; the loudbeating of my heart, the rustling of the leaves under my feet, of theboughs as I pressed through them, had prevented me from distinguishingwhat was said. These sounds ceased as I came to a stop; and althoughstill fifty paces distant from the speakers, I could catch every word oftheir conversation, favoured by the loud tone in which it was carriedon. "So, then, you refuse?" It was Ijurra who put this interrogatory. "I have done so before, Rafael; your conduct has given me no cause tochange my mind. " "Ha! my conduct has nothing to do with it; you have other reasons. Isolina, do not imagine I am such a _bobo_. I know your secret: youlove this _gringo_--this Yankee captain?" "And suppose I do, that is my affair. Nay, more, sir, shall not evenattempt to make a secret of it. I do love him--I do--I do. " Ijurra's eyes gleamed with malignant fire; his lips turned white, andtightened over his teeth; he seemed endeavouring to curb the exposure ofhis spleen. "And you would marry him?" he asked with compressed emphasis. "I _shall_ marry him, " was the prompt reply. "_Por todos santos_! it shall never be. " "And who is to hinder it?" "I!" "Ha, ha, ha! You are raving, Rafael Ijurra!" "You may love him to your heart's content--I care not; but marry him--never! s'death! never!" "Indeed?" "By the saints, I swear it. I swear--" "You have sworn enough; you are sufficiently perjured already. " "_Carrai_!" furiously shouted Ijurra, as if losing patience. "Listen tome, Isolina de Vargas! I have something to say that may not be sopleasant--" "You can say nothing pleasant; but I listen. " "First, then, here are certain documents that concern you--both you andyour father. " I saw some folded papers in his hand, which he had taken from under hisjacket. He opened and held them before her face, as he continued:-- "This safeguard is one given by the American commander-in-chief to theDona Isolina de Vargas. Perhaps you have seen it before? And here is aletter from Don Ramon de Vargas to the commissary-general of theAmerican army, enclosed within another from that functionary to your petfilibustero--a pretty piece of treason this!" "Well, sir?" "Not so well for you, madame. You forget that General Santa Anna is nowchief of this republic. Think you he will not punish such traitorouscorrespondence! _Carrambo_! if I but lay these documents before hisExcellency, I shall have an order for the arrest of both yourself andyour father as quickly as it can be spoken. No more; the estate will beproscript and confiscated--it will become mine--mine!" The speaker paused, as if for an answer. Isolina remained silent. I could not see her face to notice the effect. I fancied that the threat had terrified her. Ijurra continued:-- "Now, senorita! you better comprehend our relative positions. Give yourconsent to become my wife, and these papers shall be destroyed on theinstant. " "Never!" was the firm response that delighted my ears. "Never!" echoed Ijurra; "then dread the consequences. I shall obtainorders for your arrest, and as soon as this horde of Yankee ruffians hasbeen driven from the country, the property shall be mine. " "Ha, ha, ha!" came the scornful laugh in reply--"ha, ha, ha! youmistake, Rafael Ijurra; you are not so far-sighted as you deem yourself;you forget that my father's land lies on the _Texan_ side of the RioGrande; and ere that horde of Yankee ruffians, as you term them, bedriven out, they will establish this river for their boundary. Where, then, will lie the power of confiscation? Not with you, and yourcowardly master. Ha, ha, ha!" The reply maddened Ijurra still further, for he saw the probability ofwhat had been said. His face became livid, and he seemed to lose allcontrol of himself. "Even so, " he shouted with the addition of a fierce oath--"even so, _you_ shall never inherit those lands. Listen, Isolina de Vargas!listen to another secret I have for you: know, senorita, that you arenot the lawful daughter of Don Ramon!" I saw the proud girl start, as if struck with an arrow. "I have the proofs of what I repeat, " continued Ijurra; "and even shouldthe United States triumph, its laws cannot make _you_ legitimate. Youare not the heiress of the hacienda de Vargas!" As yet not a word from Isolina. She sat silent and motionless, but Icould tell by the rising and falling of her shoulders that a terriblestorm was gathering in her bosom. The fiend continued:-- "Now, madame, you may know how disinterested it was of me to offer youmarriage: nay, more, I never loved you; if I told you so, it was alie--" He never lied in his life as he was doing at that moment. His facebespoke the falsehood of his words. It was the utterance of purestspleen. I read in his look the unmistakable expression of jealousy. Coarse as the passion may have been, he loved her--oh! how could it havebeen otherwise? "Love you, indeed! Ha, ha, ha! love you--the daughter of a poorIndian--a _margarita_!" The climax had come. The heaving bosom could bear silence no longer;the insult was unendurable. "Base wretch!" cried she, in a voice of compressed agony, "stand asidefrom my path!" "Not yet, " answered Ijurra, grasping the bridle more firmly. "I havesomething further to communicate--" "Villain! release the rein!" "Before I do, you shall promise--you shall swear--" "Again! let go! or this bullet to your heart!" I had sprung from out the thicket, and was running forward to herrescue. I saw her right hand raised on high, and something shining inits grasp. It was a pistol. Its muzzle was pointed at Ijurra. No doubt the resolute character of her who held it was well known tohim, for the threat produced an immediate effect; the coward relaxed hishold, the reins dropped from his fingers, and with a mingled look ofhatred and fear, he stepped back a pace. The moment the bridle became free, the steed, already startled by thespur, bounded forward; and after half-a-dozen springs, both horse andrider disappeared behind the screen of the palmettoes. I was too late to play the knight-errant. The "ladye faire" had notneeded my help; she neither saw nor heard me; and by the time I arrivedupon the ground, she had passed out of sight, and Ijurra was alone. CHAPTER FIFTY. AWKWARD ODDS. Ijurra was alone, and I continued to advance to the spot where he wasstanding. His back was towards me, for he still fronted in thedirection in which Isolina had galloped off. He had followed her withhis eyes, with a cry of disappointed rage, with a threat of malignantvengeance. The sound of his own voice hindered him from hearing mine, and he wasnot aware of my presence, when I paused scarcely three feet from wherehe stood, and directly behind him. I held my sword drawn; I could have thrust him in the back, through andthrough again, before he could have offered either defence orresistance. He was completely in my power. Fortunate was it for him at that moment that I had been bred agentleman, else in another instant his lifeless body would have lain atmy feet. A plebeian blade would have made short work with the ruffian, and I confess that my instincts of fair-play were sorely tried. I hadbefore me a man who had sought my life--a deadly foe--a deadly foe toher I loved--a perjured villain--a murderer! With such titles forhimself, he had none to the laws of honour; and I confess that for oneshort moment, I felt like ignoring his claim. 'Twas but for a moment: the thought revolted me. Wicked and worthlessas he was, I could not stab him in the back. I leaned forward, and tapping him upon the shoulder, pronounced hisname. It was the first intimation he had of my presence; and starting as ifhit by a bullet, he turned face towards me. The flush of anger upon hischeek suddenly gave place to deadly pallor, and his eyes became set inthat peculiar stare that indicates an apprehension of danger. This hemust have felt keenly, for my determined look and drawn sword--to saynothing of the surprise by which I had come upon him--were calculated toproduce that effect. It was the first time we had stood face to face, and I now perceivedthat he was a much larger man than myself. But I saw, too, that his eyequailed, and his lip quivered, at the encounter. I saw that he wascowed; felt that I was his master. "You are Rafael Ijurra?" I repeated, as he had not made answer to myfirst interrogation. "_Si, senor_, " he answered hesitatingly. "What want you with me?" "You have some documents there, " (he still held the papers in his hand);"a portion of them belongs to me. I shall trouble you to hand themover. " "Are you Captain Warfield?" he asked, after a pause, at the same timepretending to examine the superscription upon the commissary's letter. I saw that his fingers trembled. "I am Captain Warfield--you ought to know by this time?" Without noticing the insinuation, he replied-- "True--there is a letter here bearing that address. I found it upon theroad: you are welcome to it, senor. " As he said this, he handed me the commissary's order, still retainingthe other documents. "There was an enclosure. I perceive you have it in your hand. I begyou will make me equally welcome to that. " "Oh! a note signed Ramon de Vargas? It was an enclosure?" "Precisely so; and of course goes along with the letter. " "Oh, certainly; here it is, senor. " "There is still another little document in your possession--a safeguardfrom the American commander granted to a certain lady. It is not yours, Senor Ijurra! I beg you will deliver it to me. I wish to return it tothe lady to whom it belongs. " This was the bitterest pill I had yet presented to him. He glancedhastily first to the right and then to the left, as if desirous ofmaking escape. He would fain have done so, but I kept him under my eye, and he saw that my hand was ready. "Certainly there is a safeguard, " replied he, after a pause, and with afeigned attempt at laughter. "'Tis a worthless document to me; 'tis atyour service, sir captain;" and as he handed me the paper, heaccompanied the act with another sorry cachinnation. I folded the precious documents, and thrust all three under the breastof my coat; then placing myself in fighting attitude, I cried out to myadversary to "draw and defend" himself. I had already noticed that he wore a sword, and, like myself, itappeared to be the only weapon he carried. I saw no pistols upon hisperson. I had none myself--nothing save a light cut-and-thrust sword. It was far slighter than the sabre of my antagonist, but it was a weaponthat had seen service in my hands, and I had perfect confidence in it. I had no fear for the result against so cowardly an adversary; I was notawed, either by his heavier blade, or the superior size of his person. To my astonishment, he hesitated to unsheath his sword! "You _must_ draw, " I shouted with emphasis. "You or I have now to die. If you do not defend yourself, I shall run you through the body. Coward! would you have me kill you with your blade in its sheath?" Even the taunt did not nerve him. Never saw I complete a poltroon. Hiswhite lips trembled, his eyes rolled wildly from side to side, seekingan opportunity to escape. I am certain that could he have hoped to getclear, he would at that crisis have turned and run. All at once, and to my surprise, the coward appeared smitten withcourage; and, grasping the hilt of his sabre, he drew the blade ringingfrom its scabbard, with all the energy of a determined man! Hisreluctance to fight seemed suddenly to have forsaken him. Had Imistaken my man? or was it despair that was nerving his arm? His cowed look had disappeared: his eyes flashed with fury andvengeance; his teeth gritted together; and a fierce _carajo_ hissed fromhis lips. Our blades met--the sparks crackled along the creasing steel, and thecombat began. Fortunate for me, that, in avoiding the first lunge of my antagonist, Ihad to turn half round: fortunately I turned so soon, else I shouldnever have left that glade alive. As I faced in the new direction, I saw two men running towards us, swordin hand. A single glance told me they were guerrilleros. They werealready within ten paces of the spot, and must have been seen longbefore by Ijurra. This was the key to his altered demeanour. Their approach it was thathad inspired him with courage to begin the fight--for he had calculatedthe time when they should be able to get up, and assail me from behind. "_Hola_!" shouted he, seeing that I had discovered them--"_Hola! ElZorro_--_Jose! anda! anda! Mueran los Yankies! at muerte con elpicaro_!" For the first time, I felt myself in danger. Three swords to one wasawkward odds; and the red giant, with a companion nearly as large ashimself, would no doubt prove very different antagonists from thepoltroon with whom I was engaged. Yes, I was conscious of danger, and might have retreated, had I deemedsuch a course possible; but my horse was too far off, and the new-comerswere directly in the path I should have to take to reach him. I couldnot hope to escape on foot; I well knew that these men run as lightly asIndians, for we had often proved their capacity in that accomplishment. They were already _too_ near. I should be overtaken, struck down, pierced, with my back to the foe. I had no time to reflect--just enough to leap back a pace or two, so asto bring all three of them in front of me, when I found my swordclashing against their blades, and parrying their blows one after theother. I can describe the unequal combat no farther. It was a confused medleyof cut and thrust, in which I both gave wounds and received them. I waswounded in several places, and felt the warm blood running under myclothes and over my face. I grew wearied to death, and every second growing weaker and fainter. I saw the red giant before me with his hand raised on high. His bladehad already drawn my blood, and was crimsoned at the point; it was aboutto descend with a finishing stroke. I should be unable to parry it, forI had just exhausted my strength in guarding against a blow from Ijurra. My hopeless peril wrung from me a cry of despair. Was it my cry that caused the blade to drop from the hand of myantagonist, and the uplifted arm to fall loosely by his side? Was it mycry that created the consternation suddenly visible in the faces of myfoes? I might have fancied so, had I not heard a sharp crack frombehind, and seen that the arm of El Zorro was broken by a shot! It seemed like the awaking from some horrid dream. One moment I wasbattling, face to face, with three desperate men; the instant after, their backs were towards me, and all three were running as for life! I followed them with my eyes, but not far; for at twenty paces off theyplunged into the thicket, and disappeared. I turned in the opposite direction. A man was running across the openground with a gun in his hand. He was advancing towards the spot whereI stood. It was he who had fired the shot. I saw that he was inMexican costume; surely he was one of the guerrilleros--he had aimed atme, and wounded his comrade? For some seconds, I fancied that such might be the case. Evidently hewas bolder than any of the three, for he continued to advance, as ifdetermined to attack me alone! I placed myself in readiness for this new antagonist--taking a freshgrasp on my sword, and wiping the blood from my eyes, that I might thebetter receive him. It was not until he was close to the point of my blade, that Irecognised the long ape-like arms, and crooked mateless limbs, of ElijahQuackenboss! The ranger, after delivering his fire, had not waited to reload, but ranforward with the intention of joining me in the hand-to-hand fight--though he carried no other weapon than his empty gun. But this wouldhave been an efficient arm in such hands; for, despite his unsymmetricalbuild, Dutch Lige was stalwart and though, and would have been a fullmatch for any two of my assailants, had they stood their ground. But the crack of the gun had set them off like deer. They fancied, nodoubt, that a stronger force was near; perhaps they remembered theterrible rifles of the trappers, and no doubt believed it was they whohad arrived to the rescue. Indeed, such was my own belief, until I sawthe oddly-costumed ranger bounding towards the spot. A glance satisfied me that I owed my preservation to Lige's love ofbotanical science. A large globe-shaped cactus plant, bristling like ahedgehog, hung dangling from the swivel of his gun--it was thus carriedto save his fingers from contact with its barbed spines--while stuckinto every loop and button-hole of his dress could be seen the leavesand branchlets, and fruits and flowers, of a host of curious and unknownplants! He had been herborising in the woods; and coming by chancewithin earshot of the scuffle, had scrambled through the bushes just intime to spoil the _coup-de-grace_ intended by El Zorro. "Thanks, Quackenboss! thanks, my brave friend! you came in good time:you have saved me. " "But a poor shot I've made, capten. I ought to have broken that reddivel's skull, or sent my bullet into his stomach; he's got off tooeasy. " "It was a good shot: you broke his arm, I think. " "Ach! 'twas a poor shot; the cactus spoiled my aim. You hurt, capten?" "I am wounded, but not mortally, I think. I feel a little faint: 'tisonly the blood. My horse--you will find him yonder--among the trees--yonder. Go, Lige; bring my horse--my horse--" For some minutes, I was out of the world. When consciousness came back, I perceived that my steed had been broughtup, and stood near. The botanist was bending over me, and binding up mywounds with strips torn from his own shirt. He had one boot on; theother stood by, full of water, a portion of which he had already poureddown my throat, and with the rest he proceeded to bathe my temples andwash the blood from my face. This done, I soon felt refreshed and strong enough to mount; and havingclimbed into the saddle, I set out for the rancheria, my companion halfguiding, half leadin my horse. By the path which we followed, we should have to pass close to thehacienda and within sight of it; but night had come on, and the darknesswould hinder us from being observed. It was what I now desired, thoughI had left the cerro with hopes and wishes directly the reverse. With ared gash upon my forehead--my uniform torn and blood-stained--I fearedbeing seen, lest my invalid appearance should create unnecessary alarm. But we passed on without meeting any one, either by the hill or upon themain road; and in half-an-hour after, I was safe within my _cuarto_ inthe house of the alcalde. CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. AN OFFICIAL BLACK LIST. The incidents of the day preyed upon my spirits, and I was far fromfeeling easy about the future. I knew that my betrothed would be truetill death; and I felt ashamed that I had doubted her, even for amoment. About her loyalty I had no uneasiness, and I mentally vowednever more to give way to suspicion. It was no thought of that that now troubled me, but an anxiety about_her personal safety_; and this grew stronger the more I pondered uponit, till it assumed almost the form of a fear. The man who had used such bitter threats, and behaved with so muchrudeness, would scarcely stop at anything. 'Tis true I had deprived himof much of his power over her, by stripping him of the dangerousdocuments; but it was not this time, nor was he the man, to stand uponnice distinctions of legality, where jealousy and cupidity were theincentives to action. Holding a sort of irresponsible office as thechief of what was less a patriotic guerrilla than a band of brigands, itwas difficult to tell what such a monster might or might not attempt. In our absence from the post the ruffian would be full master of theneighbourhood. What deed might he not accomplish with impunity, holdinghis power directly from the unprincipled dictator, whom he wasaccustomed to imitate as a model, and who would indorse any act ofvillainy, provided it was the act of one of his own satellites? Ishuddered as I reflected. The reappearance of Ijurra and his band--for I doubted not that hisfollowers were near--their reappearance in that vicinity, and at such acrisis--just as we were being withdrawn--had something ominous in it. They must have known ere this of the plan of campaign designed for theAmerican army. Wheatley's rumour had proved well founded. The newcommander-in-chief, Scott, had arrived upon the ground, andthree-fourths of the "army of occupation" had been draughted to form theexpedition destined to act upon Vera Cruz. As this greedy generalstripped our old favourite "Rough and Ready" of _only_ his best troops, we had the consolation of knowing that the "rangers" were among the"picked;" though, for all that, many of us would have preferredremaining with the brave veteran who had already led us so often tovictory. I can answer for Wheatley and myself; I might also vouch forHolingsworth, though far different were his motives for wishing toremain on the Rio Grande. His sweetheart was revenge--in his breastlong cherished--to his heart faithful and true. I have said that our design must have been known to the enemy ere this;indeed our army was already in movement. Troops and brigades weremarching upon Brazos Santiago, and Tampico, there to be embarked for thesouth, and all that were to go had received their orders. The provinceson the Rio Grande were not to be entirely abandoned, but the army leftthere was to have its lines contracted, and would therefore cover muchless ground. Not only was our little post to be deserted, but theneighbouring town, which had long been the head-quarters of a division, was also to be evacuated. No force of ours would remain within fiftymiles of the rancheria; and perhaps no American troop would ever againvisit that isolated village. The reflection rendered me more thanmelancholy. No doubt of it, then, the enemy was apprised of our movements. In ourspecial case--that _we_ the rangers were to march on the followingmorning, was well known to the people of the neighbourhood. It had beenknown to them for several days; and it had not passed unobserved by usthat the citizens of the place--those who were not Ayankieados--hadlately shown themselves more sulky and inhospitable, in proportion asthe time approached for our departure. This _brusquerie_ had led toseveral street-conflicts, in which knives had been drawn and bloodspilled, and much "bad blood" begotten on both sides. Another circumstance was not unnoticed amongst us. Ribald pasquinades, rudely written, and accompanied by threats of proscription, were at thistime thrust under the doors of such of the citizens as had been friendlyto us. Even the alcalde had received some documents of this character--perhaps emanating from a jealous _tiendero_ who had looked with bittereye upon the courtship of Wheatley and Conchita. It was not tillafterwards I learned that similar missives had "come to hand" in aquarter that more concerned myself. Some scouted the absurdity of these acts--alleging that they sprung frompersonal enmity, or originated in the mob-patriotism of the _leperos_. It was not so, as we afterwards learned; the government of the country--or, at all events, several of its prominent members--countenanced themeanness; and at their instigation, a "black list" was made out in everytown and village through which the American army had occasion to pass. Let the minister, Senor O--, make answer to this accusation. I was musing on this disagreeable theme, after my return from the cerro, and endeavouring to sketch out some plan for the safety of my betrothedduring my absence; but my thoughts proved barren. With a sort of faint hope that the villain Ijurra might yet fall intoour hands, I had despatched Holingsworth--nothing loath for the duty--with a party of rangers upon his trail, and I was impatiently awaitingtheir return. The voice of Wheatley aroused me from my reverie. "Well, lieutenant, what is it?" "Only that precious boy, " answered he, with a significant smile, at thesame time ushering "Cyprio" into the room. The lad carried a note, which I opened. A green sprig of juniper wasenclosed, and the simple word "_tuya_" was written in pencil. I knew the symbol well. The juniper is _tuya_ in that most beautiful oftongues, and _tuya_ from a lady signifies "yours. " "Anything more?" I asked of the messenger. "Nothing, Senor Capitan, " answered the intelligent boy; "only to inquireif you had arrived safe. " She had been anxious then! I separated the branchlet into two equal parts: one I placed in mybosom; the other, having fervently kissed, I enclosed in a folded sheet, upon which I wrote the words-- "_Tuyo_--_tuyo_--_hasta la muerte_!" Cyprio bore back my parting message. At midnight Holingsworth and his party came in from the scout. Nothinghad been seen of the guerrilla. CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. THE ROUTE. It was a struggle between Aurora and the moon which of them should rulethe sky, when our bugle rang its clear _reveille_, rousing the rangersfrom their slumber, and startling their steeds at the stall. Thegoddess of morning soon triumphed, and under her soft blue light, menand horses could be seen moving about, until the bugle again sounded--this time to "boot and saddle"--and the rangers began to form in thepiazza, and prepare for the route. A single wagon with its white tilt and long team of mules, already"hitched up, " stood near the centre of the square. It constituted thewhole baggage-train of the corps, and served as an ambulance for ourinvalids. Both baggage and sick had been safely stowed, and the vehiclewas ready for the road. The bugler, already in his saddle, awaitedorders to sound the "forward. " I had climbed to my favourite "smoking-room, " the azotea. Perhaps itwas the last time I should ever set foot on those painted tiles. Myeyes wandered over the piazza, though I little heeded what was passingthere. Only the salient points of the picture were noted by me--steedsunder saddle and bridle; men buckling on folded blankets, holsters, andvalises; a few already in the saddle; a few more standing by the headsof their horses, and still another few grouped round the door of the_pulperia_, having a last drink of _mezcal_ or _Catalan_ with theirswarthy Mexican acquaintances. Here and there, in front of some adobe hut, might be observed a moretender leave-taking. The ranger fully equipped--with arms, haversack, and canteen--leaning against the heavy bars of a window, his face turnedinward, as though he was talking to some prisoner through the grating ofa jail. But he is himself the real captive, ensnared during his shortsojourn, and still held in chains by the olive-skinned _poblana_, whosedark liquid eyes may be seen on the other side of the reja, flashingwith love, or melting with sad tenderness at the prospect of parting. Others, again, are bidding their _adios_ in retired corners, under theshadow of the church walls, or in groups of four or five more openly inthe piazza itself. Early as is the hour, the people have all arisen;and not a few of the brown, rebosa-clad, short-skirted wenches arealready on their way, _jarro_ on crown, to the fountain. There thepitchers are filled, and lifted on their heads--perhaps for the lasttime--by the rangers, who perform the office with all the rude grace intheir power. Then follows a profusion of smiles and bows, and adialogue, on the ranger's part extending to the whole of his Spanish, which consists of the phrase-- "Mucho bueno, muchacha!" The usual reply, accompanied with a display of pretty white teeth, is-- "Mucho bueno, cavallero! mucho bueno, Tejano!" given in likeungrammatical phrase, in order that it may be intelligible to the personto whom it is addressed. I have often been surprised at the success of my great uncouth followerswith these _petite_ dark-eyed damsels of Anahuac; but, indeed, many ofthe rangers are not bad-looking men. On the contrary, there arehandsome fellows among them, if they were only put into clean shirts, and a little more closely shaven. But woman's eye is keen-sighted insuch matters: she easily penetrates through the disguise of dust, thebronze of sun-tan, and the shaggy mask of an ill-kept beard; and no eyeis quicker in this respect than that of the fair Mexicana. In the big, apparently rude, individual, called a "ranger, " she beholds a type ofstrength and courage, a heart that can cherish, and an arm that canprotect her. These are qualities that, from all time, have won the loveof woman. It is evident they are not all friends whom we are leaving behind us. Hostile faces may be observed, many of them peering from open doors orwindows. Here and there a sulky lepero swings about in his blanket, orcowers by the corner of the street, scowling savagely from under hisbroad-brimmed hat. Most of this class are absent--as long sinceascertained--with the guerrilla; but a few still remain to give shadowto the picture. They regard the approaches towards their women withill-concealed anger; and would resent this politeness if they dared. They confine the exhibition of their spite to the dastardly meanness ofill-treating the women themselves, whenever they have an opportunity. No later than the night before, one of them was detected in beating hissweetheart or mistress for the crime, as was alleged, of dallying toolong in the company of a Tejano. The Tejano, in this case, took the lawinto his own hands, and severely chastised the jealous _pelado_. Even in the hurried glance which I gave to these scenes of leave-taking, I could not help noticing an expression on the faces of some of theyoung girls that had in it a strange significance. It was somethingmore than sadness: it was more like the uneasy look that betokensapprehension. Perhaps the state of mind I was in magnified my perceptions. At thatmoment, a struggle was passing in my own breast, and a feeling ofirresolution lay heavy upon me. All night long had my mind dwelt uponthe same thought--the danger that menaced my betrothed--all night long Ihad been occupied with plans to avert it; but no reasonable scheme had Isucceeded in devising. It is true the danger was only hypothetical and undefined; but it wasjust this supposititious indefiniteness that caused the difficulty inproviding against it. Had it assumed a tangible shape, I might moreeasily have adopted some means of avoiding it: but no--it remained ashadow, and against a shadow I knew not what precautions to take. Whenmorning broke, I was still struggling under the same nervous indecision. Problematical as was the peril my fancy had formed, there were momentswhen it appalled me--moments when my mind laboured under a painfulpresentiment, and I could not cast the load by any act of volition. With all my philosophy, I could not fortify myself against the beliefthat "coming events cast their shadows before;" and, spite of myself, Ikept repeating in thought the weird prophetic words. Upon my soul, certainly, there were shadows, and dark ones; if the events should haveany correspondence with them, then there was misery before me. I have termed the danger in which Isolina was placed indefinite: it wasnot so indefinite, after a fair analysis; it was directly traceable tothe presence of Rafael Ijurra. True, there were other sources of apprehension; other perils surroundedher, arising from the disturbed state of the country--but these did notpoint at her in particular. That frontier province had been for yearsin a distracted condition--by revolution or Indian invasion--and war wasno new thing to its people. In the midst of strife had this fair flowergrown to perfect blooming, without having been either crushed or troddenupon. Isolina de Vargas was a woman of sufficient spirit to resistinsult and cast off intrusion. I had just had proof of this. Underordinary circumstances, I had no fear that she would be unequal to theemergency; but the circumstances in which she now stood were not of thatcharacter; they were extraordinary, and that to an extreme degree. Inaddition to the light thrown upon Ijurra's designs by his own menacingconfession, I knew other particulars of him. Holingsworth had helped meto a knowledge of this bad man, and this knowledge it was that renderedme apprehensive. From a nature so base and brutal, it was natural Ishould dread the worst. But what could I do? I might have thrown up my commission, and remainedupon the spot, but this would have been worse than idle. I could nothave protected myself, much less another. The rangers once gone fromthe place, my life would not have been safe there for a single hour. Only one plan suggested itself that had the semblance of feasibility: toseek another interview with Isolina--her father as well--and adjure themto remove at once from the scene of danger. They might proceed to SanAntonio de Bexar, where, far removed from hostile ground, they couldlive in safety till the war should be ended. It was only at the last moment that this happy idea came into my head, and I reviled myself that I had not conceived it sooner. The chiefdifficulty would lie in the opposition of Don Ramon. I knew that he wasaware of the _friendship_ that existed between his daughter and myself, and, furthermore, that he had opposed no obstacle to it; but how could Iconvince him of the necessity for so sudden an expatriation as the one Iwas about to propose? how should I persuade him of the peril I myselfdreaded? and from such a source? Another difficulty I might encounter: in the proud spirit of Isolinaherself. Much did I fear she would never consent to be thus driven fromher home, and by such a poltroon as she knew her cousin to be. She hadcowed and conquered him but the day before; she feared him not; shewould not be likely to partake of my painful apprehensions. My counselmight be disregarded, my motives misconstrued. The time, too, was unfavourable. We must be on the march by sunrise--soran our orders--and already the day was breaking. I cared not much forthis: I could easily have overtaken my troop; but it was a delicatematter--that could only be excused by a certain knowledge of danger--toawake a gentleman's family at such an hour, even for the purpose ofwarning them. Moreover, should my advice prove fruitless, I reflectedthat my visit--which could not be made in secret--might aid in bringingabout the very danger I apprehended. A circumstance so extraordinarycould not fail to be noticed by all. It was thus that I was held in irresolution, while my troop was formingfor the march. At the last moment, thanks to the thoughtful Holingsworth, a compromiseoffered. He suggested that I should send my advice in writing. In thatI could be as explicit as I pleased, and bring before my proteges allthe arguments I might be able to adduce--perhaps more successfully thanif urged by a personal appeal. My comrade's suggestion was adopted; and in haste, but with a fervourresulting from my fears, I penned the admonitory epistle. A trusty messenger was found in one of the _Ayankieados_; who promised, as soon as the family should be stirring, to carry the letter to itsdestination. With my heart somewhat relieved of its load, though still far fromlight, I gave the order to march. The bugle rang clear and loud, and its cheerful notes, as I sprang intothe saddle, combined with the inspiration borrowed from my buoyantsteed, produced a soothing effect upon my spirits. CHAPTER FIFTY THREE. CAMP GOSSIP. It was but a short-lived light--a passing gleam--and soon again fell theshadow, dark as ever. Strive as I might, I could not cast the load thatweighed upon my bosom; reason as I would, I could not account for itsheaviness. It was natural that a parting like ours should produce pain, andmisgivings as to the future. My life was to be staked in the lottery ofwar; I might fall on the field of fight; I might perish bycamp-pestilence--a foe that in the campaign kills more soldiers thansword or shot--the many perils of flood and field were before me, and itwas natural I should regard the future with a degree of doubtfulness. But it was not the contemplation of all these dangers that filled mewith such a terrible foreboding. Strange to say, I had a forecast thatI should survive them. It was almost a conviction, yet it failed tocomfort me, for it comprehended not the safety of Isolina. No--but thecontrary. Along with it came the presentiment, that we should nevermeet again. Once or twice, as this dread feeling became most acute, I reined up myhorse, half resolved to gallop back; but again the wild idea passed fromme, and I continued irresolutely on. Something of prudence, too, now restrained me from returning: it wouldno longer have been safe to go back to the rancheria. As we issued fromthe piazza, we could hear distant jeering, and cries of "_Mueran losTejanos_!" It was with difficulty I could restrain the rangers fromturning to take vengeance. One, the worse for mezcal, had loiteredbehind--under the influence of the drink fancying himself secure. Himthe _pelados_ had "bonneted, " and otherwise maltreated. They would havemurdered him outright; but that some of them, more prudent than theirfellows, had counselled the mob to let him go--alleging that the Tejanoswere yet "too near, and might come back. " Again I had strife with my men: they would have returned and fired theplace, had I permitted them. Fortunately, he who had been ill-treatedwas a good-for-nothing fellow--scarcely worth the sympathy of hiscomrades--and I was well satisfied at his having received a lesson. Itmight be useful, and was much needed, for "straggling" was one of theranger-crimes most difficult to cure. Along the road, we saw signs of a guerrilla. Shots were fired at usfrom a hill; but a party sent to the place encountered no one. Horse-tracks were observed, and once a brace of mounted men were seengalloping away over a distant slope. It might be the band of Ijurra, and doubtless it was so; but we fancied at the time that Canales himselfwas near; and as an encounter with his large and well-organised forcewould be a very different affair from a skirmish with the other, we feltthe necessity of advancing with caution. The prospect of a "fight" with this noted partisan created quite anexcitement in the ranks. To have captured Canales--the "Chapparal Fox, "as the Texans termed him--or to have made conquest of his band, wouldhave been esteemed a feat of grand consequence--only inferior inimportance to a pitched battle, or the taking of "Game-leg" (Santa Anna)himself. I confess that to me the idea of measuring strength with the famedguerrillero was at that moment rife with charms; and the excitementderived from the hope of meeting him, for a while abstracted my mindfrom its painful bodings. But we reached the town without seeing aught of the Chapparal Fox. Itwas not likely that he was on our road; or if so, he took care not toshow himself. Canales fought not for glory alone, and the rangers werenot the foes he cared to encounter. Rich baggage-trains were the gamehe was used to hunt; and our solitary "company-wagon, " filled withfrying-pans, camp-kettles, sick soldiers, and tattered blankets--halfalive with those charming little insects of the genera _pules_ and_pediculus_--had no attractions for the gallant guerrillero. On reaching the town, we were surprised to find that the division hadnot yet moved. It was to have marched on that morning; but acountermand had arrived from head-quarters, delaying the movement forsome days--perhaps a week. This was rare news to me; and as soon as I heard it, my mind becameoccupied with projects and anticipations of a pleasant nature. I hadhoped that we should be sent back to the rancheria, but alas! no--ourorders were to remain with the division. As every available building was occupied by troops, the rangers, asusual, were treated as "outsiders, " and compelled to take to the grass. Half-a-mile from the town, a spot was shown us for our camp. It was onthe banks of a pretty rivulet; and there, having picketed our steeds, stretched our canvas to the sun, and washed the dust from our faces, wemade ourselves at home. I did not remain long by the camp. As soon as the tents were fairlypitched, I left them, and walked back into the town--partly to get moredefinite information as to the future movements of the army, and partlywith the design of indulging a little in the social feeling. I had someold comrades among the different regiments of the division; and, aftersuch a long spell of rustication, I was not indisposed to refresh myspirit by the renewal of former fellowships. At head-quarters, I learned definitely that we should not march for aweek at the least. So far good; and after hearing this, I proceeded tothe _fonda_--the rendezvous of all the jovial spirits of the army. HereI encountered the friends of whom I was in search; and for a short whileI found respite from the thoughts that had been harrowing me. I soon gathered the current "camp gossip, " and learned who were the"newspaper heroes" of the hour; over many of whose names my friends andI could not restrain either our satire or laughter. It appeared thatthe men of deeds were scarcely known beyond the limits of the armyitself, while others, who in the field of battle had actually played thepoltroon, had at home become household words in the mouths of thepeople. One general, whom I myself saw hiding in a ditch daring therage of battle, was the theme of speech, sentiment, and song. Thenewspapers were filled with praises, and the windows with pictures, of a"gallant dragoon officer, " who had somehow obtained the credit ofcapturing a certain battery. My rangers cried "Bah!" when I told themthis. They themselves were the men who had first galloped over thoseMexican guns! "Keeping an editor in pay" was a standing sarcasm applicable to morethan one of our generals; and the "army correspondent, " taking advantageof this pruriency for fame, lived well, and swaggered in proportionalimportance. Ah, glory! what sacrifices men make for thee upon the shrine ofconscience! For my part, I do not think I could feel happy under thecredit of a feat I had not performed. Surely the consciousness ofhaving done a deed is of itself a sufficient reward? He is but anunhappy hero who is not a hero to himself! Pleasanter gossip I heard about the relations existing between ourtroops and the people of the town. Many of the inhabitants had grownquite friendly, in consequence of our excellent behaviour towards them. Our conduct was compared with that which they had lately experienced atthe hands of their own army. The latter was in the habit of seizingproperty at pleasure, on pretence of using it for the defence of thestate. We, on the contrary, paid for everything--round prices too--inbright American dollars. The ricos and merchants preferred this system, and had no objections to making it permanent. Outrages were few on thepart of our soldiery, and severely punished by the general. Our enemiescontrasted the modest bearing of the American soldier with the conceitedstrut and insolent swagger of their own gold-bedizened _militarios_, whowere wont on all occasions to "take the wall" of them. It was onlyoutside the lines, between stragglers and leperos, that the retaliationsystem was carried on so fiercely. Within the walls, everything wasorder, with a mildness too rare under martial law. Private property wasstrictly regarded, and private dwellings were not occupied by ourtroops. Even the officers were not billeted in private houses; and manyof them had to make shift in rather uncomfortable quarters, while mostof the soldiers lived under canvas. This state of things was scarcelysatisfactory to the troops; and some grumbling was heard. There was nocomplaint, however, from the Mexicans, who seemed rather astonished atso much forbearance on the part of their conquerors. I doubt whether, in the whole history of war, can be found a conquestcharacterised by equal mildness and humanity with the "Second Conquestof Mexico. " It was principally for this reason the people had grown so well affectedtowards us. But there was another reason, perhaps, not less potent. From the extensive operations we were now about to undertake, they sawthat we meant war in earnest; and the belief had become general, that alarge "annexation" was to follow; that perhaps the whole valley of theRio Grande would become American territory. It was but human nature inthem to do homage to the rising sun. The ricos were better disposed towards us than the common people; butthis enigma is easily explained. The latter were more _patriotic_--thatis, more ready to fight for native tyranny, than accept freedom from aforeign hand. 'Tis so in all lands. In the event of a war withEngland, the black slave of Carolina would range himself by the side ofhis master, and prove the bitterest foe to the enemies, not of _hisfreedom_, but of his _country_. The _familias principales_ of Mexico had good reasons for being friendlyto us. They had a stake to lose, which, under their own government, hadbeen ill guarded for them. No wonder they should desire to come underthe broad protecting wings of the northern eagle. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I found that another species of "annexation" had been going on during myabsence. One of our officers had become annexed to a wealthy senoritaof the place, and the marriage-ceremony had been performed with greatpomp and splendour. Another was talked of as being _fiance_; and it wasexpected that the example would find numerous imitators. I need not say that I was much interested by these _novedades_ and Ireturned with lighter heart to the ranger-camp. CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. THE RUINED RANCHO. The pleasant excitement caused by the visit to my old comrades was soonover; and having nothing to do but lounge about my tent, I became againthe victim of the same painful bodings. I could not shake them off. Subtle and mysterious is the spirit-world within us; certainly does itseem to have prescience of the future. Is it an electric chainconnecting what is, with what is to be? Or is it the second-sight ofinstinct? Certainly there are times when something within whispers awarning--as, in the physical world, God's wild creatures are warned fromwithout of the earthquake and the storm. How often do we experience therealisation of portentous dreams? Why should not the waking soul havealso its moments of clairvoyance? As I lay stretched upon my leathern _catre_, I gave way to suchreflections. I soon succeeded in reasoning myself into a full belief inforeknowledge; and my apprehensions were proportionately strengthened. But I had conceived a design; and the prospect of putting it inexecution somewhat relieved me from the heaviness I had hitherto felt. My new project was to take a score of my best men, to ride back the roadwe had come, place the party in ambush near the hacienda, while I aloneshould enter the house, and further urge the counsels I had committed towriting. If I should find that these had been already followed, so muchthe better--I should be assured, and return content; but I felt almostcertain that Don Ramon had rejected them. At all events, I wasdetermined to know the truth--determined, moreover, to gratify mylonging for one more interview with my beloved. I had warned the men and fixed the hour--as soon it was dark enough toconceal our departure from the camp. I had two reasons for not starting earlier--first, because I did notwish this _private scouting_ to be known at head-quarters. It is true, that in such matters we rangers had the advantage of regular troops. Though belonging to the division, our duty was usually detached from it, and we were rarely "missed" when absent. There was thus a sort ofpleasant independence in my command, which I for one fully appreciated. For all that, I did not desire the whole world to know of an expeditionlike the one projected. My second motive for going in the night was simple prudence. I darednot take the whole of my command along with me without permission fromhead-quarters. The absence of the corps without leave would certainlybe noticed--even were it but for a few hours--and with the smaller partyI intended to take, caution would be requisite. Should we move alongthe road before it was deserted, some swift messenger might carry thetidings _en avant_, and get us into trouble. I designed to start at the earliest hour of darkness--so that I mightnot alarm the hacienda by a midnight visit. An hour and a half of constant riding would bring me to its gate. At the last moment of twilight we leaped into our saddles; and rodesilently into the chapparal that skirted the camp. After filing forsome distance through a narrow path, we debouched upon the up-riverroad--the same that conducted to the rancheria. The trappers, Rube and Garey, acting as scouts, went forward in theadvance. They were on foot--their horses remaining behind with theparty. It was a mode of march I had adopted after some experience inbush-fighting. The scouts of a marching force should always go on foot, whether the main body be dragoons or infantry. In this manner they cantake advantage of the ground; and by keeping under cover of the timber, are enabled to reconnoitre the angles of the road in a much safer waythan when on horseback. The great danger to a scout--and consequentlyto the party for which he is acting--lies in his being _first_ seen, andthe risk is greater when he is mounted. The horse cannot be drawn undercover without an effort; and the sound of the hoof may be heard; whereasin nine cases out of ten, a man on foot--that is, such a man as eitherRube Rawlings or Bill Garey--will discover the enemy before he ishimself seen, or any ambuscade can be attempted. Of course the scoutshould never advance beyond the possibility of retreating upon the partyhe is guiding. With full confidence in the men who had been sent forward, we rode on--timing our pace, so as not to overtake them. Now and then we caught aglimpse of them, at the further end of a long stretch, skirting thebushes, or stooping behind the cover, to reconnoitre the road inadvance. To our chagrin, it was clear moonlight, and we coulddistinguish their forms at a great distance. We should have preferred adarker night. The road we were travelling upon was entirely without habitations; mostof it ran through light chapparal forest, with neither clearing norhomestead. One solitary rancho stood at about equal distances betweenthe town and the rancheria; and was known among the rangers by thefamiliar sobriquet of the "half-way house. " It was a poor hovel ofyucca, with a small patch around that had once grown yams, chile-pepper, and a stock of maize for whoever had tilled it; but the occupants of thelittle rancho had long since disappeared--the prowling soldier-robberfrom the camp had paid it many a visit, and its household gods laybroken upon the hearth. The _tortilla_ stone and _comal_, red earthenollas, calabash cups, bedsteads and benches of the _cana vaquera_, awhirligig spindle, an old stringless _jarana_ or bandolon, with otherlike effects, lay in fragments upon the floor. Mingling with these werecheap coloured wood-prints, of saints and Saviour, that had been draggedfrom the walls, and with the torn leaves of an old Spanish _misa_, trampled in dust and dishonour. I paint this tableau of ruin, not that it was in any way connected withthe events of our narrative, but that it had strangely affected me. Onthe day before, as we rode past, I had halted a moment by the rancho, and contemplated the scene with a feeling of melancholy that amountedalmost to sadness. Little thought I that a still sadder spectacleawaited me in that same spot. We had approached within less than half-a-mile of the ruined house, whena strange medley of sounds reached our ears. Human voices they were;and borne upon the light breeze we could distinguish them to be thevoices of women. Occasionally harsher tones were heard mingling in themurmur, but most of them had the soft rich intonation that distinguishesthe female voice. We all drew bridle, and listened. The sounds continued in the same confused chorus, but there was neithersong nor joy in the accents. On the contrary, the night-wind carriedupon its wings the voices of "lamentation and wailing. " "There are women in trouble, " remarked one of my followers, in asuggestive tone. The remark caused all of us simultaneously to ply the spur, and rideforward. Before we had galloped a dozen lengths, a man appeared coming from theopposite direction, and advancing rapidly up the middle of the road. Wesaw it was the scout Garey; and, once more reining up, we awaited hisapproach. I was at the head of the little troop, and as the trapper drew near, Icould see his face full under the light of the moon. Its expression wasominous of evil tidings. He spoke not until he had laid his hand upon the pommel of my saddle, and then only in a subdued and saddened tone. His words were:-- "Thar's ugly news, capt'n. " Oh, that terrible foreboding! "News?--ill news?" I stammered out; "what, for Heaven's sake?--speak, Garey!" "They've been playin' the devil at the rancherie. Them ruffins hezbehaved wuss than Injuns would a done. But ride forrard, capt'n, an seefor yurself. The weemen are clost by hyar at the shanty. Rube's atryin' to pacify them, poor critters. " Oh, that terrible foreboding! I made no response to Garey's last speech, but rode forward as fast asmy horse could carry me. A brace of minutes brought me up to the rancho; and there I beheld aspectacle that caused the blood to curdle in my veins. CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE. A CRUEL PROSCRIPTION. The open space in front of the hovel was occupied by a group of women--most of them young girls. There were six or seven; I did not countthem. There were two or three men, Mexicans, mixed up in the group. Rube was in their midst, endeavouring in his broken Spanish to give themconsolation and assurance of safety. Poor victims! they needed both. The women were half-naked--some of them simply _en chemise_. Their longblack hair fell loosely over their shoulders, looking tossed, wet, anddraggly. There was blood upon it; there was blood upon their cheeks inseams half dried, but still dropping. The same horrid red mottled theirnecks and bosoms, and there was blood upon the hands that had wipedthem. A red-brown blotch appeared upon the foreheads of all. In themoonlight, it looked as if the skin had been burnt. I rode closer to one, and examined it: it was a brand--the fire-stamp ofred-hot iron. The skin around was scarlet; but in the midst of thishalo of inflammation I could distinguish, from their darker hue, theoutlines of the two letters I wore upon my button--the well-known "U. S. " She who was nearest me raised her hands, and tossing back from hercheeks the thick clustered hair, cried out-- "_Miralo, senor! mira_!" Oh, Heaven! my flesh crept as I looked upon the source of that crimsonhaemorrhage. Her ears had been cut off--they were wanting! I needed no further uplifting of their hair to satisfy me that theothers had been served in like manner; the red stream still tricklingadown their necks was evidence enough. The men, too, had been similarly abused. Two of them had suffered stillfurther mutilation. They held up their right arms before my face--nottheir hands. _There were no hands_. I saw the hanging sleeve, and theblood-steeped bandage on the stump. Their hands had been chopped off atthe wrists. Horrid sight! Both men and women gathered around me, clasping my knees, and utteringprayers and entreaties. No doubt most of them were known to me bysight; but their features were now unrecognisable. They had been thefriends and sweethearts of the corps, and my followers were alreadyaddressing them by name. The lovers of one or two were present, sadlyembracing them! One appeared more richly costumed than the rest, and upon her my eyeshad fallen, as I first rode up. I almost dreaded to approach her, asshe stood a little apart; but no--it could not be--she was not tallenough; besides, the ruffians would not dare-- "Your name, senorita?" "_Conchita, senor_--_la hija del alcalde_. " The tears burst from her eyes, mingling with blood as they ran down hercheeks. Oh, that I too could have wept! Poor Wheatley! he was not withus. He had yet to receive the blow: it would soon fall. My heart was on fire; so were those of my followers. They swore andfoamed at the mouth. Some drew pistols and knives, calling out to me tolead them on. Never saw I men in such a frenzy of rage: the mostcold-blooded among them seemed to have suddenly gone mad. I could scarcely restrain them, till we should hear the tale. Weguessed it already; but we needed some details to guide us in theexecution of vengeance. It was told by many mouths, interrupting orconfirming one another. One of the men was more coherent--Pedro, who used to sell mezcal to thetroop. To him we listened. The substance of his story was asfollows:-- Shortly after we had left the rancheria, it was entered by theguerrilleros with cries of "_Viva Santa Anna! Viva Mexico_!" and"_Death to the Yankees_!" They commenced by breaking open the_tiendas_, and drinking mezcal and whatever they could find. They werejoined by the mob of the place--by _leperos_ and others. Pedro noticedthe _herredero_ (blacksmith) and the _matador_ (cattle-killer) taking aconspicuous part. There were many women in the mob--the mistresses ofthe guerrilleros, and others of the town. After drinking a while, they grew more excited. Then was heard the cry, "_Mueran los Ayankieados_!" and the crowd scattering in differentdirections, entered the houses, shouting, "_Saquenlos afuera!matenlos_!" (Drag them out! kill them!) The poor girls, and all who had been friendly to the _Americanos_, weredragged into the piazza amidst the oaths and execrations of theguerrilla, and hissings and hootings from the mob. They were spit upon, called by filthy names, pelted with mud and melon-rinds, and then someof the crowd suggested that they should be _marked_, so that theirfriends the _Tejanos_ should know them again. The suggestion wasadopted; the women, more fiendish than the men, exciting the latter tothe deed. Voices were heard calling to the blacksmith-- "_Traiga el fierro! traiga el fierro_!" (Bring the branding-iron!) Others cried out, "_Sacan las orejas_!" (Cut off their ears. ) The brutal blacksmith and butcher, both half drunk obeyed the call--willingly, Pedro alleged. The former used the branding-iron--alreadyprepared--while the latter performed his bloody office with the knife ofhis trade! Most of the guerrilleros wore masks. The leaders were all masked, andwatched the proceedings from the roof of the alcalde's house. One Pedroknew in spite of his disguise; he knew him by his great size and redhair: it was the _salteador_, El Zorro. Others he guessed at; but hehad no doubt it was the band of Don Rafael Ijurra--nor had we. Had they left the rancheria before Pedro and the others came away? Pedro thought not; he and the other victims, as soon as they got out ofthe hands of the mob, had fled to the chapparal, and were making for theAmerican camp when met by our scouts. They were straggling along theroad one after the other; Rube had detained them by the rancho, till weshould come up. Pedro feared that they were not all who had suffered--that there wereother victims; the alcalde, he feared, had been worse than mutilated--hehad been _murdered_. This last information the poor fellow imparted in a whisper--at the sametime casting a sorrowful look towards Conchita. I had not the courageto inquire further. The question arose whether we should send back for more men, and waittill they arrived, or advance at once to the rancheria. The former was negatived with unanimous voice. We were strong enough, and vengeance was impatient. I was joyed by this decision; _I_ could not have waited. The women were directed to continue on to the ranger-camp; Pedro, mounted behind one of the men, should go with us. We needed him forpurposes of _identification_. We were about to move forward, when a figure appeared along the road inthe direction we were going to take. On coming within sight of us, thefigure was seen to skulk and hide in the bushes. Rube and Garey ran rapidly forward; and in a few minutes returnedbringing with them a Mexican youth--another of the victims! He had left the scene of his sufferings somewhat later than the rest. Was the guerrilla still in the place? No; they were gone from the village. "Whither?" was the anxious interrogatory. They had taken the up-river road, _towards the hacienda de Vargas_. They had passed the boy as he lay concealed among some magueys; he hadheard their cries as they rushed past. "What cries?" They shouted: "_Mueran al traidor y traidora! Mueran al padre y hija!Isolina la p-t-a_!" "O merciful God!" CHAPTER FIFTY SIX. THE BIVOUAC OF THE GUERRILLA. I stayed to hear no more, but drove the spur against the ribs of myhorse, till he sprang in full gallop along the road. Eager as were mymen to follow, 'twas as much as they could do to keep up. We no longer thought of scouts or cautious marching. The trappers hadmounted, and were galloping with the rest. We thought only of _time_. We rode for the hacienda de Vargas, straight up the river. Although itwas beyond the rancheria, we could reach it without passing through thelatter--which lay some distance back from the stream. We could returnto the village afterwards, but first for the hacienda. There I wishedto arrive in the shortest time possible. The miles flew behind us, like the dust of the road. Oh, should we not be in time! I feared to calculate the length of theinterval since the boy had heard that rabble rout. Was it more than anhour? Five miles to the rancho, and he on foot. Had he travelledrapidly? Yes, here and there; but he had made a stop: some men hadpassed him, and he had hidden in the bushes till they were out of sight. He had been more than an hour on the way--nearly two, and one would beenough for the execution of the darkest deed. Oh, we should not arrivein time! There was no delay now. We were going at top-speed, and in silence, scarcely exchanging a word. Alone might be heard the clattering ofhoofs, the chinking of bits, or the ringing of steel scabbards. Neitherthe slimy gutter nor the deep rut of _carreta_ wheels stayed ouradvance; our horses leaped over, or went sweltering through them. In five minutes we came to the _rinconada_, where the road forked--theleft branch leading to the village. We saw no one, and kept on by theright--the direct road to the hacienda. Another mile, and we shouldreach the house; a quarter of that distance, and we should come in sightof it; the trees alone hindered our view of its walls. On--on! What means that light? Is the sun rising in the west? Is the chapparalon fire? Whence comes the yellow gleam, half intercepted by the trunksof the trees? Is it not the moon! "Ho! the hacienda is in flames!" "No--it cannot be? A house of stone, with scarcely enough timber tomake a blaze! It cannot be that?" It is not that. We emerge from the forest; the hacienda is before oureyes. Its white walls gleam under a yellow light--the light of fire, but not of a conflagration. The house stands intact. A huge bonfireburns in front of the portal; it was this that caused the glare throughthe forest. We draw up and gaze upon it with surprise. We behold a huge pile--thematerial supplied from the household stock of dry faggots--a vast blazedrowning the pale moonshine. We can see the hacienda, and all aroundit, as distinctly as by the light of day! For what purpose this holocaust of crackling acacias? Around the fire we behold many forms, living and moving. There are men, women, dogs, and saddled horses. Huge joints are roasting over the redcoals, and others, roasted, are being greedily eaten. Are they savageswho surround that blazing pile? No--we can see their faces with full distinctness, the white skins andblack beards of the men, the cotton garments of the women; we can seesombreros and serapes, cloth cloaks and calzoneros of velveteen, sashesand sabres; we can distinguish their voices as they shout, sing, andcarouse; we note their lascivious movements in the national dance--the_fandango_. No Indians they--'tis a bivouac of the guerrilleros--theruffians for whom we are in search! Oh, that I had listened to the voice of prudence, and adopted thestrategy of a surround! But my blood was boiling, and I feared to loseeven a moment of time, lest we might be too late. But one or two of myfollowers counselled delay, and, as the event proved, they were thewisest. The rest, like myself, were impatient for action. The word was given: and like hounds, fresh loosed from the leash, werushed forward with charging cheer. It was the madness of fools. Well knew our enemy the hoarse Texan"hurrah!" It had been shouted to terrify them, when there was no need. They would never have stood ground. The shout warned them, causing them to scatter like a herd of deer. Thesteep hill proved too heavy for our horses; and before we could reachits summit, the main body of the guerrilla had mounted and scampered offinto the darkness. Six of them fell to our shots; and as many more, with their she-associates, remained prisoners in our hands; but as usualthat subtle coward had contrived to escape. Pursuit was idle; they had taken to the dark woods beyond the hill. I thought not of pursuit; my mind was bent on a far different purpose. I rode into the _patio_. The court was lit up by the glare of the fire. It presented a picture of ruin. Rich furniture was scattered about inthe verandah and over the pavement, broken or tumbled down. I calledher name--the name of Don Ramon. Loudly and earnestly did I raise myvoice, but echo gave the only reply. I dismounted, and rushed into the verandah, still vociferating, andstill without receiving a response. I hurried from room to room--from _cuarto_ to _sala_--from _sola_ to_saguan_--up to the azotea--everywhere--even to the _capilla_ in therear. The moonbeams gleamed upon the altar, but no human form wasthere. The whole house was deserted; the domestics--even the women ofthe _cocina_--had disappeared. My horse and I seemed the only livingthings within those walls--for my followers had remained outside withtheir prisoners. A sudden hope gleamed across my heart. Perhaps they had taken mycounsel, and gone off before the mob appeared? Heaven grant it might beso! I rushed out to question the captives. They should know, both men andwomen: they could certainly tell me. A glance showed me I was too late to receive information from the men. A large _pecan_ tree stood at one corner of the building. The firelightglared upon it; from its branches hung six human forms with droopingheads, and feet far from the earth. They had just ceased to live! One told me that the herredero was among them, and also the cruelmatador. Pedro had identified both. The others were _pelados_ of thetown, who had borne part in the affair of the day. Their judges hadmade quick work, and equally quick had been the ceremony of execution. Lazos had been reeved over the limbs of the pecan, and with these allsix had been jerked up without shrift or prayer! It was not revenge for which I panted. I turned to the women; many ofthese had made off, but there were still a dozen or more in the hands ofthe men. They looked haggard with drink; some sullen, and someterrified. They had reason to be afraid. In answer to my questions, they shook their heads, but gave me noinformation. Some remained doggedly silent; others denied all knowledgeof Don Ramon or his daughter. Threats had no effect. They either knewnot, or _feared to tell_ what had befallen them. Oh heaven! could it bethe latter? I was turning away angered and despairing, when my eyes fell upon afigure that seemed to skulk under the shadow of the walls. A shout ofjoy escaped me as I recognised the boy Cyprio, just emerging from hisplace of concealment. "Cyprio!" I cried. "_Si, senor's_" answered he, advancing rapidly to where I stood. "Tell me, Cyprio! where are they gone--where--where?" "_Carrai, senor's_! these bad men have carried the _dueno_ away; I donot know whither. " "The senora? the senora?" "Oh! _cavallero! es una cosa espantosa_!" (It is a terrible thing. ) "Quick, tell me all! Quickly, Cyprio!" "Senor's, there came men with black masks, who broke into the house andcarried off the master; then they dragged out Dona Isolina into thepatio! _Ay de mi_! I cannot tell you what they did before--_pobresenorita_! There was blood running down her neck and over her breast:she was not dressed, and I could see it. Some went to the caballeriza, and led out the white horse--the steed that was brought from the_llanos_. Upon his back they bound Dona Isolina. _Valga me dios_! sucha sight!" "Go on!" "Then, senor's, they led the horse across the river, and out to theplain beyond. All went along, to see the sport, as they said--_ay demi_! such sport! I did not go, for they beat and threatened to kill me;but I saw all from the hill-top, where I had hidden myself in thebushes. _O Santissima Maria_!" "Go on!" "Then, senor's, they stuck _cohetes_ in the hips of the horse, and setthem on fire, and pulled off the bridle, and the steed went off, withfire-rockets after him, and Dona Isolina tied down upon his back--_pobresenorita_! I could see the horse till he was far, far away upon the_llano_, and then I could see him no more. _Dios de mi alma! la ninaesta perdida_!" (Alas! the young lady is lost. ) "Some water! Rube! Garey! friends--water! water!--" I made an attempt to reach the fountain in the patio; but, afterstaggering dizzily a pace or two, my strength failed me, and I fellfainting to the earth. CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN. TAKING THE TRAIL. I had merely swooned. My nerves and frame were still weak from theblood-letting I had received in the combat of yesterday. The shock ofthe horrid news was too much for my powers of endurance. I was insensible only for a short while; the cold water revived me. When consciousness returned, I was by the fountain, my back leaningagainst its parapet edge; Rube, Garey and others were around me. Frommy dripping garments, I perceived that they had _douched_ me, and onewas pouring a fiery spirit down my throat. There were men on horseback, who had ridden into the patio--the ironhoofs causing the court to ring. They were rangers, but not those whohad left camp in my company. Some had arrived since, and others werestill galloping up. The girls had reached the ranger camp, and toldtheir tale. The men had not waited for orders, or even for one another, but rushing to their horses, took the road in twos and threes. Everymoment, a horseman, or several together, came riding forward in hothaste, carrying their rifles, as if ready for action, and uttering loudcries of indignation. Wheatley had arrived among the foremost. Poor fellow! his habitual buoyancy had departed; the gay smile was gonefrom his lips. His eyes were on fire, and his teeth set in the sternexpression of heart-consuming vengeance. Amidst the hoarse shouting of the men, I heard screaming in the shrillervoices of women. It came from without. I rose hastily, and ran towards the spot: I saw several of the wretchedcaptives stripped to the waist, and men in the act of flogging them, with mule-quirts and pieces of raw-hide rope. I had feared it was worse; I had feared that their captors wereinflicting upon them a _retaliation in kind_. But no--angry as were myfollowers, they had not proceeded to such a fiendish extremity. It required all the authority of a command to put an end to thedistressing spectacle. They desisted at length; and the screeching andaffrighted wretches were permitted to take themselves away--alldisappearing rapidly beyond the light of the fire. At this crisis a shout was raised: "To the rancheria, to the rancheria!"and instantly a party, with Wheatley and Holingsworth at its head, rodeoff for the village. Pedro went along with them. I waited not for their return; I had formed a plan of action for myself, that would admit of no delay in its execution. At first, stunned by the blow, and the distraction of my swooningsenses, I had not been able to _think_; as soon as the confusion passed, and I could reflect more clearly, the course I ought to pursue was atonce apparent. Vengeance I had felt as the first impulse, and a strongdesire to follow up the fiend Ijurra--night and day to follow him--though the pursuit should lead me into the heart of the hostile ground. This was but a momentary impulse: vengeance must be stifled for thetime. A path was to be taken that widely diverged from that of theretreating guerrilla--_the trail of the white steed_. Mounting Cyprio, and choosing from my band half-a-dozen of the best_trackers_, was the work of a moment. In another, we were in thesaddle; and descending the hill, we plunged rapidly through the stream, crossed the skirting timber, and soon rode out upon the open prairie. Under Cyprio's guidance, we found the spot desecrated by that crueldisplay. The ground was trampled by many hoofs; fragments of paper--powder-blackened--broken rocket-sticks, and half-burnt fuses, strewedthe sward--the pyrotechnic _reliquiae_ of the fiendish spectacle. We halted not there. By the aid of our guide and the moonlight, we rodeclear of the confusion; and taking up the trail of the horse, struck offupon it, and were soon far out upon the prairie. For more than a mile we advanced at a gallop. Time was everything. Trusting to the intelligence of the Mexican boy, we scarcely scrutinisedthe track, but made directly for the point where the horse had been lastseen. Cyprio's information did not deceive us. A _motte_ of timber had servedhim as a mark: the steed had passed close to its edge. Beyond it, hehad seen him no more, and the boy was sent back. Beyond it, we found the tracks, easily recognisable by Rube, Garey, andmyself. There was a peculiarity by which we were prevented frommistaking them: three of the prints were clearly cut in the turf--almostperfect circles--the curve of the fourth--of the off fore-foot--wasinterrupted by a slight indentation, where a piece had been broken fromthe hoof. It had been done in that terrible leap upon the rocky bed ofthe barranca. Taking the trail again, we kept on--now advancing at a slower pace, andwith a greater degree of caution. Late rain had moistened theprairie-turf, and we could perceive the racks without dismounting. Atintervals, there were stretches of drier surface, where the hoof hadscarcely left its impression. In such places, one leaped from thesaddle, and led the way on foot. Rube or Garey usually performed thisoffice; and so rapidly did they move along the trail, that our horseswere seldom in a walk. With bodies half bent, and eyes gliding alongthe ground, they pressed forward like hounds running by the scent, but, unlike these, the trackers made no noise. Not a word was spoken by anyone. I had no list for speech; my agony was too intense for utterance. With Cyprio I had conversed upon the harrowing theme, and that only atstarting. From him I had gathered further details. No doubt, thematador had performed his office. Oh, God! without ears! Cyprio had seen blood; it was streaming adown her neck and over herbosom: her slight garments were stained red with it. He knew not whenceit came, or why she was bleeding. He was not present when that bloodhad been drawn; it was in her chamber, he thought. She was bleedingwhen the ruffians dragged her forth! Belike, too, the herredero had done his work? Cyprio had seen theblacksmith, but not the _fierro_. He heard they had branded some at thepiazza, among others the daughter of the alcalde--_pobre Conchita_! Hedid not see them brand the Dona Isolina. The ruffian deed might have been accomplished for all that; there wasplenty of time, while the boy lay hid, or before she had been draggedfrom her chamber. How was she placed upon the horse? Despite my heart's bitterness, as I put these interrogatories, I couldnot help thinking of the Cossack legend. The famed classic picture camevividly before my mind. Wide was the distance between the Ukraine andthe Rio Bravo. Had the monsters who re-enacted this scene on the banksof the Mexican river--had these ever heard of Mazeppa? Possibly theirleader had; but it was still more probable that the fiendish thought wasoriginal. The fashion at least was. Cyprio had seen and described it. She was laid longitudinally upon the back of the steed, her head restingupon the point of his shoulder. Her face was downward, her cheektouching the withers. Her arms embraced the neck, and her wrists weremade fast under the animal's throat. Her body was held in this positionby means of a belt around her waist, attached to a surcingle on thehorse--both tightly buckled. In addition to this, her ankles, boundtogether by a thong, were fastened to the croup, with her feetprojecting beyond the hips! I groaned as I listened to the details. The ligature was perfect--cruelly complete. There was no hope that suchfastenings would give way. Those thongs of raw-hide would not comeundone. Horse and rider could never part from that unwilling embrace--never, till hunger, thirst, death--no, not even death could part them!Oh, horror! Not without groans could I contemplate the hideous fate of mybetrothed--of her whose love had become my life. I left the tracking to my comrades, and my horse to follow after. Irode with loose rein, and head drooping forward; I scarcely gave thoughtto design. My heart was well-nigh broken. CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT. THE VOYAGEUR. We had not gone far when some one closed up beside me, and muttered aword of cheer; I recognised the friendly voice of the big trapper. "Don't be afeerd, capt'n, " said he, in a tone of encouragement; "don'tbe afeerd! Rube an me'll find 'em afore thar's any harm done. I don'tb'lieve the white hoss 'll gallip fur, knowin' thar's someb'dy on hisback. It war them gim-cracks that sot him off. When they burn out, he'll come to a dead halt, an then--" "And then?" I inquired mechanically. "We'll get up, an your black'll be able to overhaul him in a jump ortwo. " I began to feel hope. It was but a momentary gleam, and died out in thenext instant. "If the moon 'ud only hold out, " continued Garey, with an emphasisdenoting doubt. "Rot the moon!" said a voice interrupting him; "she's a gwine to guvout. Wagh!" It was Rube who had uttered the unpleasant prognostication, in apeevish, but positive tone. All eyes were turned upward. The moon, round and white, was sailingthrough a cloudless sky, and almost in the zenith. How, then, was sheto "give out?" She was near the full, and could not set before morning. What did Rube mean? The question was put to him. "Look ee 'ander!" said he in reply. "D'ees see thet ur black line, downlow on the paraira?" There appeared a dark streak along the horizon to the eastward. Yes, wesaw it. "Wal, " continued Rube, "thur's no timber thur--ne'er a stick--nor highgroun neyther: thurfor thet ur'ss a cloud; I've seed the likes afore. Wait a bit. Wagh! In jest ten minnits, the durned thing'll kiver upthe moon, an make thet putty blue sky look as black as the hide o' anAfrikin niggur--_it_ will. " "I'm afeerd he's right, capt'n, " said Garey, in a desponding tone. "Iwar doubtful o' it myself: the sky looked too _near_. I didn't like ita bit: thar's always a change when things are better 'n common. " I needed not to inquire the consequences, should Rube's prediction provecorrect; that was evident to all of us. The moon once obscured byclouds, our progress would be arrested: even a horse could not betracked in the darkness. We were not long in suspense. Again the foresight of the old trapperproved unerring. Cumuli rolled up the sky one after another, untiltheir black masses shrouded the moon. At first, they came only indetached clouds, and there was light at intervals; but these were onlythe advanced columns of a heavier body, that soon after appeared; andwithout a break, spread itself pall-like over the firmament. The moon's disc became entirely hidden from our view; her scatteredbeams died out; and the prairie lay dark as if shadowed by an eclipse. We could follow the trail no farther. The ground itself was notvisible, much less the hoof-prints we had been tracing; and haltingsimultaneously, we drew our horses togther, and sat in our saddles todeliberate upon what was best to be done. The consultation was a short one. They who formed that little partywere all men of prairie or backwoods experience, and well versed in theways of the wilderness. It took them but little time to decide whatcourse should be followed; and they were unanimous in their opinion. Should the sky continue clouded, we must give up the pursuit tillmorning, or adopt the only alternative--follow the trail by_torchlight_. Of course the latter was determined upon. It was yet early in thenight; many hours must intervene before we should have the light of day. I could not live through those long hours without action. Even thoughour progress might be slow, the knowledge that we were advancing wouldhelp to stifle the painfulness of reflection. "A torch! a torch!" Where was such a thing to be procured? We had with us no material withwhich to make one; there was no timber near! We were in the middle of anaked prairie. The universal mesquite--the _algar obia glandulosa_--excellent for such a purpose--grew nowhere in the neighbourhood. Whowas to find the torch? Even Rube's ingenuity could not make one out ofnothing. "Ecoutez, mon capitaine!" cried Le Blanc, an old voyageur--"ecoutez! vyme no ride back, et von lanterne bring from ze ville Mexicaine?" True, why not? We were yet but a few miles from the rancheria. TheCanadian's idea was a good one. "Je connais, " he continued--"know I, pe gar! ze ver spot ou--vere--sontcachees--hid les chandelles magnifiques--von, deux, tree big candle--vax, vax--" "Wax-candles?" "Oui--oui, messieurs! tres grand comme un baton; ze ver chose pourallumer la prairie. " "You know where they are? You could find them, Le Blanc?" "Oui, messieurs--je connais: les chandelles sont cachees dans l'eglise--zey are in ze church hid. " "Ha! in the church?" "Oui, messieurs; c'est un grand sacrilege, mon Dieu! ver bad; maisn'importe cela. Eef mon capitaine permit--vill allow pour allerMonsieur Quack'bosh, he go chez moi; nous chercherons; ve bring zechandelles--pe gar ve bring him!" From the mixed gibberish of the voyageur, I could gather his meaningwell enough. He knew of a depository of wax-candles, and the church ofthe rancheria was the place in which they were kept. I was not in a frame of mind to care much for the sacrilege, and mycompanions were still less scrupulous. The act was determined upon, andLe Blanc and Quackenboss, without more delay, took the back-track forthe village. The rest of us dismounted; and, picketing our horses to the grass, laydown to await the return of the messengers. CHAPTER FIFTY NINE. TRAILING BY TORCH-LIGHT. While thus inactive, my mind yielded itself up to the contemplation ofpainful probabilities. Horrid spectacles passed before my imagination. I saw the white horse galloping over the plain, pursued by wolves, andshadowed by black vultures. To escape these hungry pursuers, I saw himdash into the thick chapparal, there to encounter the red panther or thefierce prowling bear--there to encounter the sharp thorns of theacacias, the barbed spines of the cactus, and the recurving claw-likearmature of the wild aloes. I could see the red blood streaming adownhis white flanks--not _his_ blood, but that of the helpless victimstretched prostrate along his back. I could see the lacerated limbs--the ankles chafed and swollen--the garments torn to shreds--the droopinghead--the long loose hair tossed and trailing to the earth--the whitewan lips--the woe-bespeaking eyes--Oh! I could bear my reflections nolonger. I sprang to my feet, and paced the prairie with the aimless, unsteady step of a madman. Again the kind-hearted trapper approached, and renewed his efforts toconsole me. "We could follow the trail, " he said, "by torch or candle light, almostas fast as we could travel; we should be many miles along it beforemorning; maybe before then we should get sight of the steed. It wouldnot be hard to surround and capture him; now that he was half-tamed, hemight not run from us; if he did, he could be overtaken. Once in view, we would not lose sight of him again. The saynyora would be safeenough; there was nothing to hurt her: the wolves would not know the`fix' she was in, neyther the `bars' nor `painters. ' We should be sureto come up with her before the next night, an would find her first-rate;a little tired and hungry, no doubt, but nothing to hurt. We shouldrelieve her, and rest would set all right again. " Notwithstanding the rude phrase in which these consolatory remarks weremade, I appreciated their kind intention. Garey's speech had the effect of rendering me more hopeful; and incalmer mood, I awaited the return of Quackenboss and the Canadian. These did not linger. Two hours had been allowed them to perform theirerrand; but long before the expiration of that period, we heard thedouble tramp of their horses as they came galloping across the plain. In a few minutes they rode up, and we could see in the hands of Le Blancthree whitish objects, that in length and thickness resembled stoutwalking-canes. We recognised _les chandelles magnifiques_. They were the property of the church--designed, no doubt, to haveillumined the altar upon the occasion of some grand _dia de fiesta_. "Voila! mon capitaine!" cried the Canadian, as he rode forward--"voilales chandelles! Ah, mon Dieu! c'est von big sacrilege, et je suis bonChretien--buen Catolico, as do call 'im ze dam Mexicaine; bien--ze bonDieu me forgive--God ve pardon vill pour--for ze grand necessitie; surecertaine he will me pardon--Lige et moi--ze brave Monsieur Quack'bosh. " The messengers had brought news from the village. Some roughproceedings had taken place since our departure. Men had been punished;fresh victims had been found under the guidance of Pedro and others ofthe abused. The trees in the church enclosure that night bore horridfruit. The alcalde was not dead; and Don Ramon, it was supposed, stillsurvived, but had been carried off a prisoner by the guerrilla! Therangers were yet at the rancheria; many had been desirous of returningwith Le Blanc and Quackenboss, but I had sent orders to the lieutenantsto take all back to camp as soon as their affair was over. The fewer ofthe troop that should be absent, the less likelihood of our beingmissed, and those I had with me I deemed enough for my purpose. Whethersuccessful or not, we should soon return to camp. It would then be timeto devise some scheme for capturing the leader and prime actor in thisterrible tragedy. Hardly waiting to hear the story, we lighted the great candles, andmoved once more along the trail. Fortunately, the breeze was but slight, and only served to make the hugewaxen torches flare more freely. By their brilliant blaze, we wereenabled to take up the tracks, quite as rapidly as by the moonlight. Atthis point, the horse had been still going at full gallop; and hiscourse, as it ran in a direct line, was the more easily followed. Dark as the night was, we soon perceived we were heading for a pointwell known to all of us--the prairie mound; and, under a faint beliefthat the steed might have there come to a stop, we pressed forward witha sort of hopeful anticipation. After an hour's tracking, the white cliffs loomed within the circle ofour view--the shining selenite glancing back the light of our tapers, like a wall set with diamonds. We approached with caution, still keeping on the trail, but also keenlyscrutinising the ground in advance of us--in hopes of perceiving theobject of our search. Neither by the cliff, nor in the gloom around, was living form to be traced. Sure enough the steed had halted there, or, at all events, ceased fromhis wild gallop. He had approached the mound in a walk, as the trackstestified; but how, and in what direction, had he gone thence? Hishoof-prints no longer appeared. He had passed over the shingle, thatcovered the plain to a distance of many yards from the base of thecliff, and no track could be found beyond! Several times we went around the mesa, carrying our candles everywhere. We saw skeletons of men and horses, with skulls detached, fragments ofdresses, and pieces of broken armour--souvenirs of our late skirmish. We looked into our little fortress, and gazed upon the rock that hadsheltered us; we glanced up the gorge where we had climbed, and beheldthe rope by which we had descended still hanging in its place: all thesewe saw, but no further traces of the steed! Round and round we went, back and forward, over the stony shingle, andalong its outer edge, but still without coming upon the tracks. Whithercould the horse have gone! Perhaps, with a better light, we might have found the trail; but for along hour we searched, without striking upon any sign of it. Perhaps wemight still have found it, even with our waxen torches, but for anincident that not only interrupted our search, but filled us with freshapprehension, and almost stifled our hopes of success. The interruption did not come unexpected. The clouds had for some timegiven ample warning. The big solitary drops that at intervals fell withplashing noise upon the rocks, were but the _avant-couriers_ of one ofthe great rainstorms of the prairie, when water descends as if from ashower-bath. We knew from the signs that such a storm was nigh; andwhile casting around to recover the trail, it came down in all its fury. Almost in an instant our lights were extinguished, and our bootlesssearch brought to a termination. We drew up under the rocks, and stood side by side in sullen silence. Even the elements seemed against me. In my heart's bitterness, I cursedthem. CHAPTER SIXTY. THE SOMBRERO. The horses cowered under the cold rain, all of them jaded and hungry. The hot dusty march of the morning, and the long rough gallop of thenight, had exhausted their strength; and they stood with drooped headsand hanging ears, dozing and motionless. The men, too, were wearied--some of them quite worn out. A few kepttheir feet, bridle in hand, under shelter of the impending cliff; theothers, having staggered down, with their backs against the rock, hadalmost instantly fallen asleep. For me was neither sleep nor rest; I did not even seek protectionagainst the storm; but standing clear of the cliff, received thedrenching shower full upon my shoulders. It was the chill rain of the"norther;" but at that moment neither cold _norte_ nor hot sirocco couldhave produced upon me an impression of pain. To physical suffering Iwas insensible. I should even have welcomed it, for I well understoodthe truth, proverbially expressed in that language, rich above allothers in proverbial lore--"_un clavo saca otro clavo_" and still morefully illustrated by the poet: "_Tristezas me hacen triste, Tristezas salgo a buscar, A ver si con tristezas Tristezas puedo olvidar_. " Yes, under any other form, I should have welcomed physical pain as aneutraliser of my mental anguish; but that cold norther brought noconsolation. Sadly the reverse. It was the harbinger of keen apprehension; for notonly had it interrupted our search, but should the heavy rain continueonly for a few hours, we might be able neither to find or further tofollow the trail. It would be _blinded_--obliterated--lost. Can you wonder that in my heart I execrated those black clouds, and thatdriving deluge?--that with my lips I cursed the sky and the storm, themoon and the stars, the red lightning and the rolling thunder? My anathema ended, I stood in sullen silence, leaning against the bodyof my brave horse--whose sides shivered under the chilly rain, though Ifelt not its chill. Absorbed in gloomy thought, I recked not what was passing around me;and, for an unnoted period, I remained in this speechless abstraction. My reverie was broken. Some expressions that reached my ear told methat at least two of my followers had not yet yielded to weariness ordespair. Two of them were in conversation; and I easily recognised thevoices of the trappers. Tireless, used to stern struggles--to constant warfare with theelements--with nature herself--these true men never thought of givingup, until the last effort of human ingenuity had failed. From theirconversation, I gathered that they had not yet lost hope of finding thetrail, but were meditating on some plan for recovering and following it. With renewed eagerness I faced towards them and listened. Both talkedin a low voice. Garey was speaking, as I turned to them. "I guess you're right, Rube. The hoss must a gone thar, an if so, we'reboun' to fetch his tracks. Thar's mud, if I remember right, all roun'the pool. We can carry the cannel under Dutch's sombrera. " "Ye-es, " drawled Rube in reply; "an ef this niggur don't miskalk'late, we ain't a gwine to need eyther cannel or sombrairay. Lookee yander!"--the speaker pointed to a break in the clouds--"I'll stake high, I kinmizyure this hyur shower wi' the tail o' a goat. Wagh! we'll hev themoon agin, clur as iver in the inside o' ten minnits--see ef we haint. " "So much the better, old hoss; but hadn't we best first try for thetracks; time's precious, Rube--" "In coorse it ur; git the cannel an the sombrairay, an le's be off then. The rest o' these fellurs hed better stay hyur, an snore it out; thu'llonly bamfoozle us. " "Lige!" called out Garey, addressing himself to Quackenboss--"Lige! gi'us yur hat a bit. " A loud snore was the only reply. The ranger, seated with his backagainst the rock, and his head drooping over his breast, was soundasleep. "Durned sleepy-head!" exclaimed Rube, in a tone of peevish impatience. "Prod 'im wi' the point o' yur bowie, Bill! Rib-roast 'im wi' yurwipin'-stick! Lam 'im wi' yur laryette!--gi' 'im a kick i' the guts!--roust 'im up, durn 'im!" "Lige!--he!--Dutchy!" cried Garey, approaching the sleeper, and shakinghim by the shoulder; "I want your sombrera. " "Ho! wo! stand still! Jingo! he'll throw me. I can't get off; thespurs are locked. He! wo! wo!" Rube and Garey broke into a loud cachinnation that awakened the rest ofthe slumberers. Quackenboss alone remained asleep, fighting in hisdreams with the wild Indian horse. "Durned mulehead!" cried Rube after a pause; "let 'im go on at thetlong's he likes it. Chuck the hat off o' his head, Bill! we don't want_him_--thet we don't. " There was a little pique in the trapper's tone. The breach that theranger had made, while acting as a faithful sentinel, was not yethealed. Garey made no further attempts to arouse the sleeper, but in obedienceto the order of his comrade, lifted off the hat; and, having procuredone of the great candles, he and Rube started off without saying anotherword, of giving any clue to their design. Though joyed at what I had heard, I refrained from interrogating them. Some of my followers who put questions received only ambiguous answers. From the manner of the trappers, I saw that they wished to be left tothemselves; and I could well trust them to the development of whateverdesign they had conceived. On leaving us, they walked straight out from the cliff; but how far theycontinued in this direction it was impossible to tell. They had notlighted the candle; and after going half-a-dozen steps, their formsdisappeared from our view amidst the darkness and thickly-falling rain. CHAPTER SIXTY ONE. THE TRAIL RECOVERED. The rangers, after a moment of speculation as to the designs of thetrappers, resumed their attitude of repose. Fatigued as they were, eventhe cold could not keep them awake. After a pause, the voice of Quackenboss could be heard, in proof thatthat heavy sleeper was at length aroused; the rain falling upon hishalf-bald skull had been more effective than the shouts and shaking ofGarey. "Hillo? Where's my hat?" inquired he in a mystified tone, at the sametime stirring himself, and groping about among the rocks. "Where _is_my hat? Boys, did any o' ye see anything o' a hat, did ye?" His shoutsagain awoke the sleepers. "What sort of a hat, Lige?" inquired one. "A black hat--that Mexican sombrera. " "Oh! a black hat; no--I saw no black hat. " "You darned Dutchman! who do you expect could see a black hat such anight as this, or a white one eyther? Go to sleep!" "Come, boys, I don't want none o' your nonsense: I want my hat. Who'stuk my hat?" "Are you sure it was a black hat?" "Bah! the wind has carried it away. " "Pe gar! Monsieur Quack'bosh--votre chapeau grand--you great beeg 'at--est-il perdu?--is loss?--c'est vrai? Pardieu! les loups--ze wolfs haveit carr'd avay--have it mange--eat? c'est vrai?" "None o' your gibberish, Frenchy. Have _you_ tuk my hat?" "Moi! votre chapeau grand! No, Monsieur Quack'bosh--vraiment je ne l'aipas; pe gar, no!" "Have _you_ got it, Stanfield?" asked the botanist, addressing himselfto a Kentucky backwoodsman of that name. "Dang yar hat! What shed I do wi' yar hat? I've got my own hat, andthat's hat enough for me. " "Have _you_ my hat, Bill Black?" "No, " was the prompt reply; "I've got neery hat but my own, and thatain't black, I reckon, 'cept on sich a night as this. " "I tell you what, Lige, old fellow! you lost your hat while you were aridin' the mustang just now: the hoss kicked it off o' your head. " A chorus of laughter followed this sally, in the midst of whichQuackenboss could be heard apostrophising both his hat and his comradesin no very respectful terms, while he commenced scrambling over theground in vain search after the lost sombrero, amidst the jokes andlaughter uttered at his expense. To this merriment of my followers I gave but little heed: my thoughtswere intent on other things. My eyes were fixed upon that bright spotin the sky, that had been pointed out by Rube; and my heart gladdened, as I perceived that it was every moment growing brighter and bigger. The rain still fell thick and fast; but the edge of the cloud-curtainwas slowly rising above the eastern horizon, as though drawn up by someinvisible hand. Should the movement continue, I felt confident that in a few minutes--asRube had predicted--the sky would be clear again, and the moon shiningbrightly as ever. These were joyous anticipations. At intervals I glanced towards the prairie, and listened to catch somesound--either the voices of the trappers, or the tread of theirreturning footsteps. No such sounds could be heard. I was becoming impatient, when I perceived a sudden waif of light farout upon the plain. It seemed to be again extinguished; but in the sameplace, and the moment after, appeared a small, steady flame, twinklinglike a solitary star through the bluish mist of the rain. For a fewseconds it remained fixed, and then commenced moving--as if carried lowdown along the surface of the ground. There was nothing mysterious about this lone light. To Quackenboss onlyit remained an unexplained apparition; and he might have mistaken it forthe _fata morgana_. The others had been awake when Rube and Garey tooktheir departure, and easily recognised the lighted candle in the handsof the trappers. For some time the light appeared to move backwards and forwards, turningat short distances, as if borne in irregular circles, or in zig-zaglines. We could perceive the sheen of water between us and the flame--as though there was a pond, or perhaps a portion of the prairie, floodedby the rain. After a while the light became fixed, and a sharp exclamation was heardacross the plain, which all of us recognised as being in the voice ofthe trapper Rube. Again the light was in motion--now flitting along more rapidly, and asif carried in a straight line over the prairie. We followed it with eager eyes. We saw it was moving further andfurther away; and my companions hazarded the conjecture that thetrappers had recovered the trail. This was soon verified by one of themselves--Garey--whose huge form, looming through the mist, was seen approaching the spot; and though theexpression of his face could not be noted in the darkness, his bearingbetokened that he brought cheerful tidings. "Rube's struck the trail, capt'n, " said he in a quiet voice as he cameup: "yonder he goes, whar you see the bleeze o' the cannel! He'll soonbe out o' sight, if we don't make haste, an follow. " Without another word, we seized the reins, sprang once more into oursaddles, and rode off after the twinkling star, that beaconed us acrossthe plain. Rube was soon overtaken; and we perceived that despite the storm, he wasrapidly progressing along the trail, his candle sheltered from the rainunder the ample sombrero. In answer to numerous queries, the old trapper vouchsafed only anoccasional "Wagh!" evidently proud of this new exhibition of his skill. With Garey, the curious succeeded better; and as we continued on, thelatter explained to them how the trail had been recovered by hiscomrade--for to Rube, it appeared, was the credit due. Rube remembered the mesa spring. It was the water in its branch that wehad seen gleaming under the light. The thoughtful trapper conjectured, and rightly as it proved, that the steed would stop there to drink. Hehad passed along the stony shingle by the mound--simply because aroundthe cliff lay his nearest way to the water--and had followed a dry ridgethat led directly from the mesa to the spring-branch. Along this ridge, going gently at the time, his hoof had left no marks--at least none thatcould be distinguished by torch-light--and this was why the trail hadbeen for the moment lost. Rube, however, remembered that around thespring there was a tract of soft boggy ground; and he anticipated thatin this the hoof-prints would leave a deep impression. To find them heneeded only a "kiver" for the candle, and the huge hat of Quackenbossserved the purpose well. An umbrella would scarcely have been better. As the trappers had conjectured, they found the tracks in the muddymargin of the spring-branch. The steed had drunk at the pool; butimmediately after had resumed his wild flight, going westward from themound. Why had he gone off at a gallop? Had he been alarmed by aught? Or hadhe taken fresh affright, at the strange rider upon his back? I questioned Garey. I saw that he knew why. He needed pressing for theanswer. He gave it at length, but with evident reluctance. These were his wordsof explanation-- "Thar are wolf-tracks on the trail!" CHAPTER SIXTY TWO. WOLVES ON THE TRACK. The wolves, then, were after him! The trackers had made out their footprints in the mud of the arroyo. Both kinds had been there--the large brown wolf of Texas, and the smallbarking _coyote_ of the plains. A full pack there had been, as thetrappers could tell by the numerous tracks, and that they were followingthe horse, the tracks also testified to these men of strangeintelligence. How knew they this? By what sign? To my inquiries, I obtained answer from Garey. Above the spring-branch extended a shelving bank; up this the steed hadbounded, after drinking at the pool. Up this, too, the wolves hadsprung after: they had left the indentation of their claws in the softloam. How knew Garey that they were in pursuit of the horse? The "scratches" told him they were going at their fastest, and theywould not have sprung so far had they not been pursuing some prey. There were footmarks of no other animal except theirs, and thehoof-prints of that steed; and that they were after him was evident tothe trapper, because _the tracks of the wolves covered those of thehorse_. Garey had no more doubt of the correctness of his reasoning, than ageometrician of the truth of a theorem in Euclid. I groaned in spirit as I was forced to adopt his conclusion. But it wasall probable--too probable. Had the steed been alone--Unembarrassed--free--it was not likely the wolves would have chased him thus. Thewild-horse in his prime is rarely the object of their attack; though theold and infirm--the gravid mare, and the feeble colt--often fall beforethese hungry hunters of the plains. Both common wolf and coyote possessall the astuteness of the fox, and know, as if by instinct, the animalthat is wounded to death. They will follow the stricken deer that hasescaped from the hunter; but if it prove to be but slightly harmed, instinctively they abandon the chase. Their instinct had told them that the steed was not ridden by a freehand; they had seen that there was _something amiss_; and in the hope ofrunning down both horse and rider, they had followed with hungry howl. Another fact lent probability to this painful conjecture; we knew thatby the mesa were many wolves. The spring was the constant resort of ruminant animals, deer andantelopes; the half-wild cattle of the _ganaderos_ drank there, and thetottering calf oft became the prey of the coyote and his more powerfulcongener, the gaunt Texan wolf. There was still another reason why theplace must of late have been the favourite prowl of these hideousbrutes: the _debris_ of our skirmish had furnished them with many amidnight banquet. They had ravened upon the blood of men and the fleshof horses, and they hungered for more. That they might succeed in running down the steed, cumbered as he was, was probable enough. Sooner or later, they would overtake him. Itmight be after a long, long gallop over hill and dale, through swamp andchapparal; but still it was probable those tough, tireless pursuerswould overtake him. They would launch themselves upon his flanks; theywould seize upon his wearied limbs--upon hers, the helpless victim onhis back--both horse and rider would be dragged to the earth--bothtorn--parted in pieces--devoured! I groaned under the horrid apprehension. "Look thar!" said Garey, pointing to the ground, and holding his torchso as to illuminate the surface; "the hoss has made a slip thar. See!hyar's the track o' the big wolf--he hes sprung up jest hyar; I can tellby the scratch o' his hind-claws. " I examined the "sign. " Even to my eyes it was readable, and just asGarey had interpreted it. There were other tracks of wolves on the dampsoil, but one had certainly launched himself forward, in a long leap, asthough in an effort to fasten himself upon the flanks of some animal. The hoof-mark plainly showed that the steed had slipped as he sprangover the wet grass; and this had tempted the spring of the watchfulpursuer. We hurried on. Our excited feelings hindered us from causing longerthan a moment. Both rangers and trappers snared my eagerness, as wellas my apprehensions. Fast as the torches could be carried, we hurriedon. Shortly after parting from the mesa, there occurred a change in ourfavour. The lights had been carried under hats to protect them from therain. This precaution was no longer required. The storm had passed--the shower ceasing as suddenly as it had come on; the clouds were fastdriving from the face of the firmament. In five minutes more, the moonwould shine forth. Already her refracted rays lightened the prairie. We did not stay for her full beam; time was too precious. Stilltrusting to the torches, we hurried on. The beautiful queen of the night kept her promise. In five minutes, hercheering orb shot out beyond the margin of the dark pall that hadhitherto shrouded it; and her white disc, as if purified by the storm, shone with unwonted brightness. The ground became conspicuous almost asin day; the torches were extinguished, and we followed the trail morerapidly by the light of the moon. Here, still in full gallop, had passed the wild-horse, and for milesbeyond--still had he gone at utmost speed. Still close upon his heelshad followed the ravenous and untiring wolves. Here and there were theprints of their clawed feet--the signs of their unflagging pursuit. The roar of water sounded in our ears: it came from the directiontowards which the trail was conducting us, a stream was not far distant. We soon diminished the distance. A glassy sheet glistened under themoonlight, and towards this the trail trended in a straight line. It was a river--a cataract was near, down which the water, freshened bythe late rain, came tumbling, broken by the rocks into hummocks of whitefoam. Under the moonlight, it appeared like an avalanche of snow. Thetrappers recognised an affluent of the Rio Bravo, running from thenorth--from the high steppe of the Llano Estacado. We hurried forward to its bank, and opposite the frothing rapids. Thetrail conducted us to this point--to the very edge of the foaming water. It led no farther. There were the hoof-marks forward to the brink, butnot back. The horse had plunged into the torrent. CHAPTER SIXTY THREE. ACROSS THE TORRENT. Surely was it so. Into that seething rapid the steed had launchedhimself--where the spume was whitest, and the rocks gave out theirhoarsest echoes. The four hoof-prints, close together upon the bank, showed the point from which he had sprung; and the deeply indented turftestified that he had made no timid leap. The pursuers had been closeupon his heels, and he had flung himself with desperate plunge upon thewater. Had he succeeded in crossing? It was our first thought. It appearedimprobable--impossible. Notwithstanding its foam-bedappled surface, thecurrent was swift, and looked as though it would sweep either man orhorse from his footing. Surely it was too deep to be forded. Thoughhere and there rocks were seen above the surface, they were but thecrests of large boulders, and between them the impetuous wave ran darkand rapid. Had the horse lost footing? had he been forced to swim? Ifso, he must have been carried down by the current--his body submerged--his withers sunk below the surface--his helpless rider-- The conclusion was evident to all of us. All felt the convictionsimultaneously. No--not all. There came a word of comfort from theoldest and wisest--a word that gave cheer to my drooping spirit. "Wagh! the hoss hain't swum a lick--_he_ hain't. " "Are you sure, Rube? How can you tell?" were the quick interrogatories. "Sure--how kin I tell--i'deed, how?" replied Rube, a little nettled atour having questioned his judgment. "What the divul's yur eyes goodfor--all o' yur? Lookee hyur! and I'll show 'ee how I tell. Do 'ee seethe colour o' thet water?--it ur as brown as a buffler in the Fall;thurfor it's fresh kim down; and jest afore the shower, thur wan'tmore'n half o' it in the channel. _Then_ the hoss mout a waded 'crossthyur, easy as fallin' off a log, and _then_ that hoss _did_ wadeacrosst. " "He crossed before the rain?" "Sure as a shot from Targuts. Look at the tracks! Them wur made aforea drop o' rain kim down: ef they hedn't, they'd a been a durned sightdeeper in the sod. Wagh! the hoss got safe acrosst 'ithout wettin' ahair o' his hips. So far as drowndin' goes, don't be skeeart 'boutthet, young fellur! the gurl's safe enough yit. " "And the wolves? Do you think they have followed across the stream?" "Ne'er a wolf o' 'em--ne'er a one. The vamints hed more sense. Theyknowd thur legs wan't long enough, an thet ur current wud a swep 'em amile afore they kud a swum half-way acrosst. The wolves, they stayed onthis side, I reck'n. Look hyur--hyur's thur tracks. Wagh! thur wur awheen o' the filthy beests. Geehosophat! the bank ur paddled like asheep-pen. " We bent down to examine the ground. Sure enough, it was covered withthe tracks of wolves. A numerous band had crowded together on the spot;and as the prints of their feet pointed in all directions, it wasevident they had not gone forward, but, brought to a stand by thetorrent, had given up the chase, and scattered away. Pray heaven it was no mere conjecture! With Rube it was a belief; and as I had grown to put implicit reliancein the old trapper's wood-craft, I felt reassured. Rube's opinions, both as to the steed having safely crossed, and the discomfiture of thewolves, were shared by the rest of my followers--not one of whom was amean authority on such a subject. Garey--second only to his oldercomrade in the working out of a prairie syllogism--gave Rube's statementhis emphatic confirmation. The steed was yet safe--and pray heaven, therider. With lighter heart I sprang back into the saddle. My followers imitatedthe example, and with eyes scanning the stream, we rode along the bankto seek for a crossing. There was no ford near the spot. Perhaps where the steed had passedover the stream might have been waded at low-water; but now, during thefreshet, the current would have swept off horse and man like so muchcork-wood. The rocks--the black waves that rushed between them--theboiling, frothing eddies--discouraged any attempt at crossing there; weall saw that it was impracticable. Some rode up stream, others went in the opposite direction. Both parties met again with blank looks; neither had found a crossing. There was no time to search further--at least my impatience would nolonger brook delay. It was not the first time for both my horse andmyself to cross a river without ford; nor was it the first time for manyof my followers. Below the rapids, the current ran slow, apparently ceasing altogether. The water was still, though wider from bank to bank--a hundred yards ormore. By the aid of the moonlight, I could tell that the bank on theopposite side was low and shelving. It could be easily climbed by ahorse. I stayed to reason no further. Many a hundred yards had Moro swum withhis rider on his back--many a current had he cleft with his proud breastfar more rapid than that. I headed him to the bank, gave him the spur, and went plunging into theflood. Plunge--plunge--plunge! I heard behind me till the last of my followershad launched themselves on the wave, and were swimming silently over. One after another we reached the opposite side, and ascended the bank. Hurriedly I counted our number as the men rode out; one had not yetarrived. Who was missing? "Rube, " answered some one. I glanced back, but without feeling any uneasiness. I had no fear forthe trapper; Garey alleged he was "safe to turn up. " Something haddetained him. Could his old mare swim? "Like a mink, " replied Garey; "but Rube won't ride her across; he'safeerd to sink her too deep in the water. See! yonder he comes!" Near the middle of the stream, two faces were observed rippling thewave, one directly in the wake of the other. The foremost was thegrizzled front of the old mustang, the other the unmistakeablephysiognomy of her master. The moonlight shining upon both renderedthem conspicuous above the dark brown water; and the spectacle drew alaugh from those who had reached the bank. Rube's mode of crossing was unique, like every action of this singularman. Perhaps he adopted it from sheer eccentricity, or maybe in orderthat his mustang might swim more freely. He had ridden gently into the water, and kept his saddle till the marewas beyond her depth--then sliding backward over her hips, he took thetail in his teeth, and partly towed like a fish upon the hook, andpartly striking to assist in the passage, he swam after. As soon as themare again touched bottom, he drew himself up over the croup, and inthis way regained his saddle. Mare and man, as they climbed out on the bank--the thin skeleton bodiesof both reduced to their slenderest dimensions by the soaking water--presented a spectacle so ludicrous as to elicit a fresh chorus oflaughter from his comrades. I stayed not till its echoes had died away; but pressing my steed alongthe bank, soon arrived at the rapids, where I expected to recover thetrail. To my joy, hoof-marks were there, directly opposite the point where thesteed had taken to the stream. Rube was right. He had waded safelyacross. Thank heaven! at least from that peril has she been saved! CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR. A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST. On resuming the trail, I was cheered by three considerations. The perilof the flood was past--she was not drowned. The wolves were thrownoff--the dangerous rapid had deterred them; on the other side theirfootprints were no longer found. Thirdly, the steed had slackened hispace. After climbing the bank, he had set off in a rapid gait, but notat a gallop. "He's been pacin' hyar!" remarked Garey, as soon as his eyes rested uponthe tracks. "Pacing!" I knew what was meant by this; I knew that gait peculiar to the prairiehorse, fast but smooth as the amble of a palfrey. His rider wouldscarcely perceive the gentle movement; her torture would be less. Perhaps, too, no longer frighted by the fierce pursuers, the horse wouldcome to a stop. His wearied limbs would admonish him, and then-- Surely he could not have gone much farther? We, too, were wearied, one and all; but these pleasing conjecturesbeguiled us from thinking of our toil, and we advanced more hopefullyalong the trail. Alas! it was my fate to be the victim of alternate hopes and fears. Mynew-sprung joy was short-lived, and fast fleeted away. We had gone but a few hundred paces from the river, when we encounteredan obstacle, that proved not only a serious barrier to our progress, butalmost brought our tracking to a termination. This obstacle was a forest of oaks, not _giant_ oaks, as these famedtrees are usually designated, but the very reverse--a forest of _dwarf_oaks (_Quercus nana_). Far as the eye could reach extended thissingular wood, in which no tree rose above thirty inches in height! Yetwas it no thicket--no under-growth of shrubs--but a true forest of oaks, each tree having its separate stem, its boughs, its lobed leaves, andits bunches of brown acorns. "Shin oak, " cried the trappers, as we entered the verge of thisminiature forest. "Wagh!" exclaimed Rube, in a tone of impatience, "hyur's bother. 'Eemay all get out o' yur saddles an rest yur critturs: we'll hev to crawlhyur. " And so it resulted. For long weary hours we followed the trail, goingnot faster than we could have crawled upon our hands and knees. Thetracks of the steed were plain enough, and in daylight could have beeneasily followed; but the little oaks grew close and regular as ifplanted by the hand of man; and through their thick foliage themoonlight scarcely penetrated. Their boughs almost touched each other, so that the whole surface lay in dark shadow, rendering it almostimpossible to make out the hoof-prints. Here and there, a broken branchor a bunch of tossed leaves--their under-sides shining glaucous in themoonlight--enabled us to advance at a quicker rate; but as the horse hadpassed gently over the ground, these "signs" were few and far between. For long fretful hours we toiled through the "shin-oak" forest, ourheads far overtopping its tallest trees! We might have fancied that wewere threading our way through some extended nursery. The trail leddirectly across its central part; and ere we had reached its furthestverge, the moon's rays were mingling with the purple light of morning. Soon after the "forest opened;" the little dwarfs grew further apart--here scattered thinly over the ground, there disposed in clumps orminiature grove?--until at length the sward of the prairie predominated. The trouble of the trackers was at an end. The welcome light of the sunwas thrown upon the trail, so that they could lift it as fast as wecould ride; and, no longer hindered by brake or bush, we advanced at arapid rate across the prairie. Over this ground the steed had also passed rapidly. He had continued topace for some distance, after emerging from the shin-oak forest; but allat once, as we could tell by his tracks, he had bounded off again, andresumed his headlong gallop. What had started him afresh? We were at a loss to imagine; even theprairie-men were puzzled! Had wolves again attacked him, or some other enemy? No; nor one norother. It was a green prairie over which he had gone, a smooth sward ofmezquite-grass; but there were spots where the growth was thin--patchesnearly bare--and these were softened by the rain. Even the light paw ofa wolf would have impressed itself in such places, sufficiently to bedetected by the lynx-eyed men of the plains. The horse had passed sincethe rain had ceased falling. No wolf, or other animal, had been afterhim. Perhaps he had taken a start of himself, freshly affrighted at the novelmode in which he was ridden--still under excitement from the rough usagehe had received, and from which he had not yet cooled down--perhaps thebarbed points of the cohetes rankled in his flesh, acting like spurs;perhaps some distant sound had led him to fancy the hooting mob, or thehowling wolves, still coming at his heels; perhaps-- An exclamation from the trackers, who were riding in the advance, put anend to these conjectures. Both had pulled up, and were pointing to theground. No words were spoken--none needed. We all read with our eyesan explanation of the renewed gallop. Directly in front of us, the sward was cut and scored by numeroustracks. Not four, but four hundred hoof-prints were indented in theturf--all of them fresh as the trail we were following--and amidst thesethe tracks of the steed, becoming intermingled, were lost to our view. "A drove of wild horses, " pronounced the guides at a glance. They were the tracks of unshod hoofs, though that would scarcely haveproved them wild. An Indian troop might have ridden past withoutleaving any other sign; but these horses had not been mounted, as thetrappers confidently alleged; and among them were the hoof-marks offoals and half-grown colts, which proved the drove to be a _caballada_of mustangs. At the point where we first struck their tracks they had been going infull speed, and the trail of the steed converged until it closed withtheirs at an acute angle. "Ye-es, " drawled Rube, "I see how 'tis. They've been skeeart at theawkurd look o' the hoss, an hev put off. See! thur's his tracks on thetop o' all o' theirn: he's been runnin' arter 'em. Thur!" continued thetracker, as we advanced--"thur he hez overtuk some o' 'em. See! thur!the vamints hev scattered right an left! Hyur agin, they've gallipedthegither, some ahint, an some afore him. Wagh! I guess they know himnow, an ain't any more afeerd o' him. See thur! he's in the thick o'the drove. " Involuntarily I raised my eyes, fancying from these words that thehorses were in sight; but no; the speaker was riding forward, leaningover in his saddle, with looks fixed upon the ground. All that he hadspoken he had been reading from the surface of the prairie--fromhieroglyphics to me unintelligible, but to him more easily interpretedthan a page of the printed book. I knew that what he was saying was true. The steed had galloped after adrove of wild horses; he had overtaken them; and at the point where wenow were, had been passing along in their midst! Dark thoughts came crowding into my mind at this discovery--anothershadow across my heart. I perceived at once a new situation of perilfor my betrothed--new, and strange, and awful. I saw her in the midst of a troop of neighing wild-horses--stallionswith fiery eyes and red steaming nostrils--these perhaps angry at thewhite steed, and jealous of his approach to the _manada_; in mad ragerushing upon him with open mouth and yellow glistening teeth; rearingaround and above him, and striking down with deadly desperate hoof--Oh, it was a horrid apprehension, a fearful fancy! Yet, fearful as it was, it proved to be the exact shadow of a reality. As the mirage refracts distant objects upon the retina of the eye, sosome spiritual mirage must have thrown upon my mind the image of thingsthat were real. Not distant, though then unseen--not distant was thereal. Rapidly I ascended another swell of the prairie, and from its crestbeheld almost the counterpart of the terrible scene that my imaginationhad conjured up! Was it a dream? was it still fancy that was cheating my eyes? No; therewas the wild-horse drove; there the rearing, screaming stallions; therethe white steed in their midst--he too rearing erect--there upon hisback-- "O God! look down in mercy--save her! save her!" CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE. SCATTERING THE WILD STALLIONS. Such rude appeal was wrung from my lips by the dread spectacle on whichmy eyes rested. I scarcely waited the echo of my words; I waited not the counsel of mycomrades; but, plunging deeply the spur, galloped down the hill in thedirection of the drove. There was no method observed--no attempt to keep under cover. There wasno time either for caution or concealment. I acted under instantaneousimpulse, and with but one thought--to charge forward, scatter thestallions, and, if yet in time, save her from those hurling heels andfierce glittering teeth. _If yet in time_--ay, such provisory parenthesis was in my mind at themoment. But I drew hope from observing that the steed kept a ringcleared around him: his assailants only threatened at a distance. Had he been alone, I might have acted with more caution, and perhapshave thought of some stratagem to capture him. As it was, stratagem wasout of the question; the circumstances required speed. Both trappers and rangers--acting under like impulse with myself--hadspurred their horses into a gallop, and followed close at my heels. The drove was yet distant. The wind blew from them--a brisk breeze. Wewere half-way down the hill, and still the wild horses neither heard, saw, nor scented us. I shouted at the top of my voice: I wished to startle and put them toflight. My followers shouted in chorus; but our voices reached not thequarrelling caballada. A better expedient suggested itself: I drew my pistol from its holster, and fired several shots in the air. The first would have been sufficient. Its report was heard, despite theopposing wind; and the mustangs, affrighted by the sound, suddenlyforsook the encounter. Some bounded away at once; others came wheelingaround us, snorting fiercely, and tossing their heads in the air, a fewgalloped almost within range of our rifles; and then, uttering theirshrill neighing, turned and broke off in rapid flight. The steed andhis rider alone remained, where we had first observed them! For some moments he kept the ground, as if bewildered by the suddenscattering of his assailants; but he too must have heard the shots, andperhaps alone divined something of what had caused those singularnoises. In the loud concussion, he recognised the voice of his greatestenemy; and yet he stirred not from the spot! Was he going to await our approach? Had he become tamed?--reconciled tocaptivity? or was it that we had rescued him from his angry rivals--thathe was grateful, and no longer feared us? Such odd ideas rushed rapidly through my mind as I hurried forward! I had begun to deem it probable that he would stay our approach, andsuffer us quietly to recapture him. Alas! I was soon undeceived. Iwas still a long way off--many hundred yards--when I saw him rearupward, wheel round upon his hind-feet as on a pivot, and then bound offin determined flight. His shrill scream pealing back upon the breeze, fell upon my ears like the taunt of some deadly foe. It seemed theutterance of mockery and revenge: mockery at the impotence of mypursuit; revenge that I had once made him my captive. I obeyed the only impulse I could have at such a moment, and gallopedafter as fast as my horse could go. I stayed for no consultation withmy companions; I had already forged far ahead of them. They were toodistant for speech. I needed not their wisdom to guide me. No plan required conception ordeliberation; the course was clear: by speed alone could the horse betaken, and his rider saved from destruction--_if yet safe_. Oh, the fearfulness of this last reflection! the agony of the doubt! It was not the hour to indulge in idle anguish; I repressed the emotion, and bent myself earnestly upon the pursuit. I spoke to my brave steed, addressing him by name; I urged him with hands and knees; only atintervals did I inflict the cruel steel upon his ribs. I soon perceived that he was flagging; I perceived it with increasedapprehension for the result. He had worn his saddle too long on the daybefore, and the wet weary night had jaded him. He had beenover-wrought, and I felt his weariness, as he galloped with feeblerstroke. The prairie-steed must have been fresh in comparison. But life and death were upon the issue. Her life--perhaps my own. Icared not to survive her. She must be saved. The spur must be pliedwithout remorse: the steed must be overtaken, even if Moro should die! It was a rolling prairie over which the chase led--a surface thatundulated like the billows of the ocean. We galloped transversely tothe direction of the "swells, " that rose one after the other in rapidsuccession. Perhaps the rapidity with which we were crossing thembrought them _nearer_ to each other. To me there appeared no levelground between these land-billows. Up hill and down hill in quickalternation was the manner of our progress--a severe trial upon thegirths--a hard killing gallop for my poor horse. But life and deathwere upon the issue, and the spur must be plied without remorse. A long cruel gallop--would it never come to an end I would the steednever tire? would he never stop? Surely in time he must become weary?Surely Moro was his equal in strength as in speed?--superior to him inboth? Ah! the prairie horse possessed a double advantage--he had startedfresh--he was on his native ground. I kept my eyes fixed upon him; not for one moment did I withdraw myglance. A mysterious apprehension was upon me; I feared to look around, lest he should disappear! The souvenirs of the former chase stillhaunted me; weird remembrances clung to my spirit. I was once more inthe region of the supernatural. I looked neither to the right nor left, but straight before me--straightat the object of my pursuit, and the distance that lay between us. Thislast I continuously scanned, now with fresh hope, and now again withdoubt. It seemed to vary with the ground. At one time, I was nearer, as the descending slope gave me the advantage; but the moment after, thesteep declivity retarded the speed of my horse, and increased theintervening distance. It was with joy I crossed the last swell of the rolling prairie, andbeheld a level plain stretching before us. It was with joy I perceivedthat upon the new ground I was rapidly gaining upon the steed! And rapidly I continued to gain upon him, until scarcely three hundredyards were between us. So near was I, that I could trace the outlinesof _her_ form--her prostrate limbs--still lashed to the croup--hergarments loose and torn--her ankles--her long dark hair dishevelled andtrailing to the ground--even her pallid cheek I could perceive, as atintervals the steed tossed back his head to utter his wild tauntingneigh. O God! there was blood upon it! I was near enough to be heard. I shouted in my loudest voice; I calledher by name. I kept my eyes upon her, and with throbbing anxietylistened for a response. I fancied that her head was raised, as though she understood and wouldhave answered me. I could hear no voice, but her feeble cry might havebeen drowned by the clatter of the hoofs. Again I called aloud--again and again pronouncing her name. Surely I heard a cry? surely her head was raised from the withers of thehorse? It was so--I could not be mistaken. "Thank Heaven, she lives!" I had scarcely uttered the prayer, when I felt my steed yield beneath meas though he was sinking into the bosom of the earth. I was hurled outof the saddle, and flung head-foremost upon the plain. My horse hadbroken through the burrow of the prairie marmot, and the false step hadbrought him with violence to the ground. I was neither stunned nor entangled by the fall; and in a few secondshad regained my feet, my bridle, and saddle. But as I headed my horseonce more toward the chase, the white steed and his rider had passed outof sight. CHAPTER SIXTY SIX. LOST IN A CHAPPARAL. I was chagrined, frantic, and despairing, but not surprised. This timethere was no mystery about the disappearance of the steed; the chapparalexplained it. Though I no longer saw him, he was yet within hearing. His footfall on the firm ground, the occasional snapping of a deadstick, the whisk of the recoiling branches, all reached my ears as I wasremounting. These sounds guided me, and without staying to follow his tracks, Idashed forward to the edge of the chapparal--at the point nearest towhere I heard him moving. I did not pause to look for an opening, but, heading in the directionwhence came the sounds, I spurred forward into the thicket. Breasting the bushes that reached around, his neck, or bounding overthem, my brave horse pressed on; but he had not gone three lengths ofhimself before I recognised the imprudence of the course I was pursuing:I now saw I should have _followed the tracks_. I no longer heard the movements of the steed--neither foot-stroke, norsnapping sticks, nor breaking branches. The noise made by my own horse, amid the crackling acacias, drowned every other sound; and so long as Ikept in motion, I moved with uncertainty. It was only when I made stopthat I could again hear the chase struggling through the thicket; butnow the sounds were faint and far distant--growing still fainter as Ilistened. Once more I urged forward my horse, heading him almost at random; but Ihad not advanced a hundred paces, before the misery of uncertainty againimpelled me to halt. This time I listened and heard nothing--not even the recoil of a bough. The steed had either stopped, and was standing silent, or, what was moreprobable, had gained so so far in advance of me that his hoof-stroke wasout of hearing. Half-frantic, angered at myself, too much excited for cool reflection, Ilanced the sides of my horse, and galloped madly through the thicket. I rode several hundred yards before drawing bridle, in a sort ofdesperate hope I might once more bring myself within earshot of thechase. Again I halted to listen. My recklessness proved of no avail. Not asound reached my ear: even had there been sounds, I should scarcely haveheard them above that that was issuing from the nostrils of my pantinghorse; but sound there was none. Silent was the chapparal around me--silent as death; not even a bird moved among its branches. I felt something like self-execration: my imprudence I denounced overand over. But for my rash haste, I might yet have been upon the trail--perhaps within sight of the object of pursuit. Where the steed hadgone, surely I could have followed. Now he was gone I knew notwhither--lost--his trail lost--all lost! To recover the trace of him, I made several casts across the thicket. Irode first in one direction, then in another, but all to no purpose. Icould find neither hoof-track nor broken branch. I next bethought me of returning to the open prairie, there retaking thetrail, and following it thence. This was clearly the wisest, --in fact, the only course in which there was reason. I should easily recover thetrail, at the point where the horse had entered the chapparal, andthence I might follow it without difficulty. I turned my horse round, and headed him in the direction of theprairie--or rather in what I supposed to be the direction--for this toohad become conjecture. It was not till I had ridden for a half-hour--for more than a milethrough glade and bush--not till I had ridden nearly twice as far in theopposite direction--and then to right, and then to left--that I pulledup my broken horse, dropped the rein upon his withers, and sat bent inmy saddle under the full conviction that I too was lost. Lost in the chapparal--that parched and hideous jungle, where everyplant that carries a thorn seemed to have place. Around grew _acacias, mimosas, gleditschias, robinias, algarobias_--all the thorny legumes ofthe world; above towered the splendid _fouquiera_ with spinous stem;there nourished the "tornillo" (_prosopis glandulosa_), with its twistedbeans; there the "junco" (_koeblerinia_), whose very leaves are thorns. There saw I spear-pointed yuccas and clawed bromelias (_agave_ and_dasylirion_); there, too, the universal cactacese (_opuntia, mamillaria, cereus_, and _echinocactus_); even the very grass wasthorny--for it was a species of the "mezquite-grass, " whose knottedculms are armed with sharp spurs! Through this horrid thicket I had not passed unscathed; my garments werealready torn, my limbs were bleeding. _My_ limbs--and hers? Of hers alone was I thinking: those fair-proportioned members--thosesoftly-rounded arms--that smooth, delicate skin--bosom and shouldersbare--the thorn--the scratch--the tear. Oh! it was agony to think! By action alone might I hope to still my emotions; and once more rousingmyself from the lethargy of painful thought, I urged my steed onwardthrough the bushes. CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN. ENCOUNTER WITH JAVALL. I had no mark to guide me, either on the earth or in the heavens. I hadan indefinite idea that the chase had led westward, and therefore to getback to the prairie, I ought to head towards the east. But how was I to distinguish east from west? In the chapparal both werealike, and so too upon the sky. No sun was visible; the canopy ofheaven was of a uniform leaden colour; upon its face were no signs bywhich the cardinal points could have been discovered. Had I been in the midst of a forest surrounded by a northern _sylva_, Icould have made out my course. The oak or the elm, the ash-tree ormaple, the beech or sycamore--any of them would have been compasssufficient for me; but in that thicket of thorny shrubs I was completelyat fault. It was a subtropical flora--or rather a vegetation of thearid desert--to which I was almost a stranger. I knew there were menskilled in the craft of the chapparal, who, in the midst of it, couldtell north from south without compass or stars. Not I. I could think of no better mode than to trust to the guidance of myhorse. More than once, when lost in the thick forest or on theboundless plain, had I reposed a similar trust in his instincts--morethan once had he borne me out of my bewilderment. But whither could he take me? Back to the path by which we had come? Probably enough, had that path led to a home; but it did not: my poorsteed, like myself, had no home. He, too, was a ranger; for years hadbeen flitting from place to place, --hundreds, ay, thousands of milesfrom each other. Long had he forgotten his native stall. I surmised that if there was water near, his instinct might carry him tothat--and much needed it both horse and rider. Should we reach arunning stream, it would serve as a guide. I dropped the rein upon his neck, and left him to his will. I had already shouted in my loudest voice, in hopes of being heard by mycomrades; by none other than them, for what could human being do in sucha spot, shunned even by the brute creation? The horned lizard (_agamacornuta_), the ground rattlesnake, the shell-covered armadillo, and theever-present coyote, alone inhabit these dry jungles; and now and thenthe javali (_dicotyles torquatus_), feeding upon the twisted legumes ofthe "tornillo, " passes through their midst; but even these are rare; andthe traveller may ride for scores of miles through a Mexican chapparalwithout encountering aught that lives and moves. There reigns thestillness of death. Unless the wind be rustling among the pinnatefronds of the acacias, or the unseen locust utters its harsh shriekingamid the parched herbage, the weary wayfarer may ride on, cheered by noother sound than his own voice, or the footfall of his horse. There was still the chance that my followers might hear me. I knew thatthey would not stray from the trail. Though they must have been farbehind when I entered the chapparal, following the tracks, they would intime be sure to come up. It was a question whether they would follow mine, or those of the steed. This had not occurred to me before, and I paused to consider it. Ifthe former, then was I wrong in moving onward, as I should only be going_from_ them, and leading them on a longer search. Already had I giventhem a knot to unravel--my devious path forming a labyrinthine maze. It was more than probable they would follow _me_--in the belief that Ihad some reason for deviating from the trail of the steed, perhaps forthe purpose of heading or intercepting him. This conjecture decided me against advancing farther--at least untilsome time should elapse, enough for them to get up. Out of compassion for my hard-breathing horse, I dismounted. At intervals, I shouted aloud, and fired shots from my pistols aftereach I listened; but neither shot nor shout reached me in reply. Theymust have been distant indeed, not to hear the report of fire-arms; forhad they heard them, they would have been certain to make answer in asimilar manner. All of them carried rifles and pistols. I began to think it was full time for them to have reached me. Again Ifired several shots; but, as before, echo was the only reply. Perhapsthey had _not_ followed me? perhaps they had kept on upon the trail ofthe steed, and it might be leading them far away, beyond hearing of thereports? perhaps there was not yet time for them to have arrived? While thus conjecturing, my ears were assailed by the screeching ofbirds at some distance off. I recognised the harsh notes of the jay, mingling with the chatter of the red cardinal. From the tones, I knew that these birds were excited by the presence ofsome enemy. Perhaps they were defending their nests against the blacksnake or the _crotalus_. Or it might be my followers approaching! it might be the steed--like me, still wandering in the chapparal? I sprang to my saddle to get a better view, and gazed over the tops ofthe trees. Guided by the voices of the birds, I soon discovered thescene of the commotion. At some distance off, I saw both jays and cardinals fluttering among thebranches, evidently busy with something on the ground beneath them. Atthe same time I heard strange noises, far louder than the voices of thebirds, but could not tell what was causing them. My spirits sank, for Iknew they could not be produced either by my comrades or the steed. It was not far, and I determined to satisfy myself as to what wascausing such a commotion in this hitherto silent place. I rode towardsthe spot, as fast as my horse could make way through the bushes. I wassoon satisfied. Coming out on the edge of a little glade, I became spectator to asingular scene--a battle between the red cougar and a band of javali. The fierce little boars were "ringing" the panther, who was fightingdesperately in their midst. Several of them lay upon the ground, strucksenseless or dead, by the strong paws of the huge cat; but the others, nothing daunted, had completely surrounded their enemy, and werebounding upon him with open mouths; and wounding him with their sharpshining tusks. The scene aroused my hunter instincts; and suddenly unslinging my rifle, I set my eye to the sights. I had no hesitation about the selection ofmy mark--the panther, by all means--and drawing trigger, I sent mybullet through the creature's skull, that stretched him out in the midstof his assailants. Three seconds had not elapsed, before I had reason to regret the choiceI had made of a victim. I should have let the cougar alone, and eitherheld my fire, or directed it upon one of his urchin-like enemies; forthe moment he was _hors de combat_, his assailants became mine--transferring their "surround" to my horse and myself, with all thesavage fierceness they had just exhibited towards the panther! I had no means of punishing the ungrateful brutes. They had not givenme time to reload my rifle before commencing their attack, and mypistols were both empty. My horse, startled by the unexpected assault, as well as by the strange creatures that were making it, snorted andplunged wildly over the ground; but go where he would, a score of theferocious brutes followed, springing up against his thighs, and scoringhis shanks with their terrible tusks. Well for me I was able to keepthe saddle; had I been thrown from it at that moment, I should certainlyhave been torn to pieces. I saw no hope of safety but in flight; and spurring my horse, I gave himfull rein. Alas! through that tangled thicket the javali could go asfast as he; and after advancing a hundred yards or so, I perceived thewhole flock still around me, assailing as fiercely as ever the limbs ofmy steed. The result might have proved awkward enough; but at that moment I heardvoices, and saw mounted men breaking through the underwood. They wereStanfield, Quackenboss, and the rest of the rangers. In another instant, they were on the ground; and their revolvers, playing rapidly, soon thinned the ranks of the javali, and caused thesurvivors to retreat grunting and screaming into the thicket. CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT. THE WOODS ON FIRE? The trappers were not among those who had rescued me--where were they? The others made answer, though I already guessed what they had to tell. Rube and Garey had followed the tracks of the steed, leaving the rangersto come after me. I was pleased with the ready intelligence of my comrades: they had actedexactly as they should have done. I was myself found, and I no longerentertained any apprehension that the trail would be lost. By this time, the trackers must be far upon it; more than an hour hadelapsed since they and the others had parted company. My zigzag pathhad cost my followers many a bewildering pause. But they had not ridden recklessly as I, and could find their way back. As it was impossible to tell in what direction Rube and Garey had gone, this course was the best to be followed; and under the guidance ofStanfield--an expert woodsman--we rode back towards the prairie. It was not necessary to retrace our own crooked trail. The Kentuckianhad noted the "lay" of the chapparal, and led us out of its labyrinthsby an almost direct path. On reaching the open ground, we made no pause; but upon the tracks ofRube, Garey, and the steed, re-entered the chapparal. We had no difficulty about our course; it was plainly traced out for us;the trappers had "blazed" it. In most places, the tracks of the threehorses were sufficient indices of the route; but there were stretcheswhere the ground was stony, and upon the parched arid herbage, even theshod hoof left no visible mark. In such places, a branch of acaciabroken and pendulous, the bent flower-stem of an aloe, or the succulentleaves of the cactus slashed with a sharp knife, were conspicuous andunmistakeable signs; and by the guidance of these we made rapid advance. We must have gone much faster than the trackers themselves--fornotwithstanding the freshness of the trail, there were dry spots andpatches of cut rock over which it passed, and where it must have costthem both time and keen perception to trace it. As we were travelling so much more rapidly than Rube and Garey couldhave done, I looked forward to our soon overtaking them: with eageranticipation, I looked forward. Surely they would have some news forme, now that they had been so long in the advance? Surely by this timethey must have come in sight of the steed?--perhaps captured him? Oh, joyous anticipation! Or would they return with a different tale? Was I to meet the reportthat he still hurried on--on for ever? That he had swum some rapidstream? or plunged over a precipice--into some dark abysm? Though hastening on after the trackers, there were moments when I fearedto overtake them--moments when I dreaded to hear their tale! We had worked our way about five miles through the hideous jungle, whenI began to feel a strange sensation in my eyes--a sensation of pain--what is usually termed a "smarting. " I at first attributed it to thewant of sleep. My companions complained that they were affected in a similar manner. It was not until we had gone some distance farther, that we found thetrue explanation--on perceiving that there was _smoke in the air_!Smoke it was that was causing the bitterness in our eyes. The denizen of the prairie never regards such an indication withindifference. Where there is smoke, there is fire, and where fire, danger--at least upon the broad grassy steppes of the west. A burningforest may be shunned. You may stand near a forest on fire, andcontemplate such a scene with safety; but a blazing prairie is aphenomenon of a different character; and it is indeed a rare positionwhere you may view, without peril, this sublime spectacle. There are prairies that will not burn. The plains covered with theshort "buffalo-grass" (_sesleria dactyloides_), and the sward of variousspecies of "gramma" (_chondrosium_), rarely take fire; or if they do, horse, man, buffalo, or antelope, can easily escape by leaping acrossthe blaze. 'Tis only the reptile world--snakes, lizards, the toad, andthe land-turtle (_terrapin_)--that fall victims to such a flame. Not so upon the "weed-prairies, " or those where the tall reed-grassrises above the withers of a horse--its culms matted and laced togetherby the trailing stems of various species of bindweed, by creepingconvolvulus, cucurbitacese, and wild pea-vines. In the dry season, whena fire lays its hold upon vegetation of this character, there is dangerindeed--where it rages, there is death. It was smoke that affected our eyes, causing them to wince and water. Fire must be causing the smoke--what was on fire? I could detect apprehension in the looks of my followers, as we rode on. It was but slight, for as yet the smoke was scarcely perceptible, andthe fire, wherever it was, must be distant--so fancied we. As we advanced, the glances of the men became more uneasy. Beyond adoubt, the smoke was thickening around us, the sky was fast becomingdarker, and the pain in our eyes more acute. "The woods are on fire, " said Stanfield. Stanfield was a backwoodsman--his thoughts ran upon "woods. " Whether forest or prairie, a conflagration was certainly raging. Itmight be far off--for the wind will carry the smoke of a prairie fire along distance--but I had an unpleasant suspicion that it was _not_distant. I noticed dropping around us the white floe of burnt leaves, and from the intense bitterness of the smoke, I reasoned that it couldnot have floated far--its gases were not yet dissipated. It was not the distance of the fire that so much troubled me, as itsdirection. The wind blew right in our teeth, and the smoke wastravelling with the wind. The conflagration must be ahead--directlyupon the trail! The smoke grew thicker and thicker--ahead, the sky appeared slashed witha lurid light; I fancied I could hear the crackling of the flames. Theair felt hot and dry: a choking sensation was produced in our throats, and one and all were hacking and gasping for breath. So dark had it suddenly become--or rather so blinded were we with thesmoke--we could scarcely make out the trail. My followers would have stopped, but I urged them on. With voice andexample, I urged them on--myself leading the way. My heart was too fullof anxiety to make pause. Where in all this were Rube and Garey? We had come far and fast; weshould now be nearly up with them--they could not be much ahead. I halloed as we advanced. "Hullow!" came the response, in the rough baritone of the youngertrapper. We hurried forward in the direction of the voice. The path conducted to an opening in the chapparal--in the centre ofwhich, through the smoke, we could distinguish the forms of men andhorses. With eager eyes, I scanned the group; a glance was sufficient: therewere _only two_ of each--only the trackers. CHAPTER SIXTY NINE. SMOKE AND THIRST. "Ah, Monsieur Roob!" cried the Canadian, as we hurried up, "vat makezees diable d'une fumee--smoke? Are ze woods on fire--you tink--eh?" "Wuds!" exclaimed Rube, with a contemptuous glance at the speaker. "Wagh! Thur's no wuds hyur. Thur's a paraira afire. Don't yer smellthe stink o' the grass?" "Pe gar, oui! vraiment--c'est la prairie? You sure, Monsieur Roob?" "Sure!" vociferated the trapper in a tone of indignation--"Sure!--yedurned parley-voo-eat-a-frog-spit-a-brickbat-soup-suckin' Frenchman, d'yur think I don't know the smell o' a burnin' paraira? Wagh!" "Ah, Monsieur Roob, me pardonnez. Vat I mean ask--is ze chapparalbrule--on fire--ces arbres?" "The chapparil ain't afire, " answered Rube, somewhat mollified by theapology: "so don't be skeeart, Frenchy yur safe enuf. " This assurance seemed to gratify not only the timid Canadian, butothers, who, up to this moment, were apprehensive that it was thethicket that was on fire. For myself, I had no such fears; I perceived that the chapparal couldnot burn. Here and there, patches of dry mezquite-trees would havecaught like tinder; but in most places, a succulent endogenousvegetation formed three parts of the jungle, and rendered it"fire-proof. " This was especially the case around the glade where thetrappers had taken their stand, and which was completely enclosed by awall of the great organ cactus, with aloes, opuntias, and otherjuicy-leaved plants. In the opening, we were as safe from the fire asthough it was a hundred miles off; we suffered only from the smoke, thatnow quite filled the atmosphere, causing a darkness that rivalled nightitself. I had no apprehension for _our_ safety; it was not of that I wasthinking. To the hasty dialogue between Rube and the Canadian I had scarcely givenheed; Garey had advanced to meet me, and I listened with anxious ear tothe tale of the tracker. It was soon told. Rube and he had followed the trail, until it emergedfrom the chapparal, and struck out into a wide grass-prairie. The edgeof the thicket was close by; but they had gone a considerable distancebeyond it and across the plain. They were still advancing, when, totheir consternation, they perceived that the prairie was on firedirectly ahead of them! The wind was rolling both smoke and flamesbefore it with the rapidity of a running horse; and it was withdifficulty they had escaped from it by galloping back to the chapparal. And the steed--what had become of him? Had they seen nothing? I did not put these questions in words--only in thought did I ask them;and in thought only were they answered. Both the trackers were silent, and that was an answer in the negative; yes, I read an ominous negativein their looks of gloom. We were compelled to halt; even the smoke rendered further progressimpossible; but we could hear the fire at no great distance--the culmsof the coarse reed-grass cracking like volleys of musketry. Now and then, a scared deer broke through the bushes, passing us at fullspeed. A band of antelopes dashed into the glade, and halted closebeside us--the frightened creatures not knowing where to run. At theirheels came a pack of prairie-wolves, but not in pursuit of them: thesealso stopped near. A black bear and a cougar arrived next; and fiercebeasts of prey and gentle ruminants stood side by side, both terrifiedout of their natural habits. Birds shrieked among the branches, eaglesscreamed in the air, and black vultures could be seen hovering throughthe smoke, with no thought of stooping upon a quarry! The hunter man alone preserved his instincts. My followers were hungry. Rifles were levelled--and the bear and one of the antelopes fellvictims to the deadly aim. Both were soon stripped of their skins, and butchered. A fire waskindled in the glade, and upon sword-blades and sapling spits the choicemorsels of venison and "bear-meat" were roasted, and eaten, with many ajest about the "smoky kitchen. " I was myself hungered. I shared the repast, but not the merriment. Atthat moment, no wit could have won from me a smile; the most luxurioustable could not have furnished me with cheer. A worse appetite than hunger assailed my companions, and I felt it withthe rest--it was thirst: for hours all had been suffering from it; thelong hard ride had brought it on, and now the smoke and the dry hotatmosphere increased the appetite till it had grown agonising, almostunendurable. No water had been passed since the stream we had crossedbefore day; there was none in the chapparal; the trackers saw none sofar as they had gone: we were in a waterless desert; and the verythought itself renders the pang of thirst keener and harder to endure. Some chewed their leaden bullets, or pebbles of chalcedony which theyhad picked up; others obtained relief by drinking the blood of theslaughtered animals--the bear and the antelope--but we found a bettersource of assuagement in the succulent stems of the cactus and agave. The relief was but temporary: the juice cooled our lips and tongues, butthere is an acrid principle in some of these plants that soon acted, andour thirst became more intense than ever. Some talked of returning on the trail in search of water--of going backeven to the stream--more than twenty miles distant. Under such circumstances, even military command loses its authority. Nature is stronger than martial law. I cared not if they did return; I cared not who left me, so long as thetrappers remained true. I had no fear that they would forsake me; andmy disapprobation of it checked the cheerless proposal, and once moreall declared their willingness to go on. Fortunately, at that crisis the smoke began to clear away, and theatmosphere to lighten up. The fire had burnt on to the edge of thechapparal, where it was now opposed by the sap-bearing trees. The grasshad been all consumed--the conflagration was at an end. Mounting our horses, we rode out from the glade; and following the traila few hundred yards farther, we emerged from the thicket, and stood uponthe edge of the desolated plain. CHAPTER SEVENTY. A BURNT PRAIRIE. The earth offers no aspect more drear and desolate than that of a burntprairie. The ocean when its waves are grey--a blighted heath--a flatfenny country under a rapid thaw--all these impress the beholder with afeeling of chill monotony; but the water has motion, the heath, colour, and the half-thawed flat exhibits variety in its mottling of white andground. Not so the steppe that has been fired and burned. In this, the eyeperceives neither colour, nor form, nor motion. It roams over thelimitless level in search of one or other, but in vain; and in theabsence of all three, it tires, and the heart grows cheerless and sick. Even the sky scarcely offers relief. It, too, by refraction from theblack surface beneath, wears a dull livid aspect; or perhaps the eye, jaundiced by the reflection of the earth, beholds not the brightness ofthe heavens. A prairie, when green, does not always glad the eye, --not even whenenamelled with fairest flowers. I have crossed such plains, verdant orblooming to the utmost verge of vision, and longed for _something_ toappear _in sight_--a rock, tree, a living creature--anything to relievethe universal sameness; just as the voyager on the ample ocean longs forships, for _cetaceae_, or the sight of land, and is delighted with anautilus, polypi, phosphorescence, or a floating weed. Colour alone does not satisfy the sense. What hue more charming thanthe fresh verdure of the grassy plain? what more exquisite than the deepblue of the ocean? and yet the eye grows aweary of both! Even the"flower-prairie, " with its thousands of gay corollas of every tint andshade--with its golden helianthus, its white argemone, its purplecleome, its pink malvaceae, its blue lupin--its poppy worts of red andorange--even these fair tints grow tiresome to the sight, and the eyeyearns for form and motion. If so, what must be the prairie when divested of all these verdant andflowery charms--when burned to black ashes? It is difficult to conceivethe aspect of dreary monotony it then presents--more difficult todescribe it. Words will not paint such a scene. And such presented itself to our eyes as we rode out from the chapparal. The fire was past--even the smoke had ceased to ascend--except in spotswhere the damp earth still reeked under the heat--but right and left, and far ahead, on to the very hem of the horizon, the surface was of oneuniform hue, as if covered with a vast crape. There was nought of formto be seen, living or lifeless; there was neither life nor motion, evenin the elements; all sounds had ceased: an awful stillness reigned aboveand around--the world seemed dead and shrouded in a vast sable pall! Under other circumstances, I might have stayed to regard such a scene, though not to admire it. On that interminable waste, there was noughtto be admired, not even sublimity; but no spectacle, however sublime, however beautiful, could have won from me a thought at that moment. The trackers had already ridden far out, and were advancing, halfconcealed by the cloud of black "stoor" flung up from the heels of theirhorses. For some distance, they moved straight on, without looking for thetracks of the steed. Before meeting the fire, they had traced thembeyond the edge of the chapparal, and therefore knew the direction. After a while, I observed them moving more slowly, with their eyes uponthe ground as if they had lost it, I had doubts of their being ableeither to find or follow it now. The shallow hoof-prints would befilled with the debris of the burnt herbage--surely they could no longerbe traced? By myself, they could not, nor by a common man; but it seemed that tothe eyes of those keen hunters, the trail was as conspicuous as ever. Isaw that, after searching a few seconds, they had taken it up, and wereonce more moving along, guided by the tracks. Some slight hollows I could perceive, distributed here and there overthe ground, and scarcely distinguishable from the surrounding level. Certainly, without having been told what they were, I should not haveknown them to be the tracks of a horse. It proved a wide prairie, and we seemed to be crossing its central part. The fire had spread far. At one place, nearly midway, where the trail was faint, and difficult tomake out, we stopped for a short while to give the trackers time. Amomentary curiosity induced me to gaze around. Awful was the scene--awful without sublimity. Even the thorny chapparal no longer relievedthe eye; the outline of its low shrubbery had sunk below the horizon;and on all sides stretched the charred plain up to the rim of the leadencanopy, black--black--illimitable. Had I been alone, I might easilyhave yielded to the fancy, that the world was dead. Gazing over this vast opacity, I for a moment forgot my companions, andfell into a sort of lethargic stupor. I fancied that I too was dead ordreaming--I fancied that I was in hell--the Avernus of the ancients. Inmy youth, I had the misfortune to be well schooled in classic lore--tothe neglect of studies more useful--and often in life have the poeticalabsurdities of Greek and Latin mythology intruded themselves upon myspirit--both asleep and awake. I fancied, therefore, that somewell-meaning Anchises had introduced me to the regions below; and thatthe black plain before me was some landscape in the kingdom of Pluto. Reflection--had I been capable of that--would have convinced me of myerror. No part of that monarch's dominions can be so thinly peopled. I was summoned to reason again by the voices of my followers. The losttrail had been found, and they were moving on. CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE. THE TALK OF THE TRACKERS. I spurred after, and soon overtook them. Regardless of the dust, I rodeclose in the rear of the trackers, and listened to what they weresaying. These "men of the mountains"--as they prided to call themselves--werepeculiar in everything. While engaged in a duty, such as the present, they would scarce disclose their thoughts, even to me; much less werethey communicative with the rest of my following, whom they wereaccustomed to regard as "greenhorns"--their favourite appellation forall men who have not made the tour of the grand prairies. Notwithstanding that Stanfield and Black were backwoodsmen and huntersby profession, Quackenboss a splendid shot, Le Blanc a regular_voyageur_, and the others more or less skilled in woodcraft, all weregreenhorns in the opinion of the trappers. To be otherwise a man musthave starved upon a "sage-prairie"--"run" buffalo by the Yellowstone orPlatte--fought "Injun, " and shot Indian--have well-nigh lost scalp orears--spent a winter in Pierre's Hole upon Green River--or camped amidthe snows of the Rocky Mountains! Some one of all these feats mustneeds have been performed, ere the "greenhorn" can matriculate and takerank as a "mountain man. " I of all my party was the only one who, in the eyes of Rube and Garey, was _not_ a greenhorn; and even I--gentleman-amateur that I was--washardly up either in their confidence or their "craft. " It is indeedtrue--with all my classic accomplishments--with my fine words, my finehorse, and fine clothes--so long as we were within the limits ofprairie-land, I acknowledged these men as my superiors. They were myguides, my instructors, my masters. Since overtaking them on the trail, I had not asked them to give anyopinion. I dreaded a direct answer--for I had noticed something like adespairing look in the eyes of both. As I followed them over the black plain, however, I thought that theirfaces brightened a little, and appeared once more lit up by a faint rayof hope. For that reason, I rode close upon their heels, and eagerlycaught up every word that was passing between them. Rube was speakingwhen I first drew near. "Wagh! I don't b'lieve it, Bill: 'taint possyble no-howso-ever. Theparaira wur sot afire--must 'a been--thur's no other ways for it. Itcudn't 'a tuk to bleezing o' itself--eh?" "Sartinly not; I agree wi' you, Rube. " "Wal--thur wur a fellur as I met oncest at Bent's Fort on the Arkinsaw--a odd sort o' a critter he wur, an no mistake; he us't to go pokinabout, gatherin' weeds an' all sorts o' green garbitch, an' spreadin''em out atween sheets o' paper--whet he called button-eyesin--jest likethet ur Dutch doctur as wur rubbed out when we went into the Navaghcountry, t'other side o' the Grand. " "I remembers him. " "Wal, this hyur fellur I tell 'ee about, he us't to talk mighty big o'this, thet, an t' other; an he palavered a heap 'bout a thing thet, ef Idon't disremember, wur called _spuntainyus kumbuxshun_. " "I've heerd o' 't; that are the name. " "Wal, the button-eyeser, he sayed thet a paraira mout take afire o'itself, 'ithout anybody whatsomdiver heving sot it. Now, thet ur's whatthis child don't b'lieve, nohow. In coorse, I knows thet lightnin'sometimes may sot a paraira a bleezin', but lightnin's a natral fire o'itself; an it's only reezunible to expect thet the dry grass wud catchfrom _it_ like punk; but I shed like to know how fire kud kindle 'ithoutsomethin to kindle it--thet's whet I shed like to know. " "I don't believe it can, " rejoined Garey. "Ne'er a bit o' it. I never seed a burnin' paraira yit, thet thurwa'n't eyther a camp-fire or a Injun at the bottom o' it--thet ur'ceptin whur lightnin hed did the bizness. " "And you think, Rube, thar's been Injun at the bottom o' this?" "Putty nigh sure; an I'll gie you my reezuns. Fust, do 'ee see thur'sbeen no lightnin this mornin to 'a made the fire? Seconds, it's too furwest hyur for any settlement o' whites--in coorse I speak o' Texans--thur might be Mexikins; them I don't call white, nohow-nosomediver. Anthen, agin, it kin scace be Mexikins neyther. It ur too fur no'th forany o' the yellur-bellies to be a straying jest now, seein as it's _theMexikin moon_ wi' the kimanchees, an both them an the Leepans ur on thewar-trail. Wal, then, it's clur thur's no Mexikin 'bout hyur to hev sotthe paraira afire, an thur's been no lightnin to do it; thurfor, it must'a been did eyther by a Injun, or thet ur dodrotted spuntainyuskumbuxshun. " "One or t'other. " "Wal, being as this child don't b'lieve in the kumbuxshun nohow, thurfore it's my opeenyun thet red Injuns did the bizness--_they_ didsartint. " "No doubt of it, " assented Garey. "An ef they did, " continued the old trapper, "thur about yit some whurnot fur off, an we've got to keep a sharp look-out for our har--thet'swhat _we_ hev. " "Safe, we have, " assented Garey. "I tell 'ee, Bill, " continued Rube in a new strain, "the Injuns ismighty riled jest now. I never knowd 'em so savagerous an fighty. Thewar hez gin 'em a fresh start, an thur dander's up agin us, by reezunthet the gin'ral didn't take thur offer to help us agin theyellur-bellies. Ef we meet wi' eyther Kimanch or Leepan on these hyurplains, thu'll scalp us, or we'll scalp 'em--thet 'll be it. Wagh!" "But what for could they 'a sot the parairy on fire?" inquired Garey. "Thet ere, " replied Rube, --"thet ere wur what puzzled me at fust. Ithort it mout 'a been done by accydent--preehaps by the scattering o' acamp-fire--for Injuns is careless enuf 'bout thet. Now, howsowever, I've got a different idee. Thet story thet Dutch an Frenchy hev fetchedfrom the rancherie, gies me a insight inter the hull bizness. " I knew the "story" to which Rube had reference. Lige and Le Blanc, whenat the village, had heard some rumour of an Indian foray that had justbeen made against one of the Mexican towns, not far from the rancheria. It had occurred on the same day that we marched out. The Indians--supposed to be Lipans or Comanches--had sacked the place, and carriedoff both plunder and captives. A party of them had passed near therancheria after we ourselves had left it. This party had "called" atthe hacienda de Vargas and completed the pillage, left unfinished by theguerilla. This was the substance of what the messengers had heard. "You mean about the Injuns?" said Garey, half interrogatively. "In coorse, " rejoined Rube. "Belike enuf, 'em Injuns ur the sameniggurs we gin sich a rib-roastin' to by the moun. Wagh! they hain'tgone back to thur mountains, as 'twur b'lieved: they dassent 'a goneback in sich disgrace, 'ithout takin' eyther har or hosses. The squawsud 'a hooted 'em out o' thur wigwams. " "Sure enough. " "Sure, sartint. Wal, Billee, 'ee see now what I mean: thet party's beena skulketin' 'bout hyur ever since, till they got a fust-rate chance atthe Mexikin town, an thur they've _struck a blow_. " "It's mighty like as you say, Rube; but why have they sot fire to theparairy?" "Wagh! Bill, kin ye not see why? it ur plain as Pike's Peak on asummery day. " "I don't see, " responded Garey, in a thoughtful tone. "Well, this child _do_; an this ur the reezun: as I tell 'ee, the Injunshain't forgot the lambaystin they hed by the moun; an preehaps bein' nowa weak party, an thinkin' thet we as wolloped 'em wur still i' therancherie, they wur afeerd thet on hearing o' thur pilledgin', we moutbe arter 'em. " "An they've burnt the parairy to kiver thur trail?" "Preezactly so. " "By Gosh, you're right, Rube!--it's uncommon like. But whar do youthink this trail's goin? Surely the hoss hain't been caught in thefire?" I bent forward in the saddle, and listened with acute eagerness. To mygreat relief, the answer of the old trapper was in the negative. "He hain't, " said he; "ne'er a bit o' it. His trail, do ee see, runs ina bee-line, or clost on a bee-line: now, ef the fire hed 'a begun aforehe wur acrosst this paraira, he wud long since 'a doubled 'bout, an tukthe back track; but 'ee see he hain't did so; thurfor, I conclude he'ssafe through it, an the grass must 'a been sot afire ahint 'im. " I breathed freely after listening to these words. A load seemed liftedfrom my breast--for up to this moment I had been vainly endeavouring tocombat the fearful apprehension that had shaped itself in myimagination. From the moment that we had entered the burning prairie, my eyes constantly, and almost mechanically, had sought the ground infront of our course, had wandered over it, with uneasy glance, in dreadof beholding forms--lifeless--burned and charred-- The words of the trapper gave relief--almost an assurance that the steedand his rider were still safe--and under the inspiration of renewedhope, I rode forward with lighter heart. CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO. "INJUN SIGN. " After a pause, the guides resumed their conversation, and I continued tolisten. I had a reason for not mingling in it. If I joined them in theircounsels, they might not express their convictions so freely, and I wasdesirous of knowing what they truly thought. By keeping close behindthem, I could hear all--myself unnoticed under the cloud of dust thatascended around us. On the soft ashes, the hoof-stroke was scarcelyaudible--our horses gliding along in a sweeping silent walk. "By Gosh! then, " said Garey, "if Injuns fired the parairy, they must 'adone it to wind'ard, an we're travellin' right in the teeth o' the wind;we're goin in a ugly direction, Rube; what do you think o' 't, oldhoss?" "Jest what you sez, boyee--a cussed ugly direckshun--durnation'd ugly. " "It ain't many hours since the fire begun, an the redskins won't be farfrom t'other side, I reckon. If the hoss-trail leads us right on them, we'll be in a fix, old boy. " "Ay, " replied Rube, in a low but significant drawl; "ef it do, an efthis niggur don't a miskalkerlate, it _will_ lead right on 'em, _plumstraight custrut into thur camp_. " I started on hearing this. I could no longer remain silent; butbrushing rapidly forward to the side of the trapper, in hasty phrasedemanded his meaning. "Jest what 'ee've heern me say, young fellur, " was his reply. "You think that there are Indians ahead? that the horse has gone totheir camp?" "No, not _gone_ thur; nor kin I say for sartint thur ur Injuns ahead;though it looks mighty like. Thur's nuthin else to guv reezun for thefire--nuthin as Bill or me kin think o'; an ef thur be Injuns, then Idon't think the hoss hez _gone_ to thur camp, but I do kalkerlate it'smighty like he's been _tuk_ thur: thet's what I thinks, young fellur. " "You mean that the Indians have captured him?" "Thet's preezactly what this child means. " "But how? What reason have you for thinking so?" "Wal--jest because I think so. " "Pray explain, Rube!" I said in an appealing tone. I feared that hissecretive instincts would get the better of him, and he would delaygiving his reasons, out of the pure love of mystification that wasinherent in the old fellow's nature. I was too anxious to be patient;but my appeal proved successful. "Wal, 'ee see, young fellur, the hoss must 'a crosst hyur jest aforethis paraira wur sot afire; an it's mighty reezunible to s'pose thetwhosomediver did the bizness, Injun or no Injun, must 'a been to win'ardo' hyur. It ur also likely enuf, I reckun, thet the party must 'a seedthe hoss; an it ur likely agin thet nobody wa'nt a gwine to see _thet_hoss, wi' the gurl stropped down 'long his hump-ribs, 'ithout bein'kewrious enuf to take arter 'im. Injuns 'ud be safe to go arter 'im, yellin' like blazes; an arter 'im they've gone, an roped 'im, I reckun--thet they've done. " "You think they could have caught him?" "Sartint. The hoss by then must 'a been dead beat--thet ur, unless he'sgot the divvel in 'im; an by Geehorum! I gin to surspect--Gehu--Gehosophat! jest as I said; lookee, thur--thur!" "What is it?" I inquired, seeing the speaker suddenly halt and point tothe ground, upon which his eyes also were fixed. "What is it, Rube? Ican perceive nothing strange. " "Don't 'ee see 'em hoss-tracks?--thur!--thick as sheep-feet--hundreds o''em!" I certainly noticed some slight hollows in the surface, nearly levelledup by the black ashes. I should not have known them to be horse-tracks. "They ur, " said Rube, "every one o' 'em--an Injun hoss-tracks too--sartint they ur. " "They may be the wild-hosses, Rube?" said one of the rangers, riding upand surveying the sign. "Wild jackasses!" angrily retorted the old trapper. "Whur did _you_ever see a wild-hoss? Do 'ee s'pose I've turned stone-blind, do 'ee?Stan thur, my mar!" he cried, talking to his mare, flinging his leancarcass out of the saddle at the same time: "stan thur! 'ee knows betterthan thet fellur, I kin tell by the way yur sniftin'. Keep yur ground aminnit, ole gurl, till Rube Rawlins shew these hyur greenhorns how amountain man kin read sign--wild-hosses! wagh!" After thus delivering himself, the trapper dropped upon his knees, placed his lips close to the ground, and commenced blowing at the blackashes. The others had by this time ridden up, and sat in their saddles watchinghim. We saw that he was clearing the ashes out of one of the hollowswhich he had pronounced to be horse-tracks, and which now proved to beso. "'Thur now, mister!" said he, turning triumphantly, and rather savagely, upon the ranger who had questioned the truth of his conjecture: "thur'sa _shod_ track--shod wi' parflesh too. Did 'ee ever see a wild-hoss, ora wild mule, or a wild jackass eyther, shod wi' parflesh? Ef 'ee did, it's more'n Rube Rawlins ever seed, an thet ur trapper's been on thehoss-plains well-nigh forty yeern. Wagh!" Of course, there was no reply to this interrogatory. There was thetrack; and, dismounting, all examined it in turn. Sure enough it was the track of a shod horse--shod with _parfleche_--thick leather made from the hide of the buffalo bull. We all knew this to be a mode of shoeing practised by the horse-Indiansof the plains, and only by them. The evidence was conclusive: Indians had been upon the ground. CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE. TRANSLATING THE "SIGN. " This discovery brought us to a pause. A consultation ensued, in whichall took part; but as usual, the others listened to the opinions of theprairie-men, and especially to that of Rube. The old trapper was inclined to sulk for some time, and acted as if hemeant to withhold his advice. Nothing "miffed" him more than to havehis word contradicted or his skill called in question. I have known himto be "out of sorts" for days, from having his prairie-craft doubted bysome one whom he deemed less experienced than himself; and, indeed, there were few of his kind whose knowledge of the wilderness was at allcomparable with his. He was not always in the right; but generallywhere _his_ instincts failed, it wat, idle to try further. In thepresent case, the man who had thoughtlessly doubted him was one of the"greenest" of the party, but this only aggravated the matter in the eyesof Old Rube. "Sich a fellur as you, " he said, giving a last dig to the offendingranger--"sich a fellur as you oughter keep yur head shet up: thet urtongue o' yourn s' allers a gwine like a bull's tail in fly-time. Wagh!" As the man made no reply to this rather rough remonstrance, Rube's"dander" soon smoothed down; and once more becoming cool, he turned hisattention to the business of the hour. That there had been Indians upon the ground was now an ascertained fact;the peculiar shoeing of the horses rendered it indubitable. Mexicanhorses, if shod at all, would have had a shoeing of iron--at least ontheir fore-feet. Wild mustangs would have had the hoof naked; while thetracks of Texan or American horses could have been easily told, eitherfrom the peculiar shoeing or the superior size of their hoofs. Thehorses that had galloped over that ground were neither wild, Texan, norMexican: Indian they must have been. Although the one track first examined might have settled the point, itwas a fact of too much importance to be left under the slightest doubt. The presence of Indians meant the presence of enemies--foes dire anddeadly--and it was with something more than feelings of mere curiositythat my companions scrutinised the sign. The ashes were blown out from several others, and these carefullystudied. Additional facts were brought to light by those Champollionsof the prairie--Rube and Garey. Whoever rode the horses, had been goingin a gallop. They had not ridden long in one course; but here and therehad turned and struck off in new directions. There had been a score orso of them. No two had been galloping together; their tracks convergedor crossed one another--now zigzagging, now running in right lines, orsweeping in curves and circles over the plain. All this knowledge the trackers had obtained in less than ten minutes--simply by riding around and examining the tracks. Not to disturb themin their diagnosis, the rest of us halted and awaited the result oftheir scrutiny. In ten minutes' time both came back to us; they had read the sign totheir satisfaction, and needed no further light. That sign had disclosed to them one fact of more significance than allthe rest. Of course, we all knew that the Indian horsemen had gone overthe ground before the grass had been burnt; but how long before? We hadno difficulty in making out that it was upon that same day, and sincethe rising of the sun--these were trifles easily ascertained; but at_what hour_ had they passed? Late, or early? With the steed, before, or after him? About this point I was most anxious, but I had not the slightest ideathat it could be decided by the "sign. " To my astonishment, those cunning hunters returned to tell me, not onlythe very hour at which the steed had passed the spot, but also that theIndian horsemen had been riding _after him_! Clairvoyance couldscarcely have gone farther. The old trapper had grown expletive, more than was his wont. It was nolonger a matter of tracking the white steed. Indians were near. Caution had become necessary, and neither the company nor counsel of thehumblest was to be scorned. We might soon stand in need of thestrength, even of the weakest in our party. Freely, then, the trackers communicated their discoveries, in answer tomy interrogation. "The white hoss, " said Rube, "must 'a been hyur 'bout four hour ago--kalkerlatin the rate at which he wur a gwine, an kalkerlatin how fur hehed ter kum. He hain't 'a stopped nowhur; an 'ceptin i' the thicket, hehez gallipt the rest o' the way--thet's clur. Wal, we knows thedistance, thurfor we knows the time--thet's clur too; an four hour's'bout the mark, I reck'n--preehaps a leetle less, an alser preehaps aleetle more. Now, furrermore to the peint. Them niggurs hez beeneyther clost arter 'im, in view o' the critter, or follerin 'im on thetrail--the one or the t'other--an which 'taint possyble to tell wi' thishyur sign no-how-cum-somever. But thet they _wur arter_ 'im, me anBill's made out clur as mud--thet we sartintly hez. " "How have you ascertained that they were after?" "The tracks, young fellur--the tracks. " "But how by them?" "Easy as eatin' hump-rib: them as wur made by the white hoss ur_un'ermost_. " The conclusion was clear indeed. The Indians must have been _after_him. We stayed no longer upon the spot, but once more sending the trackersforward, moved on after them. We had advanced about half-a-mile farther, when the horse-tracks, hitherto scattered, and tending in different directions, became mergedtogether, as though the Indians had been riding, not in single file--asis their ordinary method--but in an irregular body of several abreast. The trackers, after proceeding along this new trail for a hundred yardsor so, deliberately drew up; and dismounting, bent down upon their handsand knees, as if once more to examine the sign. The rest of us halted alittle behind, and watched their proceedings without offering tointerrupt them. Both were observed to be busy blowing aside the ashes, not now from anyparticular track, but from the full breadth of the trail. In a few minutes, they succeeded in removing the black dust from astretch of several yards--so that the numerous hoof-prints could bedistinctly traced, side by side, or overlapping and half obliteratingone another. Rube now returned to where they had commenced; and then once moreleisurely advancing upon his knees, with eyes close to the surface, appeared to scrutinise the print of every hoof separately. Before he had reached the spot where Garey was still engaged in clearingoff the dust, he rose to his feet with an air that told he wassatisfied, and turning to his companion, cried out-- "Don't bother furrer, Bill: it ur jest as I thort; they've roped 'im, byGad!" CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR. THE STEED LAZOED. It was not the emphatic tone in which this announcement was made thatproduced within me conviction of its truth; I should have been convincedwithout that. I was better than half prepared for the intelligence thusrudely conveyed; for I was myself not altogether unskilled in that artof which my trapper-companions were masters. I had observed the sudden convergence of the horse-tracks; I had noticedalso, that, after coming together, the animals had proceeded at a slowpace--at a walk. I needed only to perceive the hoof of the steed amongthe others, to know that he no longer ran free--that he was a captive. This the tracker had found; hence the decisive declaration that theIndians had "roped" him--in other words, had caught him with theirlazoes. "Sartint they've tuk 'im, " asserted Rube, in answer to an interrogatory:"sartint sure; hyur's his track clur as daylight. He's been led hyur atthe eend o' a laryette; he's been nigh the middle o' the crowd--some infront--some hev been arter 'im--thet's how they've gone past hyur. Wagh!" continued the speaker, once more turning his eyes upon the trail, "thur's been a good grist on 'em--twunty or more; an ef this child don'tmiskalkerlate, thet ain't the hul o' the niggurs; _it_ ain't! 'Tur onlysome o' 'em as galliped out to rope the hoss. I'd lay my rifle agin aMexican blunderbox, thur's a bigger party than this nigh at handsomewhur hyur. By Geehosophat, thur's boun to be, sartint as sun-up!" The suspicion that had half formed itself in my mind was no longerhypothetical; the sign upon the trail had settled that: it was now apositive intelligence--a conviction. The steed had been taken; he andhis rider were captive in the hands of the Indians. This knowledge brought with it a crowd of new thoughts, in whichemotions of the most opposite character were mingled together. The first was a sensation of joy. The steed had been captured, and byhuman beings. Indians at least were men, and possessed human hearts. Though in the rider they might recognise the lineaments of theirpale-faced foes--not so strongly neither--yet a woman, and in such adilemma, what reason could they have for hostility to her? None; perhaps the very opposite passion might be excited by thespectacle of her helpless situation. They would see before them thevictim of some cruel revenge--the act, too, of their own enemies; thiswould be more likely to inspire them with sympathy and pity; they wouldrelieve her from her perilous position; would minister to her wants andwounds; would tenderly nurse and cherish her: yes; of all this I feltconfident. They were human; how could they do otherwise? Such was the first rush of my reflections on becoming assured that thesteed had been captured by Indians--that Isolina was in their hands. Ionly thought of her safety--that she was rescued from pain and peril, perhaps from death; and the thought was a gleam of joy. Alas! only a gleam; and the reflections that followed were painfullybitter. I could not help thinking of the character of the savages into whosehands she had fallen. If they were the same band that had harried thefrontier town, then were they southern Indians--Comanche or Lipan. Thereport said one or other; and it was but too probable. True, theremnant of Shawanos and Delawares, with the Kickapoos and TexanCherokees, sometimes stray as far as the banks of the Rio Grande. Butthe conduct was not theirs: these tribes, from long intercourse withwhites, have been inducted into a sort of semi-civilisation; and theirhereditary hostility for the pale-face has died out. Pillage and murderare no longer their trade; it could not have been they who had made thelate foray. It might have been "Wild Cat" with his wicked Seminoles, now settled on the Texan frontier; but the act was more in keeping withthe character of the mezcal-eating Apaches, who of late years had beenpushing their expeditions far down the river. Even so--it matteredlittle; Apaches are but Comanches, or rather Comanches Apaches, andwhether the Indians on whose trail we were standing were one or theother--whether Apache, Lipan, Comanche, or their allies Caygua, Waco, orPawnee-Pict, it mattered not; one and all were alike; one or other ofthem, my reflections were bitterly the same. Well understood I thecharacter of these red men of the south; so far differing from theirkindred of the north--so far different from that ideal type of coldcontinence, it has pleased the poet and the writer of romance to ascribeto them. The reverse of the medal was before my mind's eye; the memoryof many a scene was in my thoughts, of many a tale I had heard, illustrating the uxorious disposition, the wild unbridled wantonness ofthese lords of the southern plains. Not then did I dwell long on such thoughts; for they had their influencein urging me onward, and onward I spurred. There was another reason for our rapid advance: all of us were under theextreme agony of thirst--literally gasping for water; and thus physicalsuffering impelled us to ride forward as fast as our jaded horses couldcarry us over the ground. Timber was at length before our eyes--green foliage--looking all thefresher and brighter from contrast with the black plain which itbounded. It was a grove of cottonwoods, skirting a prairie-stream; andbeyond this the fire had not extended. Wild joyous cries escaped from men and horses, as their eyes rested uponthe limpid stream. The men galloped over the bank, leaped out of their saddles, and withouta thought of drowning, plunged breast-deep into the water. Some liftedthe crystal liquid in their palms; others, more impatient, bent down, and ducking their faces in the flood, drank _a la mode du cheval_. I noticed that the trappers behaved less recklessly than the rest;before going down to drink, the eyes of both were directed, withinstinctive caution, along the banks, and into the timber. Close to where we had halted, I observed a crossing, where numeroustracks of animals formed in the soil a deep, well-beaten path. Rube'seyes were upon it, and I saw that they were glistening with unusualexcitement. "Told 'ee so!" cried he, after a short survey: "yanner's thurtrail--_war-trail_, by the Eturnal!" CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE. THE "INDIOS BRAVOS. " You may be asking, what the trapper meant by a war-trail? It has been aphrase of frequent occurrence with us. It is a phrase of the frontier. Even at the eleventh hour, let me offer its explanation. For half a century--ay, for three centuries and more--even since theconquest itself--the northern frontier of Mexico has been in, what istermed in old-fashioned phraseology, a "disturbed state. " Though thesemi-civilised Aztecs, and the kindred races of town-dwelling Indians, easily yielded to the sword of the Spanish conquerors, far different hasbeen the history of the wild tribes--the free hunters of the plains. Upon those mighty steppes that occupy the whole central area of theNorth American continent, dwell tribes of Indians--nations they might becalled--who neither know, nor ever have known, other rule than that oftheir own chieftains. Even when Spain was at her strongest, she failedto subjugate the "Indios bravos" of her frontiers, who to the presenthour have preserved their wild freedom. I speak not of the greatnations of the northern prairies--Sioux and Cheyenne--Blackfeet andCrow--Pawnee and Arapahoe. With these the Spanish race scarcely evercame in contact. I refer more particularly to the tribes whose rangeimpinges upon the frontiers of Mexico--Comanche, Lipan, Utah, Apache, and Navajo. It is not in the annals of Spain to prove that any one of these tribesever yielded to her conquering sword; and equally a failure has been theattempt to wheedle them into a fanatical civilisation by themuch-boasted conquest of the _mission_. Free, then, the prairie Indiansare from white man's rule, and free have they been, as though the keelsof Columbus had never ploughed the Carib Sea. But although they have preserved their independence for three centuries, for three centuries have they never known peace. Between the red Indianand the white Iberian, along the frontier of Northern Mexico, awar-border has existed since the days of Cortez to the present hour--constantly shifting north or south, but ever extended from east to west, from ocean to ocean, through wide degrees of longitude. North of thisborder ranges the "Indio bravo;" south of it dwells his degenerate andconquered kinsman, the "Indio manso"--not in the "tents, " but in thetowns of his Spanish conqueror--the former, free as the prairie wind;the latter, yoked to a condition of "peon" vassalage, with chains asstrong as those of slavery itself. The neutral belt of hostile groundlies between--on the one side half defended by a line of garrisonedforts (_presidios_); on the other, sheltered from attack by the wild andwaterless desert. I have stated that this war-border has been constantly shifting eithernorthward or southward. Such was its history up to the beginning of thepresent cycle. Since then, a remarkable change has been going forwardin the relative position of Indian and Iberian; and the line of hostileground has been moving only in one direction--continually _towards thesouth_! To speak in less metaphorical phrase, the red man has beenencroaching upon the territory of the white man--the so-called savagehas been gaining ground upon the domain of civilisation. Not slowly orgradually either, but by gigantic strides--by the conquest of wholeprovinces as large as England ten times told! I shall make the announcement of a fact, or rather a hypothesis--scarcely well known, though strange enough. It may interest, if notsurprise, the ethnologist. I assert, then, that had the four tribes ofNorth Mexican Indians--Comanche, Lipano, Apache, and Navajo--been leftto themselves, _in less than another century they would have driven thedegenerate descendants of the conquerors of Cortez from the soil ofAnahuac_! I make this assertion with a full belief and clear convictionof its truthfulness. The hypothesis rests upon a basis of realities. It would require but very simple logic to prove it; but a few facts mayyield illustration. With the fall of Spanish rule in Mexico, ended the predominance of theSpaniard over the Indian. By revolution, the presidios became shorn oftheir strength, and no longer offered a barrier even to the weakestincursion. In fact, a neutral line no more exists; whole provinces--Sonora, Chihuahua, Tamaulipas, Cinaloa, and Leon--are no better thanneutral ground, or, to speak more definitely, form an extended territoryconquered and desolated by the Indians. Even beyond these, into the"provincias internas, " have the bold copper-coloured freebooters of latecarried their forays--even to the very gates of Durango. Two hundredComanche warriors, or as many Apaches, fear not to ride hundreds ofmiles into the heart of civilised Mexico--hesitate not to attack a cityor a settlement--scruple not to drag from hearth and home lovely maidsand tender children--_only_ these--and carry them slave and captive totheir wild fastnesses in the desert! And this is no occasional foray, no long gathering outburst of revenge or retaliation; but an _annual_expedition, forming part of the regular routine of the year, andoccurring at the season when the buffalo have migrated to the north--occurring in that month in the calendar of these aboriginal brigandsjocosely styled the "Mexican moon!" Upon whose head falls the blow thus periodically repeated? Upon thepoor and unprotected? No doubt you will fancy so. A single fact may serve to undeceive you. Only a few years ago, Trias, a man of "first family" in Mexico and governor of the large state ofChihuahua, lost one of his sons by an Indian foray. The boy was takenprisoner by the Comanches; and it was only after years of negotiationand payment of a large sum, that the father recovered his child. Thusthe governor of a province, with means and military at his command, wasnot powerful enough to cause the surrender of his captive son: he wasforced to _buy_ him! It is computed that at this moment there are three thousand whitecaptives in the hands of the North Mexican Indians--nearly all of themof Spanish descent. They are mostly females, and live as theslave-wives of their captors--if such connexion may be dignified by thename. There are white men, too, among the Indians--prisoners taken intheir youth; and strange as it may appear, few of them--either of themen or women--evince any desire to return to their former life or homes. Some, when ransomed, have refused the boon. Not uncommon along thefrontier has been witnessed that heart-rending scene--a father who hadrecovered his child from the savages, and yet unable to reclaim itsaffection, or even to arouse it to a recognition of its parentage. In afew years--sometimes only months--the captives forget their early ties, and become wedded to their new life--become _Indianised_! But a short time before, an instance had come under our own observation. The wounded brave taken in the skirmish at the mound was a full-bloodedMexican--had been carried off by the Comanches, some years before, fromthe settlements on the Lower Rio Grande. In consideration of this, wegave him his liberty--under the impression that he would gladly availhimself of the opportunity to return to his kindred. He proved wanting in gratitude as in natural affection. The same nighton which he was set free, he took the route back to the prairies, mounted upon one of the best horses of our troop, which he had stolenfrom its unfortunate owner! Such are the "Cosas de Mexico"--a few of the traits of frontier-life onthe Rio Bravo del Norte. But what of the war-trail? That is not yet explained. Know, then, that from the country of the Indians to that of the Mexicansextend many great paths, running for hundreds of miles from point topoint. They follow the courses of streams, or cross vast desert plains, where water is found only at long intervals of distance. They aremarked by the tracks of mules, horses, and captives. Here and there, they are whitened by bones--the bones of men, of women, of animals, thathave perished by the way. Strange paths are these! What are they, andwho have made them? Who travel by these roads that lead through thewild and homeless desert? Indians: they are the paths of the Comanche and Caygua--the roads madeby their warriors during the "Mexican moon. " It was upon one of these that the trapper was gazing when he gave outthe emphatic utterance-- "War-trail, by the Eturnal!" CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX. ON THE WAR-TRAIL. Scarcely staying to quench my thirst, I led my horse across the stream, and commenced scrutinising the trail upon the opposite bank. Thefaithful trackers were by my side--no fear of them lagging behind. I had won the hearts of both these men; and that they would have riskedlife to serve me, I could no longer doubt, since over and over againthey _had_ risked it. For Garey strong, courageous, handsome in thetrue sense, and noble-hearted, I felt real friendship, which the youngtrapper reciprocated. For his older comrade, the feeling. I had waslike himself--indefinable, indescribable. It was strongly tincturedwith admiration, but admiration of the intellectual rather than themoral or personal qualities of the man. Instead of intellectual, I should rather say instinctive--for his keenintuitive thoughts appeared more like instincts, than the results of aprocess of ratiocination. That the old trapper admired me--in his own phraseology, "liked memightily"--I was aware. He was equally zealous as the younger in myservice; but too free an exhibition of zeal was in his eyes a weakness, and he endeavoured to conceal it. His admiration of myself was perhapsowing to the fact that I neither attempted to thwart him in his humoursnor rival him in his peculiar knowledge--the craft of the prairie. Inthis I was but his pupil, and behaved as such, generally deferring tohis judgment. Another impulse acted upon the trackers--sheer love of the part theywere now playing. Just as the hound loves the trail, so did they; andhunger, thirst, weariness, one or all must be felt to an extreme degreebefore they would voluntarily forsake it. Scarcely staying, therefore, to quench their thirst, they followed meout of the water; and all three of us together bent our attention to thesign. It was a _war-trail_--a true war-trail. There was not the track of adog--not the drag of a lodge-pole upon it. Had it been a movingencampment of peaceable Indians, these signs would have been visible;moreover, there would have been seen numerous footsteps of Indianwomen--of squaws; for the slave-wife of the lordly Comanche is compelledto traverse the prairies _a pied_, loaded like the packhorse thatfollows at her heels! But though no foot-prints of Indian women appeared, there _were_ tracksof women, scores of them, plainly imprinted in the soil of theriver-bank. Those slender impressions, scarcely a span in length, smoothly moulded in the mud, were not to be mistaken for the footstepsof an Indian squaw. There was not the wide divergence at the heels withthe toes turned inward; neither was there the moccasin-print. No: thosetiny tracks must have been made by women of that nation who possess thesmallest and prettiest feet in the world--by women of Mexico. "Captives!" we exclaimed, as soon as our eyes rested upon the tracks. "Ay, poor critters!" said Rube sympathisingly; "the cussed niggurs hevmade 'em fut it, while thur's been spare hosses a plenty. Wagh! a goodwheen o' weemen thur's been--a score on 'em at the least. Wagh! I pity'em, poor gurls! in sech kumpny as they've got into. It ur a lifethey've got to lead. Wagh!" Rube did not reflect how heavily his words were falling upon my heart. There were the tracks of more than a hundred horses, and as many mules. Some of both were iron-shod; but for all that, we knew they had beeneither ridden or driven by Indians: they, too, were captives. The sign helped my companions to much knowledge, that would have beenunintelligible to me. It was certainly the path of a war-party ofIndians _on the back-track_. They were laden with plunder, and drivingbefore them, or forcing to follow, a crowd of captives--horses, mules, and women--children, too, for we saw the tiny foot-marks of tender age. The trail was significant of all this--even to me. But my comrades saw more; they no longer doubted that the Indians wereComanches--a moccasin had been picked up, a castaway--and the leatherntassel attached to the heel declared the tribe to which its wearerbelonged to be the Comanche. The trail was quite fresh; that is, but a few hours had intervened sincethe Indians passed along it. Notwithstanding the dryness of theatmosphere, the mud on the river-edge had not yet become "skinned, " asthe trappers expressed it. The Indians had forded the stream about thetime the prairie was set on fire. The horses, we had been following across the burnt plain, were those ofa party who had gone out in pursuit of the steed. Just at the ford, they had overtaken the main body, who carried along the spoil andcaptives. From that point, all had advanced together. Had they done so? This was our first object of inquiry. It was almosttoo probable to admit of a doubt; but we desired to be certain about amatter of such primary importance, and we looked for the hoof with thepiece chipped from its edge--easily to be identified by all of us. In the muddy margin of the stream we could not find it; but the steedmay have been led or ridden in front of the rest, and his trackstrampled out by the thick drove that followed. At this moment, Stanfield came up and joined us in the examination. Theranger had scarcely bent his eyes on the trail, when a significantexclamation escaped him. He stood pointing downward to the track of ashod horse. "My horse!" cried he; "my horse Hickory, by Gosh!" "Your horse?" "May I never see Kaintuck if it ain't. " "Yur sure o' it, ole hoss? yur sure it's yurn?" "Sure as shootin'; I shod him myself. I kid tell that ere track on adry sand-bar. I know every nail thar; I druv 'em wi' my own hand--it'shim sartin. " "Wheeo-o!" whistled Rube in his significant way, "thet makes things aleetle plainer, I reck'n; an so I thort all along--an so I thort--ye-es--so I thort. The durned rennygade niggur!" he added with angryemphasis, "I know'd we dud wrong to let 'im go; we oughter served 'im asI perposed; we oughter cut his durnation throat, an scalped 'im theminnut we tuk 'im: cuss the luck thet we didn't! Wagh!" Rube's words needed no interpretation. We knew whose throat he wouldhave cut--that of the Indianised Mexican taken at the mesa; and Iremembered that at the time of his capture such had been Rube's advice, overruled, of course, by the more merciful of his comrades. The trapperhad assigned some reason: he knew something of the man's history. He now repeated his reasons: "He ur a true rennygade, " said he; "an thur ain't on all the parairas awusser enemy to whites than thet ur--more partiklurly to Texan whites. He wur at the massacree o' Wilson's family on the clur fork o' theBrazos, an wur conspik'us in the skrimmige: a' more too--it ur thort hetoated off one o' Wilson's gurls, an made a squaw o' her, for he'smighty given thet way I've heern. Wagh! he ur wuss than a Injun, forthe reezun thet he unerstans the ways o' the whites. I never know'dsich a foolitch thing as ter let 'im git clur. 'Ee may thank yur luck, Mister Stannafeel, thet he didn't take yur har at the same time when hetuk yur hoss. Wagh! thet ye may!" It was Stanfield's horse that had bee a stolen by the renegade, and thetracks now identified by the ranger were those of that animal--no doubtwith the freebooter upon his back. This new discovery let in a flood of light. Beyond a doubt, thewar-party was the same we had met by the mound, with perhaps areinforcement; the same that had just plundered the Mexican town; thesame who had paid their hurried visit to the hacienda, and thisrenegade-- Ha! Strange remembrances were crowding into my brain. I rememberedmeeting this semi-savage skulking about the road, after we had grantedhim his parole; I remembered, upon one occasion, seeing him while ridingout with _her_; I remembered the rude expression with which he hadregarded my companion--the glance half-fierce, half-lustful; Iremembered that it made me angry; that I rebuked and threatened him--Inow remembered all. Wild thoughts came rushing into my mind--worse thoughts than ever. I sprang to my saddle; and, calling out some half-coherent orders, roderapidly along the trail. CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN. THE WRITING ON THE MAGUEY. The skill of the trackers was no longer called in need; the war-trailwas as easily followed as a toll-road: a blind man could have guidedhimself along such a well-trodden highway. Our rate of speed was now ruled by the capacity of our horses. Alas!their power was nearly at an end. They had been two days and a nightunder the saddle, with but a few hours to refresh themselves by food orrest: they could not hold out much longer. One by one they began to lag, until the greater number of them followedwith tottering step hundreds of yards in the rear. It was in vain to contend against nature. The men were still willing, though they too were wearied to death; but their horses were quite doneup--even whip and spur could force them no farther. Only my ownmatchless steed could have continued the journey. Alone I might haveadvanced, but that would have been madness. What could I haveaccomplished alone? Night was fast coming down: it was already twilight. I saw by theclouded sky we should have no moon. We might follow the trail with ourwaxen torches--not yet burnt out--but that would no longer be safe. Formyself, I was reckless enough to have risked life in any way, but thelives of my comrades were not mine. I could not give them--I should notwastefully fling them away. Reluctantly I glided from my saddle, gave my steed to the grass, and satdown upon the earth. My followers coming up, said not a word, but picketing their horses, seated themselves around me. One by one they stretched themselves alongthe sward, and in ten minutes all were asleep. I alone could not sleep; the fever of unrest was upon me; the demon ofthought would not let me close my eyes. Though my orbs ached with thelong protracted vigil, I thought that "not all the drowsy syrups of theworld" could have given me repose at that moment. I felt as one whosuffers under delirium, produced by the intoxicating cup, the fearful_mania-a-potu_. I could neither sleep nor rest. I could not even remain seated. I rose to my feet and wandered around, without heed of where I was going; I strode over the recumbent forms ofmy sleeping companions; I went among the horses; I paced backwards andforwards along the banks of the stream. There _was_ a stream--a small arroyo or rivulet. It was this that hadcaused me to halt in that particular spot; for wild as were my thoughts, I had enough of reason left to know that we could not encamp withoutwater. The sight of the arroyo had decided my wavering resolution, andupon its banks, almost mechanically, I had drawn bridle and dismounted. I once more descended to the bed of the stream, and, raising the waterin the palms of my hands, repeatedly applied it to my lips and temples. The cool liquid refreshed me, and seemed to soothe both my nerves and myspirit. After a time, both felt calmer, and I sat down upon the bank, andwatched for a while the clear rivulet rippling past over its bed ofyellow sand and glistening pebbles of quartz. The water was perfectlydiaphanous; and, though the sun was no longer shining, I could see tinysilver fish, of the genus _hyodon_, sporting themselves in the lowestdepths of the pool. How I envied them their innocent gambols, theirlife of crystal purity and freedom! Here, in this remote prairiestream, dwelt not the alligator, nor the ravenous garfish; here came nodolphin or shark to chase them, no tyrant of the waters to put them infear. To be envied, indeed, such an _insouciant_, happy existence! I watched them for a long while, till I thought that my eyes weregrowing heavy, and, after all, I might seep. The murmur of the arroyohelped to increase this inclination to repose, and, perhaps, I mighthave slept; but at that moment chancing to look around, my eyes restedupon an object that again drove sleep far away, and I was soon aswakeful as ever. Close to where I had seated myself grew a large plant of the Mexicanaloe (_agave Americana_). It was the wild maguey, of course, but of aspecies with broad fleshy leaves of dark-green colour, somewhatresembling the maguey of cultivation. I noticed that one of the greatblades of the plant was bruised down, and the spine, which hadterminated it, torn off. All this would not have drawn my attention: I was already aware that theIndians had made a halt where we were encamped, and their sign wasplenteous around--in the tracks of their animals, and the brokenbranches of trees. One of their horses or mules might have munched atthe maguey in passing; and, viewing the bruised blade from a distance, Ishould have hazarded just such a conjecture. But my eyes were close tothe plant, and, to my astonishment, I observed that there _was writingupon the leaf_! I turned over upon my knees, and seizing the huge blade, bent it downbefore me, so as to obtain a better view of its surface. I read:-- "_Captured by Comanches_--_a war-party with many captives_--_women andchildren_--_ay de mi! pobres ninas! north-west from this place. Savedfrom death; alas! I fear_--" The writing ended abruptly. There was no signature, but it needed notthat. I had no doubts about who was the writer; in fact, rude as wasthe chirography--from the materials used--I easily identified the hand. It was Isolina de Vargas who had written. I saw that she had torn off the terminal spine, and using it as astylus, had graven those characters upon the epidermis of the plant. Sweet subtle spirit! under any guise I could have recognised itsoutpourings. "Saved from death"--thank Heaven for that!--"alas! I fear. " Oh, whatfeared she? Was it worse than death? that terrible fate--too terribleto think of? She had broken off, without finishing the sentence. Why had she doneso? The sheet was broad--would have held many more words--why had she notwritten more? Did she dread to tell the cause of her fear? or had shebeen interrupted by the approach of some of her tyrant captors? Omerciful Heaven! save me from thought! I re-read the words over and over: there was nothing more. I examinedthe other leaves of the plant--on both sides, concave and convex, Iexamined them--not a word more could I find. What I had read was allshe had written. CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT. THE SOUTHERN SAVAGE. I need not tell how deeply I was affected by the unexpectedcommunication. All at once were decided a variety of doubts; all atonce was I made aware of the exact situation. Isolina still lived--that was no longer doubtful; and the knowledgeproduced joy. More than this: she was still uninjured--able to think, to act, to write--not only living, but well. The singular "billet" wasproof of all this. Another point--her hands must have been free--herhands at least, else how could she have traced those lines? and withsuch a pencil? It argued indulgence--perhaps kind treatment on the partof her captors. Another point yet. _She knew I was in pursuit_. She _had_ seen me, then, as I galloped after. It _was_ her cry I had heard as the steeddashed into the chapparal. She had recognised, me, and called back. She knew I would still be following; she knew I was following, and forme was the writing meant. Sweet subtle spirit! Once more I devoured the welcome words; but my heart grew heavy as Ipondered over them. What had caused her to break off so abruptly? Whatwas it her intention to have said? Of what was she in fear? It wasthinking about this that caused the heaviness upon my heart and forcedme to give way to horrid imaginings. Naturally my thoughts reverted to her captors; naturally I reflectedupon the character of the prairie savage--so different from that of theforest Indian, opposite as is the aspect of their homes--and perhapsinfluenced by this very cause, though there are many others. Climate--contact with Spanish civilisation, so distinct from Saxon--the horse--conquest over white foes--concubinage with white and beautiful women, the daughters of the race of Cortez: all these have combined to producein the southern Indian a spiritual existence that more resemblesAndalusia than England--more like Mexico than Boston or New York. Psychologically speaking, there is not so much difference between Parisand the prairies--between the _habitat_ of the Bal Mabille and thehorse-Indian of the plains. No cold ascetic this--no romantic savage, alike celebrated for silence and continence--but a true voluptuary, gayof thought and free of tongue--amorous, salacious, immoral. In ninecases out of ten, the young Comanche is a boastful Lothario as any_flaneur_ that may be met upon the Boulevards; the old, a lustfulsinner--women the idol of both. Women is the constant theme of theirconversation, their motive for every act. For these they throw theprairie dice; for these they race their swift mustangs. To win them, they paint in hideous guise; to buy them, they steal horses; to capturethem, they go to war! And yet, with all their wanton love, they are true tyrants to the sex. Wife they have none--for it would be sheer sacrilege to apply this nobletitle to the "squaw" of a Comanche. Mistress is scarcely a fitterterm--rather say _slave_. Hers is a hard lot indeed; hers it is to hewthe wood and draw the water; to strike the tent and pitch it; to loadthe horse and pack the dog; to grain the skin and cure the meat; toplant the maize, the melon, squash; to hoe and reap them; to waitobsequious on her lounging lord, anticipate his whim or wish, be true tohim, else _lose her ears or nose_--for such horrid forfeiture is, byComanche custom, the punishment of conjugal infidelity! But hard as is the lot of the native wife, harder still is that of thewhite captive. 'Tis hers to endure all the ills enumerated, with stillanother--the hostility of the squaw herself. The white captive is trulythe slave of a slave, the victim of a treble antipathy--of race, ofcolour, of jealousy. Ofttimes is she beaten, abused, mutilated; andrarely does the apathetic lord interfere to protect her from thisfeminine but fiend-like persecution. These were not imaginings; they were not fancies begot in my own brain. Would they had been so! Too well did I know they were facts--horridrealities. Can you wonder that sleep was shaken from my eyelids?--that I could notthink of rest or stay, till I had delivered my loved one--my betrothed--from the danger of such a destiny? All thought of sleep was banished--even weariness forsook me. I feltfresh as if I had slept; my nerves were strung for emprise. It was butthe excitement renewed by what I had read--the impatience of a new andkeen apprehension. I would have mounted and gone forward, spurning rest and sleep;regardless of danger, would I have followed; but what could I do alone? Ay, and what with my few followers? Ha! I had not thought of this; up to that moment, I had not put thisimportant question, and I had need to reflect upon the answer. What ifwe should overtake this band of brigands? Booty-laden as they were, andcumbered with captives, surely we could come up with them, by night orby day; but what then? Ay, what then? There were nine of us, and we were in pursuit of a war-party of at leastone hundred in number!--one hundred braves armed and equipped forbattle--the choice warriors of their tribe--flushed with late success, and vengeful against ourselves on account of former defeat. Ifconquered, we need look for no mercy at their hands; _if_ conquered--howcould it be otherwise? Nine against a hundred! How could _we_ conquer? Up to this moment, I say, I had not thought of the result I was bornealong by only one impulse--the idea of overtaking the steed, andrescuing his rider from her perilous situation. It was only within thehour that her peril had assumed a new phase; only an hour since we hadlearned that she had escaped from one danger to be brought within theinfluence of another. At first had I felt joy, but the feeling was of short existence, for Inow recognised in the new situation a greater peril than that she hadoutlived. She had been rescued from death to become the victim ofdishonour! CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE. A SUBTERRANEAN FIRE. In the midst of my meditations, night descended upon the earth. Itpromised to be a moonless night. A robe of sable clouds formed a sombrelining to the sky, and through this neither moon nor stars were visible. It grew darker apace, until in the dim light I could scarcelydistinguish the forms of my companions--neither men nor horses, thoughboth were near me. The men were still asleep, stretched along the grass in variousattitudes, like so many bodies upon a battle-field. The horses were toohungry to sleep--the constant "crop-crop" told that they were greedilybrowsing upon the sward of gramma-grass that, by good fortune, grewluxuriantly around. This would be the best rest for them, and I wasglad to think that this splendid provender would in a few hours recruittheir strength. It was the _chondrosium foeneum_, the favourite food ofhorses and cattle, and in its effects upon their condition almost equalto the bean or the oat. I knew it would soon freshen the jaded animals, and make them ready for the road. At least in this there was someconsolation. Notwithstanding the pre-occupation of my thoughts, I began to besensible of a physical discomfort, which, despite their low latitude, isoften experienced upon the southern prairies--cold. A chill breeze hadset in with the night, which in half-an-hour became a strong and violentwind, increasing in coldness as in strength. In that half-hour the thermometer must have fallen at least fiftyFahrenheit degrees; and such a phenomenon is not rare upon the plains ofTexas. The wind was the well-known "_norther_" which often kills bothmen and animals, that chance to be exposed to its icy breath. I have endured the rigour of a Canadian winter--have crossed the frozenlakes--have slept upon a snow-wreath amidst the wild wastes of Rupert'sLand; but I cannot remember cold more intensely chilling than that Ihave suffered in a Texan norther. This extreme does not arise from the absolute depression of thethermometer--which at least is but a poor indicator of either heat orcold--I mean the sensation of either. It is more probably the contrastspringing from the sudden change--the exposure--the absence of properclothing or shelter--the state of the blood--and other likecircumstances, that cause both heat and cold to be more sensibly felt. I had ofttimes experienced the chill blast of the norther, but nevermore acutely than upon that night. The day had been sweltering hot--thethermometer at noon ranging about the one-hundredth Fahrenheit degree, while in the first hour of darkness it could not have been far above thetwentieth. Had I judged by my sensations, I should have put it evenlower. Certainly it had passed the freezing-point, and sharp sleet andhail were borne upon the wings of the wind. With nerves deranged from want of rest and sleep--after the hot day'smarch--after the perspiration produced by long exposure upon the heatedsurface of the burnt prairie--I perhaps felt the cold more acutely thanI should otherwise have done. My blood seemed to stagnate and freezewithin my veins. I was fain to wrap around my body a buffalo-robe, which some carelesssavage had dropped upon the trail. My followers were not so wellfurnished; starting as we had done, without any thought of being absentfor the night, no preparation had been made for camping out. Only aportion of them chanced to have their blankets strapped upon the cantlesof their saddles. These were now the fortunate ones. The norther had roused all of them from their slumbers--had awaked themas suddenly as a douche of cold water would have done; and one and allwere groping about in the darkness--some seeking for their blankets--others for such shelter as was afforded by the lee-side of the bushes. Fortunately there were some saddle-blankets, and these were soon draggedfrom the backs of the horses. The poor brutes themselves sufferedequally with their owners; they stood cowering under the cold, withtheir hips to the cutting blast, their limbs drawn close together, andtheir flanks shaggy and shivering. Some of them half shelteredthemselves behind the bushes, scarce caring to touch the grass at theirfeet. It would have been easy enough to make a fire; there was dry wood inplenty near the spot, and of the best kind for burning--the largespecies of mezquite. Some of the men were for kindling fires at once, regardless of consequences; but this design was overruled by the moreprudent of the party. The trappers were strongly against it. Cold aswas the night, and dark, they knew that neither the norther nor thedarkness would deter Indians from being abroad. A party might be outupon the prowl; the very buffalo-skin we had picked up might bring asquad of them back; for it was the grand robe of some brave or chief, whose whole life-history was delineated in hieroglyphical painting uponits inner surface. To have made a fire, might have cost us our lives;so alleged the trappers, Rube and Garey. It would be better to endurethe cold, than risk our scalps; so counselled they. But for all that, Rube had no idea of being starved to death. He couldkindle a fire, and burn it upon an open prairie, without the least fearof its being seen; and in a few minutes' time he had succeeded in makingone, that could not have been discovered by the most sharp-sightedIndian in creation. I had watched the operation with some interest. He first collected a quantity of dead leaves, dry grass, and shortsticks of the mezquite-tree--all of which he placed under hissaddle-blanket, to prevent the rain and sleet from wetting them. Thisdone, he drew out his bowie-knife, and with the blade "crowed" a holeinto the turf, about a foot deep, and ten inches or a foot in diameter. In the bottom of this hole he placed the grass and leaves, having firstignited them by means of his flint, steel, and "punk" tinder--all ofwhich implements formed part of the contents of Rube's pouch andpossible sack--ever present. On the top of the now blazing leaves andgrass he placed the dry sticks--first the smaller ones, and then thoseof larger dimensions--until the hole was filled up to the brim--and overall he laid the piece of sod, originally cut from the surface, and whichfitted as neatly as a lid. His furnace being now finished and in full blast, the old trapper"hunkered" down close to its edge--in such a position as to embrace thefire between his thighs, and have it nearly under him. He then drew hisold saddle-blanket over his shoulders, allowing it to droop behind untilhe had secured it under the salient points of his lank angular hips. Infront he passed the blanket over his knees, until both ends, reachingthe ground, were gripped tightly between his toes. The contrivance wascomplete; and there sat the earless trapper like a hand-glass over aplant of spring rhubarb--a slight smoke oozing through the apertures ofthe scant blanket, and curling up around his "ears" as though he washatching upon a hotbed. But no fire could be seen, though Rube shiveredno longer. He soon found imitators. Garey had already constructed a similarfurnace; and the others were soon warming themselves by this simple butingenious device. I did not disdain to avail myself of the extra "shaft" which thekind-hearted Garey had sunk for my accommodation; and having placedmyself by its side, and drawn the ample robe over my shoulders, I feltas warm as if seated in front of a sea-coal fire! Under other circumstances, I might have joined in the merriment producedamong my companions by the ludicrous spectacle which we presented. Acomic spectacle indeed; nine of us squatted at intervals over theground, the blue smoke escaping through the interstices of our robes andblankets, and rising around our heads, as though one and all of us wereon fire! Wind, sleet, and darkness, continued throughout the whole night--coldwind, sharp icy sleet, and black darkness, that seemed palpable to thetouch. Ever so eager, ever so fresh, we could not have advanced alongthe trail. Grand war-trail as it was, it could not have been tracedunder that amorphous obscurity, and we had no means of carrying a light, even had it been safe to do so. We had no lantern, and the norther withone blast would have whisked out a torch of pitch-pine. We thought no more of going forward, until either the day should breakor the wind come to a lull. At midnight we replenished our subterranean fires, and remained on theground. Hail, rain, wind, and darkness. My companions rested their heads upon their knees, or nodding slept. Nosleep for me--not even the repose of thought. Like some feveredsufferer on his wakeful couch. I counted the hours--the minutes. Theminutes seemed hours. Rain, hail, sleet, and wind seemed, like darkness itself, to belong tothe night. As long as night lasted, so long continued they. When itcame to an end, all vanished together--the norther had exhausted itsstrength. A wild turkey--killed before nightfall--with some steaks of thepeccary-pork, furnished us with an ample breakfast. It was hastily cooked, and hastily eaten; and as the first streak ofdawn appeared along the horizon, we were in our saddles, and advancingupon the trail. CHAPTER EIGHTY. A RED EPISTLE. The trail led north-west, as written upon the maguey. No doubt Isolinahad heard her captors forespeak their plans. I knew that she herselfunderstood something of the Comanche language. The accomplishment mayappear strange--and not strange either, when it is known that her mothercould have spoken it well: with her it was a _native tongue_. But even without this knowledge she might still have learned the designsof the savages--for these southern Comanches are accomplished linguists;many of them can speak the beautiful language of Andalusia! There was atime when a portion of the tribe submitted to the teaching of themission padres; besides, a few among them might boast--which they donot--of Iberian blood! No doubt, then, that the captive in their midst had overheard themdiscussing their projects. We had ridden about two hours, when we came upon the ground where theIndians had made their night-camp. We approached it warily and withstealth, for we were now travelling with great caution. We had need. Should a single savage, straggling behind, set eyes upon us, we might aswell be seen by the whole band. If discovered upon the war-trail, ourlives would not be worth much. Some of us might escape; but even if allof us survived our plan would be completely frustrated. I say plan, for I had formed one. During the long vigil of the night, my thoughts had not been idle, and a course of action I had traced out, though it was not yet fully developed in my mind. Circumstances mightyet alter it, or aid me in its execution. We approached their night-encampment, then, warily and with stealth. The smoke of its smouldering fires pointed out the place, and warned usfrom afar. We found it quite deserted--the gaunt wolf and coyote alone occupyingthe ground, disputing with each other possession of the hide and bonesof a horse--the debris of the Indian breakfast. Had we not known already, the trappers could have told by the sign ofthe camp to what tribe the Indians belonged. There were still standingthe poles of a tent--only one--doubtless the lodge of the head chief. The poles were temporary ones--saplings cut from the adjacent thicket. They were placed in a circle, and meeting at the top, were tied togetherwith a piece of thong--so that, when covered, the lodge would haveexhibited the form of a perfect cone. This we knew was the fashion ofthe Comanche tent. "Ef 't hed 'a been Kickapoo, " said Rube, who took the opportunity ofdisplaying his knowledge, "th'ud 'a bent thur poles in'ard, so's to makea sort o' a roun top, d'ee see; an ef 't hed 'a been Wacoes orWitcheetoes, thu'd 'a left a hole at the top, to let out thur smoke. Delawurs an Shawnee wud 'a hed tents, jest like whites; but thet urain't thur way o' makin a fire. In a Shawnee fire, the logs 'ud 'a beenlaid wi' one eend turned in an the tother turned ut, jest like the staron a Texas flag, or the spokes o' a wagon-wheel. Likeways Cherokee anChoctaw wud 'a hed reg'lar tents, but thur fire wud 'a been alserdiff'rint. They'd 'a sot the logs puralell, side by side, an lit' emonly at one eend, an then pushed 'em up as fast as they burn'd. Thet'sthur way. 'Ee see these hyur logs is sot diff'rint--thur lit in themiddle, an thet's Kimanch for sartint--it ur. " Rube's "clairvoyance" extended further. The savages had been astart asearly as ourselves. They had decamped about daylight, and were nowexactly two hours ahead of us on the trail. Why were they travelling so rapidly? Not from fear of pursuit by anyenemy. The soldiers of Mexico--had these been regarded by them--weretoo busy with the Saxon foe, and _vice versa_. They could hardly beexpecting _as_ upon an expedition to rob them of their captives. Perhaps they were driving forward to be in time for the great herds ofbuffalo, that, along with the cold northers, might now be looked for inthe higher latitudes of the Comanche range. This was the explanationgiven by the trappers--most probably the true one. Under the influence of singular emotions, I rode over the ground. Therewere other signs besides those of the savage--signs of the plunder withwhich they were laden--signs of civilisation. There were fragments ofbroken cups and musical instruments--torn leaves of books--remnants ofdresses, silks and velvets--a small satin slipper (the peculiar_chaussure_ of the Mexican manola) side by side with a worn-outmud-stained moccasin--fit emblems of savage and civilised life. There was no time for speculating on so curious a confusion. I waslooking for signs of her--for traces of my betrothed. I cast around me inquiring glances. Where was it probable she hadpassed the night? Where? Involuntarily my eyes rested upon the naked poles--the tent of thechief. How could it be otherwise? Who among all the captives like her?grandly beautiful to satisfy the eye even of a savage chieftain--grandly, magnificently beautiful, how could she escape his notice?There, in his lodge, shrouded under the brown skins of buffaloes--underhideous devices--in the arms of a painted, keel-bedaubed savage--hisarms brawn and greasy--embraced--oh!-- "Young fellur! I ain't much o' a skollur; but I'd stake a pack o'beaver plew agin a plug o' Jeemes River, thet this hyur manurscrip wurentended for yurself, an nob'dy else. Thur's writin' upon it--thet'sclur, an mighty kew'rous ink I reck'n thet ur. Oncest ov a time I kud'a read write, or print eythur, as easy as fallin' off a log; for thurwur a Yankee fellur on Duck Crik thet kep a putty consid'able schoolthur, an the ole 'oman--thet ur Mrs Rawlins--hed this child put thro' areg'lar coorse o' Testy mint. I remembers readin' 'bout thet ur cussedniggur as toated the possible sack--Judeas, ef I reccol'ex right, warthe durned raskul's name--ef I kud 'a laid claws on him, I'd a raisedhis har in the shakin' o' a goat's tail. Wagh! thet I wild. " Rube's indignation against the betrayer having reached its climax, brought his speech to a termination. I had not waited for its finale. The object which he held between hisfingers had more interest for me, than either the history of his ownearly days or the story of the betrayal. It was a paper--a note actually folded, and addressed "Warfield!" Hehad found it upon the grass, close to where the tent had stood, where itwas held in the crotch of a split reed, the other end of which wassticking in the ground. No wonder the trapper had remarked upon the ink, there was no mistakingthe character of that livid red: the writing was _in blood_! Hastily unfolding the paper, I read: "_Henri! I am still safe, but in dread of a sad fate_--_the fate of thepoor white captive among these hideous men. Last night I feared it, butthe Virgin shielded me. It has not come. Oh! I shall not submit_--_Ishall die by my own hand. A strange chance has hitherto saved me fromthis horrid outrage. No! it was not chance, but Heaven that interposed. It is thus: Two of my captors claim me_--_one, the son of thechief_--_the other, the wretch to whom you granted life and freedom. Would to God it had been otherwise! Of the two, he of white blood isthe viler savage_--_bad, brutal_--_a very demon. Both took part in thecapture of the steed, therefore both claim me as their property? Theclaim is not yet adjusted; hence have I been spared. But, alas! I fearmy hour is nigh. A council is to be held that will decide to which ofthese monsters I am to be given. If to either, it is a horrid fate;if to neither, a doom still more horrible. Perchance, you know theircustom: I should be common property_--_the victim of all. Dios de mialma! Never_--_never! Death_--_welcome death_! "_Fear not, Henri, lord of my heart! fear not that I shall dishonouryour love. No_--_sacred in my breast, its purity shall be preserved, even at the sacrifice of my life. I shall bathe it with my blood. Ahme! my heart is bleeding now! They come to drag me away. Farewell!farewell_!" Such were the contents of the page--the fly-leaf of a torn missal. Uponthe other side was a vignette--a picture of Dolores, the weeping saintof Mexico! Had it been chosen, the emblem could scarcely have been moreappropriate. I thrust the red writing into my bosom; and, without waiting to exchangea word with my companions, pressed forward upon the trail. CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE. MORE WRITING IN RED. The men followed as before. We needed no trackers to point out the way;the path was plain as a drover's road--a thousand hoofs had made theirmark upon the ground. We rode at a regular pace, not rapidly. I was in no hurry to come upwith the savages; I desired to get sight of them just after nightfall, not before, lest they might also get sight of us. The plan I proposed to myself for the rescue of my betrothed, could notbe accomplished in the daytime; darkness alone could avail me incarrying it out, and for nightfall must I wait. We could easily have overtaken the Indians before night. They were buttwo short hours in the advance of us, and would be certain--as is theircustom on the war-trail--to make a noon-halt of several hours' duration. Even Indian horses require to be rested. We calculated the rate at which they were travelling--how many miles tothe hour. The prairie-men could tell to a furlong, both the gait andthe distance. The tracks of the poor captives were still seen along the trail. Thisshowed that the party could not have been going faster than a walk. The prairie-men alleged there were many horses without riders--led ordriven; many mules, too--the product of the foray. Why were the poorcaptives not permitted to ride them? Was it sheer cruelty, or brutal indifference on the part of theircaptors? Did the inhuman monsters gloat over the sufferings of theseunfortunates, and deny them even the alleviation of physical pain? Theaffirmative answer to all these questions was probably the true one, since hardly better--no better, indeed--is the behaviour of thesesavages towards the women of their own blood and kind--their own squaws. Talk not to me of the noble savage--of the simplicity and gentleness ofthat condition falsely termed a "state of nature. " It is not nature. God meant not man to be a wild Ishmaelite on the face of the earth. Manwas made for civilisation--for society; and only under its influencedoes he assume the form and grace of true nobility. Leave him tohimself--to the play of his instincts--to the indulgence of his evilimpulses--and man becomes a brute, a beast of prey. Even worse--forwolf and tiger gently consort with their kind, and still more gentlywith their family: they feel the tenderness of the family tie. Where isthe savage upon all the earth who does not usurp dominion, and practisethe meanest tyranny, over his weaker mate? Where can you find him? Noton the blood-stained karoos of Africa, not upon the forest-plains of theAmazon, not by the icy shores of the Arctic Sea, certainly not upon theprairies of North America. No man can be noble who would in wrath lay his finger upon weaker woman;talk not, then, of the noble savage!--fancy of poets, myth of romancers! The tracks of riderless horses, the footsteps of walking women--tendergirls and children--upon that long tiresome trail, had for me a cruelsignificance--those slender tiny tracks of pretty feet--_pobres ninas_! There was one that fixed my attention more than the rest: every now andthen my eyes were upon it; I fancied I could identify it. It wasexactly the size, I thought. The perfect symmetry and configuration, the oval curve of the heel, the high instep, the row of small graduatedglobes made by the impression of the toes, the smooth surface left bythe imprint of the delicate epidermis--all these points seemed tocharacterise the footprint of a lady. Surely it could not be hers? Oh, surely she would not be toiling alongthat weary track? Cruel as were the hearts of her captors, brutal aswere their natures, surely they would not inflict this unnecessary pain?Beauty like hers should command kinder treatment, should inspirecompassion even in the breast of a savage! Alas! I deemed it doubtful. We rode slowly on, as already said, not desirous of yet overtaking thefoe: we were allowing them time to depart from their noon halting-place. We might have stopped there a while longer, but I could not submit tothe repose of a halt. Motion, however slow, appeared progress, and insome measure hindered me from dwelling upon thoughts that only producedunnecessary pain. Notwithstanding the incumbrance of their spoils, the Indians must havebeen travelling faster than we. They had no fear of foes to retardthem; nought to require either spies or caution. They were now in theirown country--in the very heart of the Comanche range--and in dread of noenemy. They were moving freely and without fear. We, on the contrary, had to keep our scouts in the advance; every bend of the road had to bereconnoitred by them, every bush examined, every rise of the groundapproached with extreme care and watchfulness. These manoeuvresoccupied time, and we moved slowly enough. It was after mid-day when we arrived at the noon-camp of the savages. The smoke, as before, warned us, and approaching under cover, weperceived that they were gone. They had kindled fires and cooked flesh. The bones, clean picked, were easily identified, and the mid-day mealshowed that there had been no change in the diet of these hippophagists:dinner and dejeuner had been alike--drawn from the same larder. Again I searched the ground; but, as before, the eyes of the trapperproved better than mine. "Hyur's a other billy-dux, young fellur, " said he, handing me the paper. Another leaf from the missal! I seized it eagerly--eagerly I devoured its contents! This time theywere more brief: "_Once more I open my veins. The council meets to-night. In a fewhours it will be decided whose property I am--whose slave--whose--Santissima Maria! I cannot write the word. I shall attempt to escape. They leave my hands free, but my limbs are tightly bound. I have triedto undo my fastenings, but cannot. O, if I but had a knife! I knowwhere one is kept; I may contrive to seize it, but it must be in thelast moment--it will not do to fail. Henri, I am firm and resolute; Ido not yield to despair. One way or the other, I shall free myself fromthe hideous embrace of--They come--the villain watches me--I must_--" The writing ended abruptly. Her jailers had suddenly approached. The paper had evidently been concealed from them in haste; it had beencrumpled up and flung upon the grass--for so was it when found. We remained for a while upon the spot, to rest and refresh our horses;the poor brutes needed both. There was water at the place; and thatmight not be met with again. The sun was far down when we resumed our march--_our last march alongthe war-trail_. CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO. AN "INJUN ON THE BACK-TRACK. " We had advanced about a mile farther, when our scouts--who, as usual, had gone forward to reconnoitre--having ascended a swell of the prairie, were observed crouching behind some bushes that grew upon its crest. We all drew bridle to await the result of their reconnoissance. Thepeculiar attitude in which they had placed themselves, and the apparentearnestness with which they glanced over the bushes, led us to believethat some object was before their eyes of more than common interest. So it proved. We had scarcely halted, when they were seen to retiresuddenly from the cover, and rising erect, run at full speed back downthe hill--at the same time making signals to us to conceal ourselves inthe timber. Fortunately, there was timber near; and in a few seconds we had allridden into it, taking the horses of the trappers along with us. The declivity of the hill enabled the scouts to run with swiftness; andthey were among the trees almost as soon as we. "What is it?" inquired several in the same breath. "Injun on the back-track, " replied the panting trappers. "Indians!--how many of them?" naturally asked one of the rangers. "Who slayed Injuns? We saved a Injun, " sharply retorted Rube. "Damnyur palaver! thur's no time for jaw-waggin'. Git yur rope ready, Bill. 'Ee durned greenhorns! keep down yur guns--shootin' won't do hyur--yu'dhev the hul gang back in the flappin' o' a beaver's tail. You, Bill, rope the redskin, an let the young fellur help--he knows how; an ef bothshed miss 'im, I ain't agwine. 'Ee hear me, fellurs? Don't ne'er a oneo' ye fire: ef a gun ur wanted, Targuts 'll be surfficient, I guess. For yur lives don't a fire them ur blunderboxes o' yourn till ees see memiss--they'd be heerd ten mile off. Ready wi' yur rope, Billee? You, young fellur? All right; mind yur eyes both an snare the durned niggurlike a swamp-rabbit. Yanner he comes, right inter the trap, by thejumpin Geehosophat!" The pithy chapter of instructions above detailed was delivered in farless time than it takes to read it. The speaker never paused till hehad uttered the final emphatic expression, which was one of hisfavourite phrases of embellishment. At the same instant I saw, just appearing above the crest of the ridge, the head and shoulders of a savage. In a few seconds more, the bodyrose in sight; and then the thighs and legs, with a large piebaldmustang between them. I need scarcely add that the horse was going at agallop; it is a rare sight when a horse-Indian rides any other gait. There was only one. The scouts were sure of this. Beyond the swellstretched an open prairie, and if the Indian had had companions orfollowers, they would have been seen. He was alone. What had brought him back on the trail? Was he upon the scout? No; he was riding without thought, and without precaution. A scoutwould have acted otherwise. He might have been a messenger; but whither bound? Surely the Indianshad left no party in our rear? Quickly these inquiries passed among us, and quick conjectures wereoffered in answer. The voyageur gave the most probable solution. "Pe gar! he go back for ze sheel. " "Shield! what shield?" "Ah, you no see 'im. I see 'im wiz me eye; he vas cache dans lesherbes--von larzge sheel--bouclier tres gros--fabrique from ze peau ofde buffle--ze parfleche--et garnie avec les scalps--frais et sanglants--scalps Mexicaines. Mon Dieu!" The explanation was understood. Le Blanc had observed a shield amongthe bushes where we had halted--like enough left behind by some of thebraves. It was garnished with scalps, fresh Mexican scalps--likeenough. The Indian had forgotten both his armour and his trophies; hewas on his way to recover them--like enough. There was no time either for further talk or conjecture; the redhorseman had reached the bottom of the hill; in ten seconds more, hewould be lazoed or shot! Garey and I placed ourselves on opposite sides of the path, both withour lazoes coiled and ready. The trapper was an adept in the use ofthis singular weapon, and I too understood something of its management. The trees were in our way, and would have prevented the proper windingof it; but it was our intention to spur clear of the timber--the momentthe Indian came within range--and "rope" him on the run. Rube crouched behind Garey, rifle in hand, and the rangers were alsoready, in case both the lazoes and Rube's rifle should miss. It would not do to let the Indian either go on or go back; in eithercase he would _report_ us. Should he pass the spot where we were, hewould observe our tracks in a minute's time--even amidst the thousandsof others--and would be certain to return by another route. Should heescape from us, and gallop away, still worse. He must not be permittedeither to go on or go back; he must be captured or killed! For my part, I desired that the former should be his destiny. I had nofeeling of revenge to gratify by taking the life of this red man; andhad his capture not been absolutely necessary to our own safety, Ishould willingly have let him come and go as he listed. Some of my comrades were actuated by very different motives. Killing aComanche Indian was, by their creed, no greater crime than killing awolf, a panther, or a grizzly bear; and it was not from any motives ofmercy that the trapper had cautioned the others to hold their fire;prudence alone dictated the advice--he had given his reason--the reportsof our guns might be heard. Through the leaves, I looked upon the horseman as he advanced. Afine-looking fellow he was--no doubt one of the distinguished warriorsof his tribe. What his face was I could not see, for the war-paintdisfigured it with a hideous mask; but his body was large, his chestbroad and full, his limbs symmetrical, and well turned to the very toes. He sat his horse like a centaur. I had no opportunity for prolonged observation. Without hesitating, theIndian galloped up. I sprang my horse clear of the timber. I wound the lazo around my head, and hurled it towards him; I saw the noose settling over his shoulders, and falling down to his hips. I spurred in the opposite direction; I felt the quick jerk, and the tautrope told me I had secured the victim. I turned in my saddle, and glanced back; I saw the rope of Garey aroundthe neck of the Indian's mustang, tightened, and holding him fast. Horse and horseman--both were ours! CHAPTER EIGHTY THREE. MY PLAN. The savage did not yield himself up without resistance. Resistance withan Indian is instinctive, as with a wild animal. He flung himself fromhis horse, and drawing his knife, with a single cut severed the thongthat bound him. In another instant, he would have been off among the bushes; but beforehe could move from the spot, half-a-dozen strong arms were around him;and in spite of his struggles, and the dangerous thrusts of his longSpanish knife, he was "choked" down and held fast. My followers were for making short work with him. More than one hadbared their blades to finish him upon the spot, and would have done so, had I not interfered. I was averse to spilling his blood; and by myintercession, his life was spared. To prevent him from giving us further trouble, however, we tied him to atree in such a manner that he could not possibly free himself. The mode of securing him was suggested by Stanfield, the backwoodsman:it was simple and safe. A tree was chosen, whose trunk was large enoughto fill the embrace of the Indian, so that the ends of his fingers justmet when his arms were drawn to their full stretch around it. Upon hiswrists, thongs of raw hide were firmly looped, and then knottedtogether. His ankles were also bound by similar cords--the ends ofwhich were staked, so as to hinder him from worming around the tree, andperchance wearing off his thongs, or chafing them, so that they mightbreak. The ligature was perfect; the most expert jail-breaker could not havefreed himself from such a fastening. It was our intention to leave him thus, and _perhaps_ set him free uponour return, if we should return by that way--a doubtful hypothesis. I thought not at the time of the cruelty we were committing. We hadspared the Indian's life--a mercy at the moment--and I was too muchconcerned about the future of others, to waste reflection on his. We had taken the precaution to leave him at some distance from the placeof his capture; others of his party might come after, and discover him, soon enough to interfere with our plans. His prison had been chosen faroff in the depth of the woods; even his shouts could not have been heardby any one passing along the trail. He was not to be left entirely alone: a horse was to be his companion--not his own--for one of the rangers had fancied an exchange. Stanfield--not well mounted--had proposed a "swop, " as he jocoselytermed it, to which the savage had no alternative but consent; and theKentuckian, having "hitched" his worn-out nag to a tree, led off theskew-bald mustang in triumph, declaring that he was now "squar wi' theIndyens. " Stanfield would have liked it better had the "swop" been madewith the renegade who had robbed him. We were about to leave the place and move on, when a bright ideasuddenly came into my head: it occurred to me that I too might effect aprofitable exchange with our new-made captive--a swop, not of horses, but of men--in short, an exchange of persons--of identities! In truth, a bright idea it was, and one that promised well. I have said that I had already conceived a plan for the rescue of mybetrothed: I had done so during the night; and all along the route, inmy mind I had been maturing it. The incident that had just transpiredhad given rise to a host of new ideas--one, above all, that promised toaid me in facilitating the execution of my design. The capture of thesavage, which had at first given me uneasiness, I now regarded in a verydifferent light--as a fortunate circumstance. I could not help thinkingthat I recognised in it the finger of Providence, and the thoughtinspired me with hope. I felt that I was not forsaken. The plan I had proposed to myself was simple enough; it would requiremore of courage than stratagem; but to the former I was sufficientlynerved by the desperate circumstances in which we had become involved. I proposed to enter the Indian camp in the night--of course, by stealthand under cover of the darkness--to find the captive, if possible--sether limbs free--and then trust to chance for the escape of both of us. If once inside the encampment, and within reach of her, a sudden _coup_might accomplish all this: success was not beyond possibility, norprobability neither; and the circumstances admitted of no plan thatpromised so fairly. To have attempted fight with my few followers against such a host--tohave attacked the Indian camp, even under the advantage of an alarm--would have been sheer madness. It must have resulted not only in ourimmediate defeat, but would have destroyed our last chance of rescuingthe captive. The savages, once alarmed and warned, could never beapproached again. Isolina would be lost for ever. My followers agreed with me upon the imprudence of an attack. Follythey termed it--and not from any motives of fear: they were willing torisk all; and had I so ordered, would have charged with me, rifle inhand, into the very midst of the enemy's lines. I knew they would, every man of them. Even the voyageur--the least brave of the party--would not have flinched; for, in the midst of brave men, cowards ceaseto be. But such a course would indeed have been folly--madness. We thought notof adopting it; all approved of the plan I had formed, and which I hadalready laid before them as we tarried by the noon halting-place. Several had volunteered to be my companions--to venture along with meinto the camp of the savage; to share with me the extreme of the danger;but for several reasons I was determined to go alone. Should even oneof them be along with me, I saw it would double the risk of detection. In this matter, stratagem, not strength, was needed, and speed in thelast moments would be worth both. Of course, I did not think to get the captive clear without beingobserved and pursued--such an expectation would have been preposterous;she would be too well watched by the savages--not only by her jailers, but by the jealous eyes of those rival claimants of her body. No; on the contrary, I anticipated pursuit--close and eager. It mightbe strife; but I trusted to my own swiftness of foot, and to hers--forwell knew I her bold heart and free limb: it was no helpless burden Ishould have to bring away. I trusted to my being able to baffle their pursuit--to keep them backwhile she ran forward. For that purpose, I should take with me my knifeand revolvers--I trusted to these, and much to chance, or, perhaps, Ishould rather say, to God. My cause was good--my heart firm andhopeful. Other precautions I intended to take: horses ready as near as they mightbe brought; men also ready in their saddles, rifle in hand--ready forfight, or flight. Such was the enterprise upon which I was resolved. Success or death wasstaked upon the issue. If not successful, I cared not to survive it. CHAPTER EIGHTY FOUR. "PAINTING INJUN. " Withal, I was not reckless. If not sanguine, I was far from despondent;and as I continued to dwell upon it, the prospect seemed to brighten, and success to appear less problematical. One of the chief difficulties I should have to encounter would be_getting into_ the camp. Once inside the lines--that is, among thecamp-fires and tents, if there should be any--I should be comparativelysafe. This I knew from experience; for it would not be my first visitto an encampment of prairie-Indians. Even in their midst, mingling withthe savages themselves, and under the light of their glaring fires, Ishould be less exposed to the danger of detection than while attemptingto cross their lines. First, I should have to pass the outlyingpickets: then within these the horse-guards; and within these, again, the horses themselves! You may smile when I assert that the last was to me a source ofapprehension as great as either of the others. An Indian horse is asentinel not to be despised. He is as much the enemy of the white manas his master; and partly from fear, and partly from actual antipathy, he will not permit the former to approach him. The human watcher may benegligent--may sleep upon his post--the horse never. The scent of awhite man, or the sight of a skulking form, will cause him to snort andneigh; so that a whole camp will either be _stampeded_ or put upon thealert in a few minutes. Many a well-planned attack has been defeated bythe warning-snort of the sentinel mustang. It is not that the prairie-horse feels any peculiar attachment for theIndian; strange if he did--since tyrant more cruel to the equine racedoes not exist; no driver more severe, no rider more hard, than ahorse-Indian. It is simply the faithfulness which the noble animal exhibits for hiscompanion and master, with the instinct which tells him when that masteris menaced by danger. He will do the same service for a white as for ared man; and often does the weary trapper take his lone rest, with fullconfidence that the vigil will be faithfully kept by his horse. Had there been dogs in the Indian camp, my apprehensions would have beenstill more acute--the danger would have been more than doubled. Withinthe lines, these cunning brutes would have known me as an enemy: thedisguise of garments would not have availed me by the scent, an Indiandog can at once tell the white from the red man; and they appear to holda real antipathy against the race of the Celt or Saxon. Even in time oftruce, a white man entering an Indian camp can scarcely be protectedfrom the wolfish pack. I knew there were no dogs--we saw tracks of none. The Indians had beenupon the war-trail; and when they proceed on these grand expeditions, their dogs, like their women, are left "at home. " I had reason to bethankful that such was their custom. Of course it was my intention to go disguised; it would have beenmadness to have gone otherwise. In the darkest night, my uniform wouldhave betrayed me; but necessarily, in my search for the captive, Ishould be led within the light of the fires. It was my design, therefore, to counterfeit the Indian costume; and howto do this had been for some time the subject of my reflections. I hadbeen congratulating myself on the possession of the buffalo-robe. Thatwould go far towards the disguise; but other articles were wanting tocomplete my costume. The leggings and moccasins--the plumed head-dressand neck ornaments--the long elfin locks--the bronze complexion of armsand breast--the piebald face of chalk, charcoal, and vermilion--wherewere all these to be obtained? There was no _costumerie_ in the desert. In the moment of excitement that succeeded the capture of the savage, Ihad been thinking of other things. It was only when we were about topart from him that the idea jumped into my mind--that bright idea--that_he_ could _furnish_ me--the very man. I turned back to reconnoitre his person. Dismounting, I scanned him from head to foot. With delight my eyesrested upon his buckskin-leggings, his bead-embroidered moccasins, hispendent collar of javali-tusks, his eagle-plumes stained red, and theample robe of jaguar-skins that draped his back--all pleased me much. But that we were bent on an errand of peril, the last-mentioned articlewould not have been left there. My followers had eyed it with avidity, and more than one of them had been desirous of removing it; but theprospect of proximate peril had damped the ardour for spoil; and thesplendid robe had been permitted to remain, where so gracefully it hung, upon the shoulders of the savage. It soon replaced the buffalo robe upon mine; my boots were cast aside, and my legs encased in the scalp-fringed leggings; my hips were swathedin the leathern "breech-clout;" and my feet thrust into the foot-gear ofthe Comanche, which, by good fortune, fitted to a hair. There was yet much required to make me an Indian. Comanches upon thewar-trail go naked from the waist upward--the tunic-shirt is only wornby them, when hunting, or on ordinary occasions. How was I tocounterfeit the copper skin--the bronzed arms and shoulders?--themottled breast--the face of red, and white, and black? Paint only couldaid me; and where was paint to be procured? The black we could imitatewith gunpowder, but-- "Wagh!" ejaculated Rube, who was seen holding in his hands a wolf-skin, prettily trimmed and garnished with quills and beads--the medicine-bagof the Indian. "Wagh! I thort we'd find the mateeruls in the niggur'spossible-sack--hyur they be!" Rube had dived his hand to the bottom of the embroidered bag; and, whilespeaking, drew it triumphantly forth. Several little leathern packetsappeared between his fingers, which, from their stained outsides, evidently contained pigments of various colours; whilst a small shiningobject in their midst proved, on closer inspection, to be alooking-glass! Neither the trappers nor myself were astonished at finding these odd"notions" in such a place; on the contrary, it was natural we shouldhave looked for them there. Seldom in peace, but never in time of war, does the Indian ride abroad without his rouge and his mirror! The colours were of the right sort, and corresponded exactly with thosethat glittered upon the skin of the captive warrior. Under the keen edge of a bowie, my moustaches came off in a twinkling: alittle grease was procured; the paints were mixed; and placing myselfside by side with the Indian, I stood for _his_ portrait. Rube was thepainter--a piece of soft buckskin his brush--the broad palm of Garey hispalette. The operation did not last a great while. In twenty minutes it was allover; and the Indian brave and I appeared the exact counterparts of eachother. Streak by streak, and spot by spot, had the old trapper imitatedthose hideous hieroglyphics--even to the red hand upon the breast, andthe cross upon the brow. In horrid aspect, the copy quite equalled theoriginal. One thing was still lacking--an important element in the metamorphosisof disguise: I wanted the long snaky black tresses that adorned the headof the Comanche. The want was soon supplied. Again the bowie blade was called upon toserve as scissors; and with Garey to perform the tonsorial feat, the_chevelure_ of the Indian was shorn of its flowing glories. The savage winced as the keen blade glistened around his brow; he had noother thought than that he was about to be scalped alive! "'Tain't the way I'd raise his har, the dodrotted skunk!" muttered Rube, as he stood watching the operation. "Fotch the hide along wi' it, Bill!It 'll save bother--'ee'll hev to make a wig ef 'ee don't; skin 'im, durn 'im!" Of course Garey did not give heed to this cruel counsel, which he knewwas not meant for earnest. A rude "scratch" was soon constructed, and being placed upon my head, was attached to my own waving locks. Fortunately, these were of darkcolour, and the hue corresponded. I fancied I saw the Indian smile when he perceived the use we weremaking of his splendid tresses. It was a grim smile, however; and fromthe first moment to the last, neither word nor ejaculation escaped fromhis lips. Even I was forced to smile; I could not restrain myself. The oddtravestie in which we were engaged--the strange commingling of the comicand serious in the act--and above all, the ludicrous look of the captiveIndian, after they had close cropped him--was enough to make a stonesmile. My comrades could not contain themselves, but laughed outright. The plume-bonnet was now placed on my head. It was fortunate the bravehad one--for this magnificent head-dress is rarely worn on awar-expedition; fortunate, for it aided materially in completing thecounterfeit. With it upon my head, the false hair could hardly havebeen detected under the light of day. There was no more to be done. The painter, hairdresser, and costumier, had performed their several offices--I was ready for the masquerade. CHAPTER EIGHTY FIVE. THE LAST HOURS ON THE TRAIL. More cautiously than ever, we now crept along the trail--advancing onlyafter the ground had been thoroughly "quartered" by the scouts. Timewas of the least consequence. The fresh sign of the Indians told usthey were but a short way ahead of us: we believed we could have riddenwithin sight of them at any moment. We did not wish to set eyes on them before sunset. It could be noadvantage to us to overtake them on the march, but the contrary. Somelagging Indian might be found in the rear of the band; we might come incontact with him, and thus defeat all our designs. We hung back, therefore--allowing sufficient time for the savages topitch their camp, and for their stragglers to get into it. On the other hand, I did not desire to arrive late. The council was tobe held that night--so she had learned--and after the council would comethe _crisis_. I must be in time for both. At what hour would the council take place? It might be just after they had halted. The son of a chief, and a chiefhimself--for the white renegade was a leader of red men--a questionbetween two such men would not remain long undecided. And a question ofso much importance--involving such consequence--property in body andsoul--possession of the most beautiful woman in the world! Oh! I wondered! Could these hideous, ochre-stained, grease-bedaubedbrutes appreciate that peerless beauty? Impossible, I thought. Thedelicate lines of her loveliness would be lost upon their gross eyes andcoarse sensual hearts. That pearl beyond price--paste would havesatisfied them as well--they could not distinguish the diamond fromcommon glass. And yet the Comanche is not without love-craft. Coarse as might be thepassion, no doubt they loved her--both loved her--red savage and whitesavage. For this very reason, the "trial" would not be delayed; the questionwould be speedily decided--in order that the quarrel of the chiefs mightbe brought to an end. For this very reason, the crisis might behastened, the council take place at an early hour; for this very reason, I too must needs be early upon the spot. It was my aim to arrive within sight of the Indian encampment justbefore night--in the twilight, if possible--that we might be able tomake reconnoissance of the ground before darkness should cover it fromour view. We were desirous of acquainting ourselves with the lay of thesurrounding country as well--so that, in the event of our escape, weshould know which was the best direction to take. We timed our advance by the sign upon the trail. The keen scouts couldtell, almost to a minute, when the latest tracks were made; and by thiswe were guided. Both glided silently along, their eyes constantly andearnestly turned upon the ground. Mine were more anxiously bent upon the sky; from that quarter I mostfeared an obstacle to the execution of my purpose. What a change hadcome over my desires!--how different were they from those of the twopreceding nights! The very same aspect of the heavens that had hithertochagrined and baffled me, would now have been welcome. In my heart, Ihad lately execrated the clouds; in that same heart, I was now prayingfor cloud, and storm, and darkness! Now could I have blessed the clouds, but there were none to bless--not aspeck appeared over the whole face of the firmament--the eye beheld onlythe illimitable ether. In another hour, that boundless blue would be studded with millions ofbright stars; and, silvered by the light of a resplendent moon, thenight would be as day. I was dismayed at the prospect. I prayed for cloud and storm, anddarkness. Human heart! when blinded by its own petty passions, unreasoning and unreasonable; my petition was opposed to the unalterablelaws of nature--it could not be heard. I can scarcely describe how the aspect of that bright sky troubled andpained me. The night-bird, which joys only in deepest darkness, couldnot have liked it less. Should there be moonlight, the enterprise wouldbe made more perilous--doubly more. Should there be moonlight--why needI form an hypothesis? Moonlight there _would_ be to a certainty. Itwas the middle of the lunar month, and the moon would be up almost asthe sun went down--full, round, and almost as bright as he--with nocloud to cover her face, to shroud the earth from her white light. Certainly there would be moonlight! Well thought of was that disguise--well spent our labour in making it soperfect. Under the moonlight, to it only could I trust; by it onlymight I expect to preserve my incognito. But the eye of the Indian savage is sharp, and his perception keen--almost as instinct itself. I could not rely much upon my borrowedplumes, should speech be required from me. Just on account of thecunning imitation, the perfectness of the pattern, some friends of theoriginal might have business with me--might approach and address me. Iknew but a few words of Comanche--how should I escape from the colloquy? Such thoughts were troubling me as we rode onward. Night was near; the sun's lower limb rested on the far horizon of thewest: the hour was an anxious one to me. The scouts had been for some time in the advance, without returning toreport: and we had halted in a copse to wait for them. A high hill wasbefore us, wooded only at the summit; over this hill the war-trail led. We had observed the scouts go into the timber. We kept our eyes uponthe spot, waiting for their return. Presently one of them appeared just outside the edge of the wood--Garey, we saw it was. He made signs to us to come on. We rode up the hill, and entered among the trees. After going a littlefarther, we diverged from the trail. The scout guided us through thetrunks over the high summit. On the other side, the wood extended onlya little below; but we did not ride beyond it; we halted before comingto its edge, and dismounting, tied our horses to the trees. We crept forward on our hands and knees till we had reached the utmostverge of the timber; through the leaves we peered, looking down into theplain beyond. We saw smokes and fires, and a skin-lodge in their midst;we saw dark forms around--men moving over the ground, and horses withtheir heads to the grass: we were looking upon the camp of theComanches. CHAPTER EIGHTY SIX. THE COMANCHE CAMP. We had reached our ground just at the moment I desired. It wastwilight--dark enough to render ourselves inconspicuous under theadditional shadow of the trees--yet sufficiently clear to allow a fullreconnoissance of the enemy's position. Our point of view was a goodone--under a single _coup-d'oeil_ commanding the encampment, and a vastextent of country around it. The hill we had climbed--a sort ofisolated _butte_--was the only eminence of any considerable elevationfor miles around; and the site of the camp was upon the plain thatstretched away from its base--apparently beyond limit! The plain was what is termed a "pecan" prairie--that is, a prairie halfcovered with groves, copses, and lists of woodland--in which thepredominating tree is the pecan--a species of hickory (_caryaolivaeformis_), bearing an oval, edible nut of commercial value. Between the groves and _mottes_ of timber, single trees stood apart, their heads fully developed by the free play given to their branches. These park-looking trees, with the coppice-like groves of the pecan, lent an air of high civilisation to the landscape; and a winding stream, whose water, under the still lingering rays, glistened with the sheen ofsilver, added to the deception. Withal, it was a wilderness--abeautiful wilderness. Human hands had never planted those groves--humanagency had nought to do with the formation or adornment of that lovelylandscape. Upon the bank of the stream, and about half a mile from the base of thehill, stood the Indian camp. A glance at the position showed how wellit had been chosen--not so much for defence, as to protect it against asurprise. Assuming the lodge--there was but one--as the centre of the camp, it wasplaced upon the edge of a small grove, and fronting the stream. Fromthe tent to the water's edge, the plain sloped gently downward, like theglacis of a fortification. The smooth sward, that covered the spacebetween the trees and the water, was the ground of the camp. On thiscould be seen the dusky warriors, some afoot, standing in listlessattitudes, or moving about; others reclining upon the grass, and stillothers bending over the fires, as if engaged in the preparation of theirevening meal. A line of spears, regularly placed, marked the allotment of each. Theslender shafts, nearly five yards in length, rose tall above the turf--like masts of distant ships--displaying their profusion of pennons andbannerets, of painted plumes and human hair. At the base of each couldbe seen the gaudy shield, the bow and quiver, the embroidered pouch andmedicine-bag of the owner; and grouped around many of them appearedobjects of a far different character--objects that we could notcontemplate without acute emotion. They were women: enough of lightstill ruled the sky to show us their faces; they were white women--thecaptives. Strange were my sensations as I regarded those forms and faces; but theywere far off--even a lover's eye was unequal to the distance. Flanking the camp on right and left were the horses. They occupied abroad belt of ground--for they were staked out to feed--and each wasallowed the length of his lazo. Their line converged to the rear, andmet behind the grove--so that the camp was embraced by an arc ofbrowsing animals, the river forming its chord. Across the stream, theencampment did not extend. I have said that the spot was well selected to guard against a surprise. Its peculiar adaptability consisted in the fact, that the little grovethat backed the camp was the only timber within a radius of a thousandyards. All around, and even on the opposite side of the stream, theplain was treeless, and free from cover of any kind. There were noinequalities of ground, neither "brake, bush, nor scaur, " to shelter theapproach of an enemy. Had this position been chosen, or was it accidental? In such a placeand at such a time, it was not likely they had any fear of a surprise;but with the Indian, caution is so habitually exercised, that it becomesalmost an instinct; and doubtless under such a habit, and without anyforethought whatever, the savages had fixed upon the spot where theywere encamped. The grove gave them wood; the stream, water; the plain, pabulum for their horses. With one of these last for their own food, they had all the requisites of an Indian camp. At the first glance, I saw the strength of their position--not so muchwith the eye of a soldier, as with that of a hunter and bush-fighter didI perceive it. In a military sense, it offered no point of defence; butit could not be approached by stratagem, and that is all thehorse-Indian ever fears. Alarm him not too suddenly--give him fiveminutes' warning, and he cannot be attacked. If superior in strength, you may chase him; but you must be better mounted than he to bring himto close combat. Retreat, not defence, is generally the leading idea ofComanche strategy, unless when opposed to a Mexican foe. Then he willstand fight with the courage of a master. As I continued to gaze at the Indian encampment, my heart sank withinme. Except under cover of a dark night--a very dark night--it could notbe entered. The keenest spy could not have approached it: it appearedunapproachable. The same thought must at that moment have occupied the minds of mycompanions; I saw the gloom of disappointment on the brows of all asthey knelt beside me silent and sullen. None of them said a word; theyhad not spoken since we came upon the ground. CHAPTER EIGHTY SEVEN. NO COVER. In silence I continued to scrutinise the camp, but could discover nomode of approaching it secretly or in safety. As I have said, the adjacent plain, for nearly a thousand yards' radius, was a smooth grass-covered prairie. Even the grass was short: it wouldscarcely have sheltered the smallest game--much less afford cover forthe body of a man--much less for that of a horse. I should willingly have crawled on hands and knees, over the half-milethat separated us from the encampment; but that would have been of noservice; I might just as well have walked erect. Erect or prostrate, Ishould be seen all the same by the occupants of the camp, or the guardsof the horses. Even if I succeeded in effecting an entrance within thelines, what then? Even should I succeed in finding Isolina, what then?what hope was there of our getting off? There was no probability of our being able to pass the lines unseen--notthe least. We should certainly be pursued, and what chance for us toescape? It was not probable we could run for a thousand yards with thehue and cry after us? No; we should be overtaken, recaptured, spearedor tomahawked upon the spot! The design I had formed was to bring my horse as close as possible tothe camp; to leave him under cover, and within such a distance as wouldmake it possible to reach him by a run; then mounting with my betrothedin my arms, to gallop on to my comrades. The men, I had intended, should be placed in ambush, as near to the camp as the nature of theground would permit. But my preconceived plan was entirely frustrated by the peculiarsituation of the Indian encampment. I had anticipated that there wouldbe either trees, brushwood, or broken ground in its neighbourhood, undershelter of which we might approach it. To my chagrin, I now saw thatthere was none of the three. There was no timber nearer than the grovein which we were lying--the copse excepted--and to have reached thiswould have been to enter the camp itself. We appeared to have advanced to the utmost limit possible that affordedcover. A few feet farther would have carried us outside the margin ofthe wood, and then we should have been as conspicuous to the denizens ofthe camp, as they now were to us. Forward we dared not stir--not a stepfarther. I was puzzled and perplexed. Once more I turned my eyes upon the sky, but I drew not thence a ray of hope; the heavens were too bright; thesun had gone down in the west; but in the east was rising, full, round, and red, almost his counterpart. How I should have welcomed an eclipse!I thought of Omnipotent power; I thought of the command of theIsraelitish captain. I should have joyed to see the shadow of theopaque earth pass over that shining orb; and rob it of its borrowedlight, if only for a single hour! Eclipse or cloud there was none--no prospect of one or other--no hopeeither from the earth or the sky. Verily, then, must I abandon my design, and adopt some other for therescue of my betrothed? What other? I could think of none: there was no other that might be termed a plan. We might gallop forward, and openly attack the camp? Sheer desperationalone could impel us to such a course, and the result would be ruin toall--to her among the rest. We could not hope to rescue _her_--nine toa hundred--for we saw and could now count our dusky foemen. They wouldsee us afar off; would be prepared to receive us--prepared to hurl theirmasses upon us--to destroy us altogether. Sheer desperation! What other plan?--what-- Something of one occurred to me at that moment: a slight shadow of ithad crossed my mind before. It seemed practicable, though fearfullyperilous; but what of peril? It was not the time, nor was I in themood, to regard danger. Anything short of the prospect of certain deathhad no terror for me then; and even this I should have preferred tofailure. We had along with us the horse of the captive Comanche. Stanfield hadbrought the animal, having left his own in exchange. I thought ofmounting the Indian horse, and riding him into the camp. In thisconsisted the whole of the scheme that now presented itself. Surely the idea was a good one--a slight alteration of my original plan. I had already undertaken to play the _role_ of an Indian warrior, whilewithin the camp; it would only require me to begin the personationoutside the lines, and make my _entree_ along with my _debut_. Therewould be more dramatic appropriateness, with a proportionate increase ofdanger. But I did not jest thus; I had no thought of merriment at the time. Thetravesty I had undertaken was no burlesque. The worst feature of this new scheme was the increased risk of beingbrought in contact with the friends of the warrior of the red hand--ofbeing accosted by them, and of course expected to make reply. How couldI avoid meeting them--one or more of them? If interrogated, how shunmaking answer? I knew a few words of the Comanche tongue, but notenough to hold a conversation in it. Either my false accent or my voicewould betray me! True, I might answer in Spanish. Many of theComanches speak this language; but my using it would appear a suspiciouscircumstance. There was another source of apprehension: I could not confide in theIndian horse. He had endeavoured to fling Stanfield all along the way--kicking violently, and biting at his Saxon rider while seated upon hisback. Should he behave in a similar manner with me while entering thecamp, it would certainly attract the attention of the Indian guards. Itwould lead to scrutiny and suspicion. Still another fear: even should I succeed in the main points--inentering the camp, finding the captive, and wresting her from the handsof her jailers--how after? I could never depend upon this capriciousmustang to carry us clear of the pursuit--there would be others asswift, perhaps swifter than he, and we should only be carried back todie. Oh! that I could have taken my own steed near to the line ofyonder guard--oh! that I could have hidden him there! It might not be; I saw that it could not be; and I was forced to abandonthe thoughts of it. I had well-nigh made up my mind to risk all the chances of my assumedcharacter, by mounting the Indian horse. To my comrades I imparted theidea, and asked their counsel. All regarded it as fraught with danger; one or two advised me againstit. They were those who did not understand my motives--who could notcomprehend the sentiment of love--who knew not the strength and couragewhich that noble passion may impart. Little understood they how itsemotions inspire to deeds of daring--how love absorbs all selfishness--even life becoming a secondary consideration, when weighed against thehappiness or safety of its object. These rude men had never loved as I. I gave no ear to their too prudent counsels. Others acknowledged the danger, but saw not how I could act differently. One or two had in their life's course experienced a touch of tenderfeeling akin to mine. These could appreciate; and counselled me inconsonance with my half-formed resolution. I liked their counsel best. One had not yet spoken--one upon whose advice I placed a higher valuethan upon the combined wisdom of all the others. I had not yet takenthe opinion of the earless trapper. CHAPTER EIGHTY EIGHT. RUBE CONSULTING HIS ORACLE. He was standing apart from the rest--leaning, I should rather say, forhis body was not erect, but diagonal. In this attitude it was proppedby his rifle, the butt of which was steadied against the stump of atree, whilst the muzzle appeared to rest upon the bridge of Rube's ownnose. As the man and the piece were about of a length, the two just placed injuxtaposition presented the exact figure of an inverted V, and the smallclose-capped skull of the trapper formed a sufficiently tapering apex tothe angle. Both his hands were clasped round the barrel, near itsmuzzle, his fingers interlocking, while the thumbs lay flat--one uponeach side of his nose. At first glance, it was difficult to tell whether he was gazing into thebarrel of the piece, or beyond it upon the Indian camp. The attitude was not new to him nor to me; it was not the first time Ihad observed him in a posture precisely similar. I knew it was hisfavourite _pose_, when any question of unusual difficulty required allthe energy of his "instincts. " He was now, as often of yore, consultinghis "divinity, " presumed to dwell far down within the dark tube of"Targuts. " After a time, all the others ceased to speak, and stood watching him. They knew that no step would be taken before Rube's advice had beenreceived; and they waited with more or less patience for him to speak. Full ten minutes passed, and still the old trapper neither stirred norspoke. Nor lip nor muscle of him was seen to move; the eyes alone couldbe detected in motion, and these small orbs, scintillating in their deepsockets, were the only signs of life which he showed. Standing rigidand still, he appeared, not a statue, but a scarecrow, propped up by astick; and the long, brown, weather-washed rifle did not belie theresemblance. Full ten minutes passed, and still he spoke not; his "oracle" had notyet yielded its response. I have said that at the first glance it was difficult to tell whetherthe old man was gazing into the barrel of his gun or beyond it. Afterwatching him closely, I observed that he was doing both. Now his eyeswere a little raised, as if he looked upon the plain--anon they werelowered, and apparently peering into the tube. He was drawing the dataof his problem from facts--he was trusting to his divinity for thesolution. For a long time he kept up this singular process of conjuration--alternating his glances in equal distribution between the hollowcylinder and the circle of vision that comprehended within itscircumference the Comanche encampment. The others began to grow impatient; all were interested in the result, and not without reason. Standing upon the limits of a life-danger, itis not strange they should feel anxiety about the issue. Thus far, however, none had offered to interrupt or question the queerold man. None dared. One or two of the party had already had a tasteof his quality when fretted or interfered with, and no one desired todraw upon himself the sharp "talk" of the earless trapper. Garey at length approached, but not until Rube, with a triumphant tossof his head and a scarcely audible "wheep" from his thin lips, showedsigns that the consultation had ended, and that the "joss" who dwelt atthe bottom of his rifle-barrel had vouchsafed an answer! I had watched him with the rest. I liked that expressive hitch of thehead; I liked the low, but momentous sibillation that terminated the_seance_ between him and his familiar spirit. They were signs that theknot was unravelled--that the old trapper had devised some feasible planby which the Indian camp might be entered. Garey and I drew near, but not to question him; we understood him toowell for that. We knew that he must be left free to develop his purposein his own time; and we left him free--simply placing ourselves by hisside. "Wal, Billee!" he said, after drawing a long breath, "an yurself, youngfellur! whet do 'ee both think o' this hyur bizness: looks ugly, don'tit--eh, boyees?" "Tarnal ugly, " was Garey's laconic answer. "Thort so meself at fust. " "Thar ain't no plan o' gettin' in yander, " said the young trapper, in adesponding tone. "The doose thur ain't! what greenhorn put thet idee inter yur brain-pan, Bill?" "Wal, thar are a plan; but 'tain't much o' a one: we've been talkin itover hyar. " "Le's hear it, " rejoined Rube, with an exulting chuckle--"le's hev it, boyee! an quick, Bill, fur time's dodrotted preecious 'bout now. Wal?" "It's jest this, Rube, neyther less nor more: the capt'n proposes totake the Injun's hoss; and ride straight into thar camp. " "Straight custrut in, do 'ee?" "Ov coorse; it 'ud be no use goin about the bush: they kin see hima-comin' from ony side. " "I'll be durned ef they kin--thet I'll be durned. Wagh! they cudn't 'asee me--thet they cudn't, ef ivery niggur o' 'em hed the eyes o' anArgoose es hed eyes all over him--thet they cudn't, Billee. " "How?" I inquired. "Do you mean to say that it is possible for any oneto approach yonder camp without being observed? Is that what you mean, Rube?" "Thet ur preezactly whet I mean, young fellur. No--not adzactly theteyther. One o' _you_ I didn't say: whet I sayed wur, that this hyurtrapper, Rube Rawlins o' the Rocky Mountains, kud slide inter yandercampmint jest like greased lightnin through a gooseberry-bush, 'ithoute'er an Injun seein 'im; an thet, too, ef the red-skinned vamints hedmore eyes in thur heads than they hev lice; which, accordin' to thischild's reck'nin', 'ud guv ivery squaw's son o' the gang as many peeperses thur ur spots in a peecock's tail, an a wheen over to breed, Ikalkerlate. No plan to git inter thur camp 'ithout bein' seed! Wagh!yur gettin' green, Bill Garey!" "How can it be accomplished, Rube? Pray, explain! You know howimpatient--" "Don't git unpayshint, young fellur! thet ur's no use whetsomdiver. Yu'll need payshinse, an a good grist o' thet ur, afore ye kin warm yurshins at yander fires; but 'ee kin do it, an in the nick o' time too, efyu'll go preezactly accordin' to whet old Rube tells ye, an keep yur eyewell skinned and yur teeth from chatterin': I knows yu'll do all thet. I knows yur weasel to the back o' yur neck, an kin whip yur weight inwild cat any day i' the year. Now? D'yur agree to follur mydireekshuns!" "I promise faithfully to act according to your advice. " "Thet ur sensible sayed--durnation'd sensible. Wal, then, I'll gi' yemy device. " As Rube said this, he moved forward to the edge of the timber, making asign for Garey and myself to follow. On reaching its outer edge--but still within cover--he dropped down uponhis knees, behind some evergreen bushes. I imitated his example, and knelt upon his right, while Garey croucheddown on the left. Our eyes were directed upon the Indian camp, of which, and the plainaround it, we had a good view--as good as could be obtained under thelight of a brilliant moon, alas! too brilliant! After we had surveyed the scene for some moments in silence, the oldtrapper condescended to begin the conversation. CHAPTER EIGHTY NINE. THE TRAPPER'S COUNSEL. "Now, Bill Garey, an you, young fellur, jest clap yur eyes on thet 'ere'campmint, an see ef thur ain't a road leadin inter the very heart o'it, straight as the tail o' a skeeart fox. 'Ee see it? eh?" "Not under kiver?" replied Garey interrogatively. "Unner kiver--ivery step o' the way--the best o' kiver. " Garey and I once more scrutinised the whole circumference of theencampment, and the ground adjacent. We could perceive no cover bywhich the camp could be approached. Surely there was none. What could Rube mean? Were there clouds in the sky? Had he perceivedsome portent of coming darkness? and had his words reference to this? I raised my eyes, and swept the whole canopy with inquiring glances. Upto the zenith, around the horizon--east, west, north, and south--Ilooked for clouds, but looked in vain. A few light cirrhi floated highin the atmosphere; but these, even when crossing the moon's disk, castno perceptible shadow. On the contrary, they were tokens of settledweather; and moving slowly, almost fixed upon the face of the heavens, were evidence that no sudden change might be expected. When the trappertalked of entering the camp under cover, he could not have meant undercover of darkness. What then? "Don't see ony kiver, old hoss, " rejoined Garey, after a pause; "neytherbush nor weed. " "Bush!" echoed Rube--"weed! who's talkin 'bout weeds an bushes? Thur'sother ways o' hidin' yur karkidge 'sides stickin' it in a bush or unnera weed. Yur a gettin' durnation'd pumpkin-headed, Bill Garey. I gin tothink yur in the same purdicamint as the young fellur hisself. Yu'vebeen a humbuggin' wi' one o' them ur Mexikin moochachers. " "No, Rube, no. " "Durn me, ef I don't b'lieve you hev, boy. I heern ye tell one o''em--" "What?" "Wagh! ye know well enuf. Didn't 'ee tell one o' 'em gurls at therancherie that ye loved her as hard as a mule kud kick--sartintly yedid; them wur yur preezact words, Billee. " "I was only jokin', hoss. " "Putty jokin' thet ur 'll be when I gits back to Bent's Fort, and tellyur Coco squaw. He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo! Geehosophat! thur _will_ be arumpus bumpus!" "Nonsense, Rube; thar's nothin' ov it. " "Thur must 'a be: yur brain-pan's out o' order, Bill; ye hain't hed aclur idee for days back. Bushes! an weeds too! Wagh! who sayed thurwur bushes? Whur's yur eyes? d'yur see a _bank_?" "A bank!" echoed Garey and I simultaneously. "Ye-es, " drawled Rube--"a bank. I guess thur's bank, right afore yurnoses, ef both o' yur ain't as blind as the kittlins o' a 'possum. Now, do 'ee see it?" Neither of us made reply to the final interrogatory. For the firsttime, we began to comprehend Rube's meaning; and our eyes as well asthoughts were suddenly directed upon the object indicated by his words--the bank of the stream--for to that he referred. I have stated that the little river ran close to the Indian lines, andon one side formed the boundary of the camp. We could tell that thecurrent was towards us; for the stream, on reaching the hill upon whichwe were, turned sharply off, and swept round its base. The Indian campwas on the left bank--though upon its right when viewed up-stream, as wewere regarding it. Any one proceeding up the left bank must thereforenecessarily pass within the lines, and through among the horses thatwere staked nearest to the water. It need not be supposed that under our keen scrutiny the stream hadhitherto escaped observation; I myself had long ago thought of it--as ameans of covering my approach--and time after time had my eyes dweltupon it, but without result: in its channel I could perceive no shelterfrom observation. Its banks were low, and without either rush or bushupon them. The green turf of the prairie stretched up to the verybrink, and scarcely twelve inches below its level was the surface of thecurrent water. This was especially the case along the front of theencampment, and for some distance above and below. Any one endeavouring to enter the camp by stealing up the channel, musthave gone completely under the water, for a swimmer could have beenobserved upon its surface; even if a man could have approached in thisway, there was no hope that a horse could be taken with him; and withoutthe horse, what prospect of ultimate escape? It had seemed to me impossible. More than once had I taken intoconsideration, and as often rejected, the idea. Not so Rube. It was the very scheme he had conceived, and he nowproceeded to point out his practicability. "Now, theen--ees see a bank, do 'ee?" "'Tain't much o' a bank, " replied Garey, rather discouragingly. "No: 'tain't as high as Massoora bluffs, nor the kenyons o' SnakeRiver--thet nob'dy durnies; but ef 'tain't as high as it mout be, it urivery minnit a gettin' higherer, I reck'n. " "Getting higher, you think?" "Ye-es; or whet ur putty consid'able the same thing the t'other ur agettin' lower. " "The water, you mean?" "The water ur a fallin'--gwine down by inches at a jump; an in an hourfrom this, thur'll be bluffs afront o' the camp helf a yurd high--thet'swhet thur'll be. " "And you think I could get into the camp by creeping under them?" "Sure o't. Whet's to hinner ye? it ur easy as fallin' off o' a log. " "But the horse--how could I bring him near?" "Jest the same way as yurself. I tell yur the bed o' thet river ur deepenuf to hide the biggest hoss in creeashun. 'Tur now full, for thereezun thur's been a fresh in consykwince o' last night's rain: 'eeneedn't mind thet--the hoss kin wade or swim eyther, an the bank 'llkiver 'im from the eyes of the Injuns. You kin leave 'im in the river. " "In the water?" "In coorse--yur hoss'll stan thur; an ef he don't, you kin tie his noseto the bank. Don't be skeeart, but 'ee kin take 'im as near as 'eeplease; but don't git too far to wind'ard, else them mustangs 'll smell'im, and then it ur all up both wi' yurself an yur hoss. About twohundred yurds ull be yur likeliest distence. Ef ye git the gurl clur, ye kin easy run thet, I reck'n; put straight for the hoss; an whun yurmounted, gallip like hell! Put straight up higher for the timmer, whurwe'll be cached; an then, durn 'em! ef the red-skins don't catch gossout o' our rifles. Wagh! thet's the way to do the thing--_it_ ur. " Certainly, this plan appeared practicable enough. The sinking of thewater was a new element; it had escaped my observation, though Rube hadnoted it. It was this that had delayed him so long in giving hisopinion; he had been watching it while leaning upon his rifle, thoughnone of the rest of us had thought of such a thing. He remembered theheavy rain of the night before; he saw that it had caused a freshet inthe little river; that its subsidence had begun; and, as in mostprairie-streams, was progressing with rapidity. His keen eye haddetected a fall of several inches during the half-hour we had been uponthe ground. I could myself observe, now the thing was pointed out tome, that the banks were _higher_ than before. Certainly, the idea of approaching by the stream had assumed a morefeasible aspect. If the channel should prove deep enough, I might getthe horse sufficiently near: the rest would have to be left to stratagemand chance. "Yur ridin' in the Injun hoss, " said Rube, "ud niver do: it mout, on thewust pinch: an ef ee don't git in the t'other way, ee kin still try it;but ye kud niver git acrosst through the cavayard 'ithout stampeedin''em: 'em mustangs ud be sure to make sich a snortin', and stompin', anwhigherin', as 'ud bring the hul campmint about ye; an some o' thesharp-eyed niggurs 'ud be sartint to find out yur hide wur white. T'other way es I've desized ur fur the safest--_it_ ur. " I was not long in making up my mind. Rube's counsel decided me, and Iresolved to act accordingly. CHAPTER NINETY. TAKING TO THE WATER. I spent but little time in preparations; these had been made already. It remained only to tighten my saddle-girths, look to the caps of myrevolvers, and place both pistols and knife in the belt behind my back--where the weapons would be concealed by the pendent robe ofjaguar-skins. In a few minutes I was ready. I still loitered a while, to wait for the falling of the water; notlong--my anxiety did not permit me to tarry long. The hour of thecouncil might be nigh--I might be too late for the crisis. Not long didI loiter. It was not necessary. Even by the moonlight, we could distinguish thedark line of the bank separating the grassy turf from the surface of thewater. The rippling current was shining like silver-lace, and, bycontrast, the brown earthy strip that rose vertically above it, could beobserved more distinctly. It was sensibly broader. I could wait no longer. I leaped into the saddle. My comrades crowdedaround me to say a parting word: and with a wish or a prayer upon theirlips, one after another pressed my hand. Some doubted of their everseeing me again--I could tell this from the tone of their leave-taking--others were more confident. All vowed to revenge me if I fell. Rube and Garey went with me down the hill. At the point where the stream impinged upon the hill? there were bushes;these continued up the declivity, and joined the timber upon the summit. Under their cover we descended, reaching the bank just at the salientangle of the bend. A thin skirting of similar bushes ran around thebase of the hill, and we now perceived that by following the path onwhich we had come, the ambuscade might have been brought a little nearerto the camp. But the cover was not so good as the grove upon thesummit, and in case of a retreat, it would be necessary to gallop up thenaked face of the slope, and thus expose our numbers. It was decided, therefore, after a short consultation, to leave the men where they were. From the bend, where we stood, to the Indian camp? the river trendedalmost in a straight line, and its long reach lay before our eyes like aband of shining metal. Along its banks, the bush extended no farther. A single step towards the camp would have exposed us to the view of itsoccupants. At this point, therefore, it was necessary for me to take to the water;and dismounting, I made ready for the immersion. The trappers had spoken their last words of instruction and counsel;they had both grasped my hand, giving it a significant squeeze thatpromised more than words; but to these, too, had they given utterance. "Don't be afeerd, capt'n!" said the younger. "Rube and I won't be faroff. If we hear your pistols, we'll make a rush to'rst you, and meetyou half-way anyhow; and if onything should happen amiss, "--here Gareyspoke with emphasis--"you may depend on't we'll take a bloody revenge. " "Yees!" echoed Rube, "we'll do jest thet. Thur'll be many a nick inTarguts afore next Krissmuss ef _you_ ur rubbed out, young fellur; thetI swar to ye. But don't be skeeart! Keep yur eye sharp-skinned, an yurclaws steady, an thur's no fear but yu'll git clur. Oncest yur clur o'the camp, 'ee may reck'n on us. Put straight for the timmer, an gallipas ef Ole Scratch wur a-gruppin' at the tail o' yur critter. " I waited to hear no more, but leading Moro down the bank, at a placewhere it sloped, I stepped gently into the current. My well-trainedsteed followed without hesitation, and in another instant we were bothbreast-deep in the flood. The water was just the depth I desired. There was a half-yard of bankthat rose vertically above the surface; and this was sufficient toshelter either my own head, as I stood erect, or the frontlet of myhorse. Should the channel continue of uniform depth as far as the camp, the approach would be easy indeed: and, for certain hydrographicreasons, I was under the belief it would. The plumes of the Indian bonnet rose above the level of the meadow-turf;and as the feathers--dyed of gay colours--would have formed aconspicuous object, I took off the gaudy head-dress, and carried it inmy hand. I also raised the robe of jaguar-skin over my shoulders, in order tokeep it dry; and for the same reason, temporarily carried my pistolsabove the water-line. The making of these slight alterations occupied only a minute or so;and, as soon as they were completed, I moved forward through the water. The very depth of the stream proved a circumstance in my favour. Inwading, both horse and man make less noise in deep than in shallowwater; and this was an important consideration. The night was still--too still for my wishes--and the plunging sound would have been heardafar off; but fortunately there were rapids below--just where the streamforced its way through the spur of the hill--and the hissing sough ofthese, louder in the still night, was borne upon the air to the distanceof many miles. Their noise, to my own ears, almost drowned the plashingmade by Moro and myself. I had noted this _point d'avantage_ beforeembarking upon the enterprise. At the distance of two hundred yards from the bushes, I paused to lookback. My purpose was to fix in my memory the direction of the hill, andmore especially the point where my comrades had been left in ambush: inthe event of a close pursuit, it would not do to mistake their exactsituation. I easily made out the place, and observed that, for several reasons, abetter could not have been chosen. The trees that timbered the crest ofthe hill were of a peculiar kind--none more so upon the earth. Theywere a species of arborescent yucca, then unknown to botanists. Many ofthem were forty feet in height; and their thick angular branches, andterminal fascicles of rigid leaves, outlined against the sky, formed asingular, almost an unearthly spectacle. It was unlike any othervegetation upon earth, more resembling a grove of cast-iron than a woodof exogenous trees. Why I regarded the spot as favourable for an ambush, was chiefly this: aparty approaching it from the plain, and climbing the hill, might fancya host of enemies in their front; for the trees themselves, with theirheads of radiating blades, bore a striking resemblance to an array ofplumed gigantic warriors. Many of the yuccas were only six feet inheight, with tufted heads, and branchless trunks as gross as the body ofa man, and they might readily have been mistaken for human beings. I perceived at a glance the advantage of the position. Should theIndians pursue me, and I could succeed in reaching the timber beforethem, a volley from my comrades would check the pursuers, howevernumerous. The nine rifles would be enough, with a few shots from therevolvers. The savages would fancy nine hundred under the mystifyingshadows of that spectral-like grove. With confidence, strengthened by these considerations, I once moreturned my face up-stream; and breasting the current, waded on. CHAPTER NINETY ONE. UP-STREAM. My progress was far from being rapid. The water was occasionally deeperor shallower, but generally rising above my hips--deep enough to rendermy advance a task of time and difficulty. The current was of courseagainst me; and though not very swift, seriously impeded me. I couldhave advanced more rapidly, but for the necessity of keeping my head andthat of my horse below the escarpment of the bank. At times it was aclose fit, with scarcely an inch to spare; and in several places I wascompelled to move with my neck bent, and my horse's nose held close downto the surface of the water. At intervals, I paused to rest myself--for the exertion of wadingagainst the current wearied me, and took away my breath. This wasparticularly the case when I required to go in a crouching attitude; butI chose my resting-places where the channel was deepest, and where Icould stand erect. I was all the while anxious to look up and take a survey of the camp: Iwished to ascertain its distance and position; but I dared not raise myhead above the level of the bank: the sward that crowned it was smoothas a mown meadow, and the edge-line of the turf even and unbroken. HadI shown but my hand above it, it might have been seen in that clearwhite light. I dared not show either hand or head. I had advanced I knew not how far, but I fancied I must be near thelines. All the way, I had kept close under the left bank--which, asRube had predicted, now rose a full half-yard above the water-line. This was a favourable circumstance; and another equally so was the factthat the moon on that--the eastern side--was yet low in the sky, andconsequently the bank flung a broad black shadow that extended nearlyhalf-way across the stream. In this shadow I walked, and its friendlydarkness sheltered both myself and my horse. I fancied I must be near the lines, and longed to reconnoitre them, but, for the reasons already given, dared not. I was equally afraid to make any farther advance--for that might bestill more perilous. I had already noted the direction of the wind: itblew _from_ the river, and _towards_ the camp; and should I bring myhorse opposite the line of the mustangs, I would then be directly towindward of them, and in danger from their keen nostrils. They would bealmost certain to take up the scent of my steed, and utter their warningsnorts. The breeze was light, but so much the worse. There wassufficient to carry the smell, and not enough to drown the plungingnoise necessarily made by my horse moving through the water, with theoccasional hollow pounding of his hoofs upon the rocks at the bottom. If I raised my head over the bank, there was the danger of being seen;if I advanced, the prospect was one of equal peril of being scented. For some moments I stood hesitating--uncertain as to whether I shouldleave my horse, or lead him a little farther. I heard noises from thecamp, but they were not distinct enough to guide me. I looked back down the river, in the hope of being able to calculate thedistance I had come, and by that means decide where I was; but myobservation furnished no data by which I could determine my position. With my eyes almost on a level with the surface of the water, I couldnot judge satisfactorily of distance. I turned my face up-stream again, and scrutinised the parapet line ofthe bank. Just then I saw an object over its edge that answered well to guide me:it was the croup and hip-bones of a horse--one of the mustangs stakednear the bank. I saw neither the head nor shoulders of the animal; itshind-quarters were towards the stream; its head was to the grass--it wasbrowsing. The sight gratified me. The mustang was full two hundred yards abovethe point I had reached. I knew that its position marked the outer lineof the encampment. I was in the very place where I wanted to be--abouttwo hundred yards from the lines. Just at that distance I desired toleave my horse. I had taken the precaution to bring with me my picket-pin--one of theessentials of the prairie traveller. It was the work of a moment todelve it into the bank. I needed not to drive it with violence: mywell-trained steed never broke fastening, however slight. With him thestake was only required as a sign that he was not free to wander. In a moment, then, he was staked; and with a "whisper" I parted fromhim, and kept on up-stream. I had not waded a dozen yards farther, when I perceived a break in theline of the bank. It was a little _gully_ that led slantingly from thelevel of the prairie down to the bed of the stream. Its counterpart Iperceived on the opposite side. The two indicated a ford or crossingused by buffaloes, wild-horses, and other denizens of the prairie. At first, I viewed it with apprehension; I feared it might uncover mybody to the eyes of the enemy; but on coming opposite, my fears wereallayed: the slope was abrupt, and the high ground screened me asbefore. There would be no danger in passing the place. As I was about moving on, an idea arrested me; and I paused to regardthe gully with a look of greater interest. I perceived an advantage init. I had been troubled about the position in which I had left my horse. Should I succeed in getting back, of course it would be under thepressure of a hot pursuit, and my steed was not conveniently placed; hisback was below the level of the bank. He might easily be mounted, buthow should I get him out of the channel of the stream? Only by adesperate leap might he reach the plain above: but he might fail in theeffort--time might be lost, when time and speed would be most wanted. I had been troubled with this thought; it need trouble me no longer. The "crossing" afforded easy access either to or from the bed of theriver--the very thing I wanted. I was not slow to profit by the discovery. I turned back, and havingreleased the rein, led my horse gently up to the break. Choosing a spot under the highest part of the bank, I fastened him asbefore, and again left him. I now moved with more ease and confidence, but with increased caution. I was getting too near to risk making the slightest noise in the water;a single plash might betray me. It was my intention to keep within the channel, until I had passed thepoint where the horses were staked; by so doing, I should avoid crossingthe line of the horse-guards, and, what was quite as important, that ofthe horses themselves--for I was equally apprehensive of beingdiscovered by the latter. Once inside their circle, they would take nonotice of me--for doubtless there would be other Indians within sight;and I trusted to my well-counterfeited semblance of savagery to deceivethe eyes of these equine sentinels. I did not wish to go far beyond their line; that would bring me in frontof the camp itself--too near its fires and its idle groups. I had noticed before starting that there was a broad belt between theplace occupied by the men, and that where their horses were staked. This "neutral" ground was little used by the camp loungers, andsomewhere on the edge of it I was desirous of making my _entree_. I succeeded to my utmost wishes. Closely hugging the bank, I passed thebrowsing mustangs--under their very noses I glided past, for I couldhear them munching the herbage right over me--but so silently did Isteal along, that neither snort nor hoof-stroke heralded my advance. In a few minutes, I was sufficiently beyond them for my purpose. I raised my head; slowly and gently I raised it, till my eyes were abovethe level of the prairie slope. No one was near. I could see the swarth savages grouped around theirfires; but they were a hundred yards off, or more. They were capering, and talking, and laughing; but no ear was bent, and no eye seemed turnedtowards me. No one was near. I grasped the bank with my hands, and drew myself up. Slowly andsilently I ascended, like some demon from the dark trap-door of a stage. On my knees, I reached the level of the turf; and, then gently rising tomy feet, I stood erect within the limits of the Indian camp--to allappearance as complete a savage as any upon the ground! CHAPTER NINETY TWO. COUP-D'OEIL OF THE CAMP. For some minutes I stood motionless as a statue; I stirred neither handnor foot, lest the movement should catch the eye either of thehorse-guards or those moving around the fires. I had already donned my plumed head-dress, before climbing out of thechannel: and after getting on the bank, my first thought was to replacemy pistols in the belt behind my back. The movement was stealthily made; and with like stealthy action, Isuffered the mantle of jaguar-skins to drop from my shoulders, and hangto its full length. I had saved the robe from getting wet; and itsample skirt now served me in concealing my soaked breech-cloth as wellas the upper half of my leggings. These and the moccasins were, ofcourse, saturated with water, but I had not much uneasiness about that. In a prairie camp, and upon the banks of a deep stream, an Indian withwet leggings could not be a spectacle to excite suspicion; there wouldbe many reasons why my counterpart might choose to immerse hiscopper-coloured extremities in the river. Moreover, the buckskin--dressed Indian-fashion--was speedily casting the water; it would soondrip dry; or even if wet, would scarcely be observed under such a light. The spot where I had "landed" chanced to be one of the least conspicuousin the whole area of the camp. I was just between two lights--the redglare of the campfires, and the mellower beams of the moon; and theatmospheric confusion occasioned by the meeting of the distinct kinds oflight favoured me, by producing a species of optical delusion. It wasbut slight, and I could easily be seen from the centre of the camp--butnot with sufficient distinctness for my disguise to be penetrated by anyone; therefore, it was hardly probable that any of the savages wouldapproach or trouble their heads about me. I might pass for one ofthemselves indulging in a solitary saunter, yielding himself to a momentof abstraction or melancholy. I was well enough acquainted with Indianlife to know that there was nothing _outre_ or unlikely in thisbehaviour; such conduct was perfectly _en regle_. I did not remain long on that spot--only long enough to catch thesalient features of the scene. I saw there were many fires, and around each was grouped number of humanforms--some squatted, some standing. The night was cold enough to makethem draw near to the burning logs; and for this reason, but few werewandering about--a fortunate circumstance for me. There was one fire larger than the rest; from its dimensions, it mightbe termed a "bonfire, " such as is made by the flattering and flunkeyishpeasantry of old-world lands, when they welcome home the squire and thecount. It was placed directly in front of the solitary tent, and not adozen paces from its entrance. Its blazing pile gave forth a flood ofred light that reached even to the spot where I stood, and flickered inmy face. I even fancied I could feel its glow upon my cheeks. Around this fire were many forms of men--all of them standing up. Icould see the faces of those who were upon its farther side, but onlythe figures of these on the nearer. The former I could see with almost as much distinctness as if I had beenclose beside them; I could trace the lineaments of their features--thepainted devices on their breasts and faces--the style of theirhabiliments. The sight of these last somewhat astonished me. I had expected to seered-skinned warriors in leggings, moccasins, and breech-cloth, withheads naked or plumed, and shoulders draped under brown robes ofbuffalo-skin. Some such there were, but not all of them were socostumed; on the contrary, I beheld savages shrouded in serapes andcloaks of broadcloth, with calzoneros on their legs, and upon theirheads huge hats of black glaze--regular Mexican sombreros! In short, Ibeheld numbers of them in full Mexican costume! Others, again, were dressed somewhat in a military fashion, with helmetsor stiff shakos, ill-fitting uniform coats of red or blue cloth, oddlycontrasting with the brown buckskin that covered their legs and feet. With some astonishment, I observed these "fancy dresses;" but mysurprise passed away, when I reflected upon who were the men before me, and whence they had lately come, where they had been, and on whaterrand. It was no travesty, but a scene of actual life. The savages, were clad in the spoils they had captured from civilisation. I need not have been at such pains with my toilet; under any guise, Icould scarcely have looked odd in the midst of such a motley crew: evenmy own uniform might have passed muster--all except the colour of myskin. Fortunately, a few of the band still preserved their native costume--afew appeared in full paint and plumes--else I should have been _tooIndian_ for such a company. It cost not a minute to note these peculiarities, nor did I stay toobserve them minutely; my eyes were in search of Isolina. I cast inquiring glances on all sides; I scrutinised the groups aroundthe different fires; I saw others--women--whom I knew to be captives, but I saw not her. I scanned their forms and the faces of those who were turned towards me. A glance would have been enough; I could easily have recognised herface under the firelight--under any light. It was not before me. "In the tent--in the tent: she must be there?" I determined to move away from the spot where I had hitherto beenstanding. My eye, quickened by the necessity of action, had fallen uponthe copse that stretched along the entire background of the camp. At aglance I detected the advantage offered by its shadowy cover. The tent, as already stated, was placed close to the edge of the timber;and in front of the tent was the great fire. Plainly, this was thegravitating point--the centre of motive and motion. If aught ofinterest was to be enacted, there would lie the scene. In the lodge ornear it would she be found--certainly she would be there; and there Iresolved to seek her. CHAPTER NINETY THREE. A FRIENDLY ENCOUNTER. Just then the shrill voice of a crier pealed through the camp, and Iobserved a general movement. I could not make out what the man said, but the peculiar intonation told that he was uttering some signal orsummons. Something of importance was about to transpire. The Indians now commenced circling around the blazing pile, meeting andpassing each other, as if threading the mazes of some silent and solemndance. Others were seen hastening up from distant parts of the camp--asif to observe the actions of those around the fire, or join with them inthe movement. I did not wait to watch them; their attention thus occupied, gave me anopportunity of reaching the copse unobserved; and, without further ado, I started towards it. I walked slowly, and with an assumed air of careless indifference. Icounterfeited the Comanche walk--not that bold free port--themagnificent and inimitable stride, so characteristic of Chippewa andShawano, of Huron and Iroquois--but the shuffling gingery step of anEnglish jockey; for such in reality is the gait of the Comanche Indianwhen afoot. I must have played my part well. A savage, crossing from thehorse-guards towards the great fire, passed near me, and hailed me byname. "_Wakono_!" cried he. "_Que cosa_?" (Well--what matter?) I replied in Spanish, imitating aswell as I could the Indian voice and accent. It was a venture, but Iwas taken at a strait, and could not well remain silent. The man appeared some little surprised at being addressed in thelanguage of Mexico; nevertheless, he understood it, and made rejoinder. "You hear the summons, Wakono? Why do you not come forward? Thecouncil meets; Hissoo-royo is already there. " I understood what was said--more from the Indian's gestures than hisspeech--though the words "summons", "council, " and the name"Hissoo-royo, " helped me to comprehend his meaning. I chanced to knowthe Comanche epithets for the two first, and also that Hissoo-royo (theSpanish wolf) was the Indian appellation of the Mexican renegade. Though I understood what was said, I was not prepared with a reply. Idared not risk the answer in Spanish; for I knew not the extent ofWakono's proficiency in the Andalusian tongue. I felt myself in a dilemma; and the importunate savage--no doubt somefriend of Wakono himself--appeared determined to stick to me. How was Ito get rid of him? A happy idea came to my relief. Assuming an air of extreme dignity, andas though I did not wish to be disturbed in my meditations, I raised myhand and waved the man a parting salute: at the same time turning myhead, I walked slowly away. The Indian accepted the _conge_, and moved off, but evidently with anair of reluctance. As I glanced back over my shoulder, I could see himparting from the spot, with a hesitating step; no doubt somewhatastonished at the strange behaviour of his friend Wakono. I did not look back again until I had placed myself under the shadow ofthe timber. Then I turned to reconnoitre; my friend had continued on: Isaw him just entering among the crowd that circled around the greatfire. Screened from observation by the shadow, I could now pause and reflect. The trifling incident that had caused me some apprehension, had alsohelped me to some useful knowledge: First, I had learned my own name;second, that a council was about to take place; and thirdly, that therenegade, Hissoo-royo, had something to do with the council. This was knowledge of importance; combined with my previous information, everything was now made clear. This council could be no other than thejury-trial between the renegade and the yet nameless chief; the samethat was to decide to which belonged the right of property in mybetrothed. It was about to meet; it had not assembled as yet. Then hadI arrived in time. Neither white savage nor red savage had yet comeinto possession; neither had dared to lay hand on the coveted andpriceless gem. Isolina was still safe--thus singularly preserved from brutal contact. These dogs in the manger--their mutual jealousy had proved herprotection! I was consoled by the thought--strange source of consolation! I was in time, but where was she? From my new position I had a stillbetter view of the camp, its fires, and its denizens. She was nowhereto be seen! "In the lodge, then--she must certainly be there--or--" A new suspicion occurred to me: "She may be kept apart from the othercaptives?--in the copse--she may be concealed in the copse until thesentence be pronounced?" This last conjecture brought along with it hopes and resolves. Idetermined to search the copse. If I should find her there, my emprisewould be easy indeed; at all events, easier than I had anticipated. Though guarded by the savages, I should rescue her from their grasp. The lives of six men--perhaps twice that number--were under my belt. The odds of unarmed numbers would be nothing against the deadly bulletsfrom my revolvers, and I perceived too that most of the savages had laidaside their weapons, confident in the security of their camp. But I might find her alone, or perhaps with but a single jailer. Themeeting of the council favoured the supposition. The men would all bethere--some to take part--others interested in the result, or merelyfrom curiosity to watch the proceedings. Yes, _all_ of them would havean interest in the issue--too surely all. The barbarous customs ofthese savage brutes at that moment came to my remembrance! I stayed no longer to reflect; but gliding into the grove, commenced mysearch for the captive. The ground was favourable to my progress: there was not much underwood, and the trees grew thinly; I could easily pass amongst them without thenecessity of crouching, and without making noise. The silent tread ofthe moccasin was in my favour, as also the dark shadowy foliage thatstretched overhead, hiding the sky from my view. The chief timber of the copse was the pecan hickory--almost anevergreen--and the trees were still in full leaf; only here and there, where the trunks stood far apart, did the moonbeams strike through thethick frondage. The surface of the ground was shrouded from her light;and the narrow aisles through which I passed were as dark as if no moonhad been shining. There was still light enough to reveal some horrid scenes. O Heaven! myheart bleeds at the remembrance. I was wrong in my conjectures. The men had not _all_ gone to thecouncil; the captive women were not _all_ by the camp-fires. I beheldruffian men beside their helpless victims--women--fair white women--withdrooping heads and listless air--dishevelled weeping! O Heaven! myheart bleeds at the remembrance! It recoiled at the sight--it burned with indignation. At every turn didit prompt me to draw knife or pistol; at every step my fingers itched toimmolate a hideous paint-besmeared brute--to slay a "noble" savage. I was restrained only by my own desperate situation--by my apprehensionsfor the safety of Isolina, now more acute than ever. What horridimaginings crowded into my brain, begot by the barbarous scenes thatwere being enacted around me! The monsters, too earnestly occupied with their captives, took no heedof me; and I passed on without interruption. I threaded the pathways of the grove one after another, gliding throughas rapidly as the path would permit; I entered every aisle and glade; Isought everywhere, even to the farthest limits of the wood. I saw moremen--more weeping women--more red ruffianism; I saw nought of her forwhom I searched. "In the tent then--_she must be there_. " I turned my face towards the lodge; and, moving with stealthy step, soonarrived among the trees that stood in the rear. I halted near the edge; and, separating the leaves with my hands, peeredcautiously through. I had no need to search further--Isolina was beforemy eyes. CHAPTER NINETY FOUR. THE COUNCIL. Yes, there was my betrothed--within sight, within hearing, almost withinreach of my hands; and I dared not touch, I dared not speak, I scarcelydared look upon her! My fingers trembled among the leaves--my heart rose and fell--I couldfeel within my breast its strokes, rapid and irregular--I could hear itssonorous vibration. It was not at the first glance that I saw Isolina. On looking throughthe leaves, the _coup d'oeil_ was a scene that quite astonished me, andfor a while occupied my attention. Since I had last gazed upon thegreat fire, the grouping around it had undergone an entire change; a newtableau was presented, that for the moment held me under a spell ofsurprise. The fire no longer blazed, or only slightly, and when stirred; the logshad burned into coals, and now yielded a fainter light, but one more redand garish. It was steady, nevertheless, and the vastness of the pilerendered it strong enough to illumine the camp-ground to its utmostlimits. The fire was still encircled by savages, but no longer standing, norgrouped irregularly, as I had before observed them; on the contrary, they were seated, or rather squatted at equal distances from each other, and forming a ring that girdled the huge mound of embers. There were about twenty of these men--I did not count them--but Iobserved that all were in their native costume--leggings, andbreech-cloth to the waist--nothing above, save the armlets andshell-ornaments of nose, ears, and neck. All were profusely paintedwith chalk, ochre, and vermilion. Beyond doubt, I was looking upon the"council. " The other Indians--they in "fancy dresses"--were still upon the ground;but they were standing behind, retired a pace or two from the circle, and in groups of two, three, or four, talking in low mutterings. Otherswere moving about at a still greater distance from the fire. My observation of all these features of the scene did not occupy tenseconds of time--just so long as my eyes were getting accustomed to thelight. At the end of that interval, my glance rested upon Isolina, and therebecame fixed. My fingers trembled among the leaves; my heart rose and fell; I couldfeel within my breast its strokes, rapid and irregular; I could hear itssonorous vibration. In the chain of Indians that encircled the fire, there was a break--aninterval of ten or a dozen feet. It was directly in front of the lodge, and _above_ the fire; for the ground gently sloped from the tent towardsthe stream. In this spot the captive was seated. Her situation was exactly betweenthe lodge and the fire, and a little retired behind the circle of thecouncil. The tent intervening between her and my position, hadprevented me from seeing her at first. She was half-seated, half-reclining upon a robe of wolfskins. I sawthat her arms were free; I saw that her limbs were bound. Her back wasto the tent, her face turned towards the council. I could not see it. To recognise my betrothed, I did not need to look upon her face; hermatchless form, outlined against the red embers, was easily identified. The full round curve of the neck--the oval lines of the head--themajestic sweep of the shoulders--the arms smooth and symmetrical--allthese were familiar to my eyes, for oft had they dwelt on them inadmiration. I could not be mistaken; the form before me was that gravenupon my heart--it was Isolina's. There was another salient point in this singular tableau, that could notescape observation. Beyond the fire, and directly opposite to whereIsolina was placed, I saw another well-known object--the white steed! He was not staked there, but haltered and held in hand by one of theIndians. He must have been lately brought upon the ground, for fromneither of my former points of observation had I noticed him. He, likehis mistress, was "on trial"--his ownership was also matter of dispute. There was in sight one more object that interested me--not with friendlyinterest did I regard it--but with disgust and indignation. Not seated in the council ring, nor standing among the idle groups, butapart from all, I beheld Hissoo-royo the renegade. Savage as were thered warriors, fiend-like as they appeared with their paint-smearedvisages, not one looked so savage or fiend-like as he. The features of this man were naturally bad: but the paint--for he hadadopted this with every other vile custom of barbarian life--renderedtheir expression positively ferocious. The device upon his forehead wasa death's-head and cross-bones--done in white chalk--and upon his breastappeared the well-imitated semblance of a bleeding scalp--theappropriate symbols of a cruel disposition. There was something unnatural in a white skin thus disfigured, for thenative complexion was not hidden: here and there it could be perceivedforming the ground of the motley elaboration--its pallid hue in strangecontrast with the deeper colours that daubed it! It was not the canvasfor such a picture. Yet there the picture was--in red and yellow, black, white, and blue;there stood the deep-dyed villain. I saw not his rival; I looked for him, but saw him not. Perhaps he wasone of those who stood around?--perhaps he had not yet come up? He wasthe son of the head-chief--perhaps he was inside the lodge? The lastwas the most probable conjecture. The great calumet was brought forward and lit by the fire; it was passedaround the circle, from mouth to mouth--each savage satisfying himselfwith a single draw from its tube. I knew that this was the inauguration of the council. The trial wasabout to proceed. CHAPTER NINETY FIVE. MEASURING THE CHANCES. The situation in which I was placed by chance, could not have beenbetter had I deliberately chosen it. I had under my eyes the councilfire and council, the groups around--in short, the whole area of thecamp. What was of most importance, I could see without being seen. Along theedge of the copse there extended a narrow belt of shadow, similar tothat which had favoured me while in the channel, and produced by a likecause--for the stream and the selvage of the grove were parallel to eachother. The moonbeams fell obliquely upon the grove; and, under thethick foliage of the pecans, I was well screened from her light behind--while the lodge covered me from the glare of the fire in front. I could not have been better placed for my purpose. I saw the advantageof the position, and resolved therefore to abide in it. The observations and reflections thus given in detail occupied me but afew minutes of time. Thought is quick, and at that crisis mine was morethan usually on the alert. Almost instantaneously did I perceive thepoints that most interested me, or had reference to my plans; almostinstantaneously I had mastered the situation, and I next bent my mindupon the way to take advantage of it. I saw there was but one way to proceed: my original scheme must becarried cut. Under so many eyes, there was not the slightest chancethat the captive could be _stolen_ away; she must be taken openly, andby a bold stroke. Of this was I convinced. The question arose, when should I make the attempt? At that moment? She was not ten paces from where I stood! Could I rush forward, andwith my knife set free her limbs? Might we then get off before thesavages could fling themselves upon us? Hopeless--impossible! She was too near them; she was too near therenegade who claimed her as his property. He was standing almost over her, within distance of a single leap. Inhis belt I saw the long triangular blade of a Spanish knife. He couldhave cut me down ere I could have severed a cord of her fastenings. Theattempt would fail; success was hopeless--impossible. I must wait for abetter opportunity; and I waited. I remembered Rube's last word of counsel, not to act too hastily--andhis reasons, that if I must make a "desprit strike for it, " to leave thegrand _coup_ to the last moment. The circumstances could be no moreunfavourable then than now. Under the influence of this idea, I checked my impatience, and waited. I watched Hissoo-royo; I watched the squatted forms around the fire; Iwatched the straggling groups behind them. In turn, my eyes wanderedfrom one to the other. At intervals, too, they rested upon Isolina. Up to this moment I had not seen her countenance; I saw only the reverseof that beautiful image so deeply graven upon my heart. But even then--under that suspense of peril--strange thoughts were passing within me. I felt a singular longing to look upon her face; I remembered the_herredero_. It pleased fortune to smile upon me. So many little incidents wereoccurring in my favour, that I began to believe the fates propitious, and my hopes of success were growing stronger apace. Just then the captive turned her head, and her face was towards me. There was no mark on that fair brow; that soft cheek was without a scar;the delicate skin was intact, smooth, and diaphanous as ever. Theherredero had been merciful! Perhaps something had occurred to interrupt or hinder him from hishorrid work? I prayed that the matador had met with a similar interruption! I couldnot tell--those profuse clusters covered all--neck, bosom, andshoulders--all were hidden under the dark dishevelment. I could nottell, but I did not dare to hope. Cyprio had seen the blood! It was but a momentary glance, and her face was again turned away. At intervals she repeated it, and I saw that she looked in otherdirections. I could note the uneasiness of her manner; I could tell whythose glances were given; I knew her design. O for one word in herhearing--one whisper! It might not be; she was too closely watched. Jealous eyes were uponher; savage hearts were gloating over her beauty. No word could havereached her, that would not have been heard by others--by all around thefire--for the silence was profound. The "council" had not yet essayedto speak. The stillness was at length broken by the voice of a crier, who in ashrill tone proclaimed that the "council was in session. " There was something so ceremonious in the whole proceedings, and everymovement was made with such regularity, that but for the open air, thefire, the wild savage costumes, and fierce painted faces, I might havefancied myself in the presence of a civilised court, and witnessing atrial by jury! It was in effect just such a trial, though judge therewas none. The members of the jury were themselves the judges--for inthe simplicity of such primitive litigation, each was presumed tounderstand the law without an interpreter. Pleaders, too, were equally absent; each party--plaintiff anddefendant--was expected to plead his own case. Such is the simplefashion in the high court of the prairies--a fashion which mightelsewhere be adopted with advantage. The name of "Hissoo-royo" pealed upon the air. The crier was callinghim into court--another parallel with the customs of civilisation! Three times the name was pronounced, at each repetition in louder voicethan before. The man might have spared his breath; he who was summoned was upon thespot, and ready to answer. Before the echo died away, the renegade uttered a response; and, stepping to an open space within the ring, halted, drew himself up tohis full height, folded his arms, and in this attitude stood waiting. At that crisis the thought occurred to me, whether I should rashforward, and at once decide the fate of myself and my betrothed. Theseated warriors appeared to be all unarmed; and the renegade--whose handI most regarded--was now farther off, having gone round to the oppositeside of the fire. The situation was favourable, and for a moment Istood straining upon the spring. But my eye fell upon the spectators in the background; many of them weredirectly in the way I should have to take; I saw that many of themcarried weapons--either in their hands, or upon their persons--andHissoo-royo himself was still too near. I could never fight my way against such odds. I could not break such aline--it would be madness to attempt it. Rube's counsel was againringing in my ears; and once more I abandoned the rash design. CHAPTER NINETY SIX. THE WHITE-HAIRED CHIEF. There was an interval of silence--a dramatic pause--that lasted for morethan a minute. It was ended by one of the council rising to his feet, and by a gestureinviting Hissoo-royo to speak. The renegade began: "Red warriors of the Hietan! brothers! what I have to say before thecouncil will not require many words. I claim yonder Mexican girl as mycaptive, and therefore as my own. Who denies my right? I claim thewhite horse as mine--my prize fairly taken. " The speaker paused as if to wait for further commands from the council. "Hissoo-royo has spoken his claim to the Mexican maiden and the whitesteed. He has not said upon what right he rests it. Let him declarehis right in presence of the council!" This was said by the same Indian who had made the gesture, and whoappeared to direct the proceedings. He was not acting by any superiorauthority, which he may have possessed, but merely by reason of hisbeing the oldest of the party. Among the Indians, age gives precedence. "Brothers!" continued Hissoo-royo, in obedience to the command--"myclaim is just--of that you are to be the judges; I know your truehearts--you will not shut them against justice. I need not read to youyour own law, that he who makes a captive has the right to keep it--todo with it as he will. This is the law of your tribe--of my tribe aswell, for yours is mine. " Grunts of approbation caused a momentary interruption in the speech. "Hietans!" resumed the speaker, "my skin is white, but my heart is thecolour of your own. You did me the honour to adopt me into your nation;you honoured me by making me first a warrior, and afterwards awar-chief. Have I ever given you cause to regret what you have done?Have I ever betrayed your trust?" A volley of exclamations indicated a response in the negative. "I have confidence, then, in your love of justice and truth; I have nofear that the colour of my skin will blind your eyes, for you all knowthe colour of my heart. " Fresh signs of approbation followed this adroit stroke of eloquence. "Then, brothers! listen to my cause; I claim the maiden and the horse. I need not tell where they were found, and how; your own eyes werewitnesses of their capture. There has been talk of a doubt as to whomade it, for many horsemen were in the pursuit. I deny that there isany doubt. My lazo was first over the head of the horse--was firsttightened around his throat--first brought him to a stand. To take thehorse was to take the rider. It was my deed; both are my captives. Iclaim both as my property. Who is he that disputes my claim? Let himstand forth!" Having delivered this challenge with a defiant emphasis, the speakerfell back into his former attitude; and, once more folding his arms, remained silent and immobile. Another pause followed, which was again terminated by a sign from theold warrior who had first spoken. This gesture was directed to thecrier, who the moment after, raising his shrill voice, called out: "_Wakono_!" The name caused me to start as if struck by an arrow. It was my ownappellation: I was Wakono! It was pronounced thrice, each time louder than the preceding: "Wakono! Wakono! Wakono!" A light flashed upon me. Wakono was the rival claimant! He whosebreech-cloth was around my hips, whose robe hung from my shoulders, whose plumed bonnet adorned my head, whose pigments disfigured my face--he of the red hand upon his breast, and the cross upon his brow, was noother than Wakono! I cannot describe the singular sensation I felt at this discovery. Iwas in a perilous position indeed. My fingers trembled among theleaves. I released the branchlets, and let them close up before myface; I dared not trust myself to look forth. For some moments I stood still and silent, but not without trembling. Icould not steady my nerves under such a dread agitation. I listened, but looked not. There was an interval of breathlesssilence--no one seemed to stir or speak--they were waiting the effect ofthe summons. Once more the voice of the crier was heard pronouncing in triplerepetition: "Wakono! Wakono! Wakono!" Again followed an interval of silence; but I could hear low mutteringsof surprise and disappointment as soon as it was perceived that theIndian did not answer to his name. I alone knew the reason of his absence; I knew that Wakono _could_ not--the true Wakono; that his counterfeit _would_ not come. Though I hadundertaken to personate the savage chieftain, for this act in the dramaI was not prepared. The stage must wait! Even at that moment I was sensible of the ludicrousness of thesituation; so extreme was it, that even at that moment of direst peril, I felt a half inclination for laughter! But the feeling was easily checked; and once more parting the branches, I ventured to look forth. I saw there was some confusion. Wakono had been reported "missing. "The members of the council still preserved both their seats and stoicalcomposure; but the younger warriors behind were uttering harshejaculations, and moving about from place to place with that restlessair that betokens at once surprise and disappointment. At this crisis, an Indian was seen emerging from the tent. He was a manof somewhat venerable aspect, though venerable more from age than anypositive expression of virtue. His cheeks were furrowed by time, andhis hair white as bleached flax--a rare sight among Indians. There was something about this individual that bespoke him a person ofauthority. Wakono was the son of the chief--the chief, then, should bean old man. This must be he? I had no doubt of it, and my conjecture proved to be correct. The white-haired Indian stepped forward to the edge of the ring, andwith a wave of his hand commanded silence. The command was instantly obeyed. The murmurings ceased, and all placedthemselves in fixed attitudes to listen. CHAPTER NINETY SEVEN. SPEECHES IN COUNCIL. "Hietans!" began the chief, for such in reality was the old Indian, "mychildren, and brothers in council! I appeal to you to stay judgment inthis matter. I am your chief, but I claim no consideration on thataccount; Wakono is my son, but for him I ask no favour; I demand onlyjustice and right--such as would be given to the humblest in on tribe; Iask no more for my son Wakono. "Wakono is a brave warrior; who among you does not know it? His shieldis garnished with many trophies taken from the hated pale-face; hisleggings are fringed with scalps of the Utah and Cheyenne; at his heelsdrag the long locks of the Pawnee and Arapaho. Who will deny thatWakono--my son Wakono--is a brave warrior?" A murmur of assent was the response to this paternal appeal. "The Spanish wolf, too, is a warrior--a brave warrior; I deny it not. He is stout of heart and strong of arm; he has taken many scalps fromthe enemies of the Hietan; I honour him for his achievements; who amongus does not?" A general chorus of "ughs" and other ejaculations from both council andspectators responded to this interrogatory. The response, both in toneand manner, was strongly in the affirmative; and I could tell by thisthat the renegade--not Wakono--was the favourite. The old chief also perceived that such was the prevailing sentiment: anddespite his pretensions to fair-play, he was evidently nettled at thereply. The father of Wakono was undoubtedly no Brutus. After a momentary pause, he resumed speech, but in a tone entirelyaltered. He was now painting the reverse side of Hissoo-royo'sportrait, and as he threw in the darker touches, it was with evidentpique and hostility. "I honour the Spanish wolf, " he continued; "I honour him for his strongarm and his stout heart: I have said so; but hear me, Hietans--hear me, children and brothers! there are two of every kind--there is a night anda day--a winter and a summer--a green prairie and a desert plain, andlike these is the tongue of Hissoo-royo. It speaks two ways that differas the light from the darkness--it is double--it forks like the tongueof the rattle-serpent--it is not to be believed. " The chief ceased speaking, and the "Spanish wolf" was permitted to makereply. He did not attempt to defend himself from the charge of the doubletongue; perhaps he knew that the accusation was just enough, and he hadno reason to tremble for his popularity on that score. He must havebeen a great liar, indeed, to have excelled or even equalled the mostordinary story-teller in the Comanche nation; for the mendacity of theseIndians would have been a match for Sparta herself. The renegade did not even deny the aspersion: he seemed to be confidentin his case: he simply replied-- "If the tongue of Hissoo-royo is double, let not the council rely uponhis words! let witnesses be called! there are many who are ready totestify to the truth of what Hissoo-royo has spoken. " "First hear Wakono! Let Wakono be heard! Where is Wakono?" These demands were made by various members of the council, who spokesimultaneously. Once more the crier's voice was heard calling "Wakono!" "Brothers!" again spoke the chief: "it is for this I would stay yourjudgment. My son is not in the camp; he went back upon the trail, andhas not returned. I know not his purpose. My heart is in doubt--butnot in fear Wakono is a strong warrior, and can take care of himself. He will not be long absent; he must soon return. For this I ask you todelay the judgment. " A murmur of disapprobation followed this avowal. The allies of therenegade evidently mustered stronger than the friends of the youngchief. Hissoo-royo once more addressed the council. "What trifling would this be, warriors of the Hietan? Two suns havegone down, and this question is not decided! I ask only justice. Byour laws, the judgment cannot stand over. The captives must belong tosome one. I claim them as mine, and I offer witnesses to prove myright. Wakono has no claim, else why is he not here to avow it? He hasno proofs beyond his own word; he is ashamed to stand before you withoutproof--that is why he is now absent from the camp!" "Wakono is not absent, " cried a voice from among the bystanders; "he isin the camp!" This announcement produced a sensation, and I could perceive that theold chief partook equally with the others of the surprise created. "Who says Wakono is in the camp?" inquired he in a loud voice. An Indian stepped forth from the crowd of spectators. I recognised theman, whom I had met crossing from the horse-guard. "Wakono is in the camp, " repeated he, as he paused outside the circle. "I saw the young chief; I spoke with him. " "When?" "Only now. " "Where?" The man pointed to the scene of our accidental rencontre. "He was going yonder, " said he; "he went among the trees--I saw him notafter. " This intelligence evidently increased the astonishment. It could not becomprehended why Wakono should be upon the ground, and yet not comeforward to assert his claim. Had he abandoned it altogether? The father of the claimant appeared as much puzzled as any one; he madeno attempt to explain the absence of his son: he could not; he stoodsilent, and evidently in a state of mystification. Several now suggested that a search be made for the absent warrior. Itwas proposed to send messengers throughout the camp--_to search thegrove_. My blood ran cold as I listened to the proposal; my knees trembledbeneath me. I knew that if the grove was to be searched, I should haveno chance of remaining longer concealed. The dress of Wakono wasconspicuous; I saw that there was none other like it: no other wore arobe of jaguar-skins, and this would betray me. Even the paint wouldnot avail: I should be led into the firelight; the counterfeit would bedetected. I should be butchered upon the spot--perhaps tortured for thetreatment we had given the true Wakono, which would soon become known. My apprehensions had reached the climax of acuteness, when they weresuddenly relieved by some words from the Spanish wolf. "Why search for Wakono?" cried he; "Wakono knows his own name; it hasbeen called and loud enough. Wakono has ears--surely he can hear forhimself, if he be in the camp. Call him again, if you will!" This proposition appeared reasonable. It was adopted, and the crieronce more summoned the young chief by name. The voice, as all perceived, could have been heard to the farthestbounds of the camp, and far beyond. An interval was allowed, during which there reigned perfect silence, every one bending his ears to listen. There came no answer--no Wakono appeared to the summons. "Now!" triumphantly exclaimed the renegade, "is it not as I have said?Warriors! I demand your judgment. " There was no immediate reply. A long pause followed, during which noone spoke, either in the circle or among the spectators. At length the oldest of the council rose, re-lit the calumet, and, aftertaken a whiff from the tube, handed it to the Indian seated on his left. This one, in like manner, passed it to the next, and he to the next, until the pipe had made the circuit of the fire, and was returned to theold warrior who had first smoked from it. The latter now laid aside the pipe, and in a formal manner, but in avoice inaudible to the spectators, proposed the question. The vote was taken in rotation, and was also delivered _sotto voce_. The judgment only was pronounced aloud. The decision was singular, and somewhat unexpected. The jury had beenmoved by a strong leaning towards equity, and an amicable adjustmentthat might prove acceptable to all parties. The _horse_ was adjudged to Wakono--the _maiden_ was declared theproperty of the Spanish wolf! CHAPTER NINETY EIGHT. A ROUGH COURTSHIP. The decision appeared to give satisfaction to all. A grim smile, uponhis face testified that the renegade himself was pleased. How could hebe otherwise? He had certainly the best of the suit--for what was abeautiful horse to a beautiful woman, and such a woman? Even the white-haired chief seemed satisfied! Perhaps, of the two, theold savage jockey preferred the horse? It might have been different hadWakono been upon the ground. I was much mistaken if he would so tamelyhave acquiesced in the decision. Yes, the renegade was satisfied--more than that, he was rejoiced. Hisbearing bespoke his consciousness of the possession of a rare andmuch-coveted thing. He was unable to conceal the gratification he felt;and with an air of triumph and exultation, he approached the spot wherethe captive sat. As soon as the sentence was pronounced, the Indians who had been seatedrose to their feet. The council was dismissed. Some of the members strolled off on their own business; others remainedby the great fire, mixing among their comrades--no longer with thesolemn gravity of councillors, but chatting, laughing, shouting, andgesticulating as glibly and gaily as if they had been an assemblage ofFrench dancing-masters. The trial and its objects appeared to be at once forgotten; neitherplaintiff, defendant, nor cause, seemed any longer to occupy thethoughts of any one. The horse had been delivered to a friend ofWakono--the maiden to Hissoo-royo--and the thing was settled and over. Perhaps, here and there, some young brave, with a pain in his heart, mayhave bent wistful glances upon the lovely captive. No doubt there weremany who looked with envious thoughts upon Hissoo-royo and his fortunes. If so, their emotions were concealed, their glances furtive. After the council was over, no one interfered--no one seemingly took anyinterest either in the renegade or his pale-faced squaw; they were leftto themselves. And to me. From that moment, my eyes and thoughts rested only on them;I saw no one else; I thought of nothing else; I watched but the "wolf"and his victim. The old chief had retired into the tent. Isolina was left alone. Only a moment alone. Had it been otherwise, I should have sprungforward. My fingers had moved mechanically towards my knife; but therewas not time. In the next instant, Hissoo-royo stood beside her. He addressed her in Spanish; he did not desire the others to understandwhat was said. Speaking in this language, there would be less fear ofthem doing so. There was one who listened to every word. _I_ listened--not a syllableescaped me. "Now!" began he, in an exulting tone--"Now, Dona Isolina de Vargas! youhave heard? I know you understand the tongue in which the council hasspoken--your _native_ tongue. Ha, ha, ha!" The brute was jeering her! "You are mine--soul and body, mine; you have heard?" "I have heard, " was the reply, in a tone of resignation! "And surely you are satisfied; are you not? You should be. I am whiteas yourself--I have saved you from the embrace of a red Indian. Surelyyou are satisfied with the judgment?" "I am satisfied. " This was uttered in the same tone of resignation. The answer somewhatsurprised me. "'Tis a lie!" rejoined the brutal monster; "you are playing false withme, sweet senorita. But yesterday you spoke words of scorn--you wouldscorn me still?" "I have no power to scorn you; I am your captive. " "Carrambo! you speak truth. You have no power either to scorn or refuseme. Ha, ha, ha! And as little do I care if you did; you may like me ornot at your pleasure. Perhaps you will take to me in time, as much as Imay wish it; but that will be for _your_ consideration, sweet senorita!Meanwhile, you are mine, body and soul, you are mine--and I mean toenjoy my prize after my own fashion. " The coarse taunt caused my blood, already hot enough, to boil within myveins. I grasped the haft of my knife, and like a tiger stood coweringon the spring. My intent was, first to cut down the ruffian, and thenset free the limbs of the captive with the blood-stained blade. The chances were still against me. A score of savages were yet aroundthe fire. Even should he fall at the first blow, I could not hope toget clear. But I could bear it no longer; and would have risked the chances at thatmoment, had not my foot been stayed by some words that followed. "Come!" exclaimed the renegade, speaking to his victim, and making signfor her to follow him--"Come, sweet senorita! This place is too public. I would talk with you elsewhere: I know where there are softer spotsfor that fair form to recline upon--pretty glades and arbours, choiceretreats within the shadow of the grove. There, dearest, shall weretire. _Vamos_!" Though hideous the signification of this mock-poetic speech, I joyed athearing it. It arrested my hand and limb, both of which had been readyfor action. The "choice retreats within the shadow of the grove"promised a _better opportunity_. With an effort, therefore, I restrained myself, and resolved to wait. I listened for the reply of Isolina; I watched her as well; I noted herevery movement. I saw that she pointed to her limbs--to the thong-fastenings around herankles. "How can I follow you?" she inquired, in a calm voice, and in a tone ofsurprise. Surely that tone was feigned. Surely she meditated somedesign? "True, " said the man, turning back, and drawing the knife from his belt. "Carrai! I had not thought of that; but we shall soon--" He did not finish the sentence; he stopped in the middle of it, and inan attitude that betokened hesitation. In this attitude he remained awhile, gazing into the eyes of his victim:then, as if suddenly changing his mind, he struck the knife back intohis sheath, and at the same time cried out-- "By the Virgin! I shall not trust you. You are too free of limb, sweet_margarita_! you might try to give me the slip. This is a better plan. Come! raise yourself up--a little higher--so. Now we go--now for thegrove. _Vamos_!" While delivering the last words, the ruffian bent himself over thehalf-prostrate captive; and, placing his arm underneath, wound it aroundher waist. He then raised her upward until her bosom rested upon his--the bosom of my betrothed in juxtaposition with the painted breast ofthis worse than savage! I saw it, and slew him not; I saw it, and kept cool--I can scarcely tellwhy, for it is not a characteristic of my nature. My nerves, from beingso much played upon during the preceding hours, had acquired thefirmness of steel; perhaps this enabled me to endure the sight--this, combined with the almost certain prospect of an improved opportunity. At all events, I kept cool, and remained in my place though only for amoment longer. CHAPTER NINETY NINE. THE CRISIS. The renegade, having raised the unresisting captive in his arms, proceeded to carry her from the spot. He scarcely carried her; herfeet, naked and bound, trailed along the grass, both together. He passed the lodge, and was going towards the copse, in an obliquedirection. The savages who saw him made no attempt to interfere, shouted some lewd phrases, and laughed! I waited neither to see nor hear more. Still keeping within the timber, I glided along its edge; with quick butnoiseless step I went, making for the same point towards which theruffian ravisher was tending. I arrived first; and, stooping under the shadow of the trees, waited, with knife in hand, firm grasped and ready. His burden had delayed him; he had stopped midway to rest; and was nowscarcely ten paces from the edge of the grove, with the girl still inhis arms, and apparently leaning against him. There was a momentary wavering in my mind, as to whether I should notthen rush forth, and strike the _coup_. The chance seemed as good a oneas I might get. I was about deciding in the affirmative, when I saw that Hissoo-royo hadagain taken up his warden, and was moving towards me. He was makingdirectly for the spot where I stood. The crisis was near! It was even nearer than I thought. The man had scarcely made threesteps from the point of rest, when I saw him stumble and fall to theearth, carrying the captive along with him! The fall appealed accidental. I might have deemed it so, but for thewild shout with which it was accompanied. Something more than a merestumble elicited that fearful cry! There was a short struggle upon the ground--the bodies became separated. One was seen to spring suddenly back; I saw it was Isolina! There wassomething in her hand--both moonlight and firelight gleamed upon acrimsoned blade! She who grasped it bent for an instant downward--its keen edge severedthe thongs from her limbs, and the moment after, she was running in fullflight across the level sward of the camp-ground! Without reflection, I sprang out of the covert and rushed after. I passed the renegade, who had half-regained his feet, and appeared butslightly wounded. Astonishment as much as aught else seemed to hold himto the spot. He was shouting and swearing--calling for help, anduttering threats of vengeance. I could have slain him, and was half-inclined to the act; but there wasno time to stay. I only thought of overtaking the fugitive, and aidingher in her flight. The alarm was given--the camp was in commotion--fifty savages werestarting upon the chase. As we ran, my eyes fell upon a horse--a white horse. It was the steed;a man was leading him by a lazo. He was taking him from the firestowards the ground occupied by the mustangs; he was going to picket himon the grass. Horse and man were directly in front of us, as we ran--in front of thefugitive. She was making towards them; I divined her intention. In a few seconds he was up to the horse, and had seized the rope. The Indian struggled, and tried to take it away from her; the red bladegleamed in his eyes, and he gave back. He still clung to the rope; but in an instant it was cut from his hands, and, quick as thought, the heroic woman leaped upon the back of thesteed, and was seen galling away! The Indian was one of the horse-guards, and was therefore armed; hecarried bow and quiver. Before the horse had galloped beyond reach, hehad bent his bow, and sent an arrow from the string. I heard the "wheep" of the shaft, and fancied I heard it strike; but thesteed kept on! I had plucked up one of the long spears, as I ran across the camp. Before the Indian could adjust another arrow to the string, I had thrusthim in the back. I drew out the spear, and, keeping the white horse in view, ran on. I was soon in the midst of the mustangs; many of them had alreadystampeded, and were galloping to and fro over the ground. The guardswere dismayed, but as yet knew not the cause of the alarm. The steedwith his rider passed safely through their line. I followed on foot, and as fast as I could run. Fifty savages wereafter me; I could hear their shouts. I could hear them cry "Wakono, " but I was soon far in advance of all. The horse-guards, as I passed them, were shouting "Wakono!" As soon as I had cleared the horse-drove, I again perceived the steed;but he was now some distance off. To my joy he was going in the rightdirection--straight for the yuccas upon the hill. My men would see andintercept him? I ran along the stream with all speed. I reached the broken bank, and, without stopping, rushed into the gully for my horse. What was my astonishment to find that he was gone! my noble steed gone, and in his place the spotted mustang of the Indian! I looked up and down the channel; I looked along its banks--Moro was notin sight! I was puzzled, perplexed, furious. I knew no explanation of themystery--I could think of none. Who could have done it? Who? Myfollowers must have done it. Rube must have done it? but why? In myhot haste, I could find no reason for this singular behaviour. I had no time to reflect--not a moment. I drew the animal from the water, and leaping upon his back, rode out ofthe channel. As I regained the level of the plain, I saw mounted men, a crowd of themcoming from the camp. They were the savages in pursuit; one was farahead of the rest, and before I could turn my horse to flee, he wasclose up to me. In the moonlight I easily recognised him--it wasHissoo-royo the renegade. "Slave!" shouted he, speaking in the Comanche tongue, and with furiousemphasis, "it is you who have planned this. Squaw! coward! you shalldie! The white captive is mine--mine, Wakono! and you--" He did not finish the sentence. I still carried the Comanche spear; mysix months' service in a lance-regiment now stood me in stead; themustang behaved handsomely, and carried me full tilt upon my foe. In another instant the renegade and his horse were parted; the formerlay levelled upon the grass, transfixed with the long spear, while thelatter was galloping riderless over the plain! At this crisis I perceived the crowd coming up, and close to the spot. There were twenty or more, and I saw that I should soon be surrounded. A happy idea came opportunely to my relief. All along I had observedthat I was mistaken for Wakono. The Indians in the camp had cried"Wakono;" the horse-guards shouted "Wakono" as I passed; the pursuerswere calling "Wakono" as they rode up; the renegade had fallen with thename upon his lips: the spotted horse; the robe of jaguar-skins, theplumed head-dress, the red hand, the white cross, all proclaimed meWakono! I urged my horse a length or two forward, and reined up in front of thepursuers. I raised my arm, and shook it in menace before their faces;at the same instant, I cried out in a loud voice-- "I am Wakono! Death to him who follows!" I spoke in Comanche. I was not so sure of the correctness of my words--either of the pronunciation or the syntax--but I had the gratificationto perceive that I was understood. Perhaps my gestures helped thesavages to comprehend me--the meaning of these was not to be mistaken. From whatever cause, the pursuers made no further advance; but one andall, drawing in their horses, halted upon the spot. I stayed not for further parley; but, wheeling quickly round, gallopedaway from them, as fast as the mustang could carry me. CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED. THE LAST CHASE. On facing towards the hill, I perceived the steed still not so distant. His white body, gleaming under the clear moonlight, could have beeneasily distinguished at a far greater distance. I had expected to seehim much farther away; but, after all, the tilt of lances, and themenace delivered to the pursuing horsemen, had scarcely occupied a scoreof seconds, and he could not in the time have gone out of sight. He was still running between myself and the foot of the hill--apparentlykeeping along the bank of the stream. I put the Indian horse to his full speed. The point of my knife servedfor whip and spur. I was no longer encumbered with the spear; it hadbeen left in the body of Hissoo-royo. I kept my eyes fixed upon the steed, but he was fast closing in to thetimber that skirted the base of the hill; he was nearing the bend whereI had taken to the water, and would soon be hidden from my view behindthe bushes. All at once I saw him swerve, and strike away to the left, across theopen plain. To my surprise I saw this, for I had conjectured that hisrider was aiming to reach the cover offered by the thicket. Without waiting to think of an explanation, I headed the mustang intothe diagonal line, and galloped forward. I was in hopes of getting nearer by the advantage thus given me; but Iwas ill satisfied with the creeping pace of the Indian horse so unlikethe long, free stretch of my matchless Moro. Where was he? Why was Inot bestriding him? The white steed soon shot clear of the hill, and was now running uponthe plain that stretched beyond it. I saw that I was not gaining upon him; on the contrary, he was everymoment widening the distance between us. Where was Moro? Why had hebeen taken away? At that instant I perceived a dark horseman making along the foot of theridge, as if to intercept me; he was dashing furiously through thethicket that skirted the base of the declivity. I could hear the bushesrattling against the flanks of his horse; he was evidently making allthe haste in his power, at the same time aiming to keep concealed fromthe view of those upon the plain. I recognised my horse, and upon his back the thin lank form of theearless trapper! We met the moment after, at the point where the thicket ended. Without a word passing between us, both simultaneously flung ourselvesto the ground, exchanged horses, and remounted. Thank Heaven! Moro wasat last between my knees! "Now, young fellur!" cried the trapper, as I parted from him, "galliplike hell, an kitch up with her! We'll soon be arter on yur trail--allright thur. Away!" I needed no prompting from Rube; his speech was not finished, before Ihad sprung my horse forward, and was going like the wind. It was only then that I could comprehend why the horses had beenchanged; a _ruse_ it was--an after-thought of the cunning trappers! Had I mounted my own conspicuous steed by the camp, the Indians would, in all probability, have suspected something, and continued the pursuit;it was the spotted mustang that had enabled me to carry out thecounterfeit! I had now beneath me a horse I could depend upon and with renewed vigourI bent myself to the chase. For the third time, the black and whitestallions were to make trial of their speed--for the third time was itto be a struggle between these noble creatures. Would the struggle be hard and long? Would Moro again be defeated?Such were my reflections as I swept onward in the pursuit. I rode in silence; I scarcely drew breath, so keen were my apprehensionsabout the result. A long start had the prairie-horse. My delay had thrown me far behindhim--nearly a mile. But for the friendly light, I should have lostsight of him altogether; but the plain was open, the moon shiningbrightly, and the snow-white form, like a meteor, beaconed me onward. I had not galloped far before I perceived that I was rapidly gainingupon the steed. Surely he was not running at his fleetest? Surely hewas going more slowly than was his wont? Oh! could his rider but know who was coming after!--could she but hearme! I would have called, but the distance was still too great. She couldnot have heard even my shouts; how then distinguish my voice? I galloped on in silence. I was gaining--constantly and rapidlygaining. Surely I was drawing nearer? or were my eyes playing falseunder the light of the moon? I fancied that the steed was running heavily--slowly and heavily--as ifhe was labouring in the race. I fancied--no, it was no fancy--I wassure of it! Beyond a doubt, he was not going at his swiftest speed! What could it mean? Was he broken by fatigue? Still nearer and nearer I came, until scarcely three hundred yardsappeared between us. My shout might now be heard; my voice-- I called aloud; I called the name of my betrothed, coupling it with myown; but no answer came back--no sign of recognition to cheer me. The ground that lay between us favoured a race-course speed; and I wasabout putting my horse to his full stretch, when, to my astonishment, Isaw the white steed stagger forward, and fall headlong to the earth! It did not check my career; and in a few seconds more I was upon thespot, and halting over horse and rider, still prostrate. I flung myself from the saddle just as Isolina disengaged herself, androse to her feet. With her right hand clasping the red knife, she stoodconfronting me. "Savage! approach me not!" she cried in the Comanche tongue, and with agesture that told her determination. "Isolina! I am not--It is--" "Henri!" No words interrupted that wild embrace; no sound could be heard savethat made by our hearts, as they throbbed closely together. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Silently I stood upon the plain with my betrothed in my arms. Moro wasby our side, proudly curving his neck and chafing the steel between hisfoaming lips. At our feet lay the prairie-horse with the barb in hisvitals, and the feathered shaft protruding from his side. His eyes werefixed and glassy; blood still ran from his spread nostrils; but hisbeautiful limbs were motionless in death! Horsemen were seen approaching the spot. We did not attempt to fleefrom them: I recognised my followers. They came galloping up; and, drawing bridle, sat silent in theirsaddles. We looked back over the plain; there was no sign of pursuit; but for allthat, we did not tarry there. We knew not how soon the Indians might beafter us; the friends of Hissoo-royo might yet come upon the trail ofWakono! We scarce gave a parting look to that noble form stretched lifeless atour feet; but plying the spur, rode rapidly away. It was near daybreak when we halted to rest, and then only after theprairie had been fired behind us. We found shelter in a pretty grove of acacias, and a grassy turf onwhich to repose. My wearied followers soon fell asleep. I slept not; I watched over the slumbers of my betrothed. Her beautifulhead rested upon my knees; her soft damask cheek was pillowed upon therobe of jaguar-skins, and my eyes were upon it. The thick tresses hadfallen aside, and I saw-- The matador, too, had been merciful! or had gold bribed him from hiscruel intent? No matter which--he had failed in his fiendish duty. There in full entirety were those delicate organs--perfect, complete. Isaw but the trifling scar where the gold circlet had been rudelyplucked--the source of that red haemorrhage that had been noticed byCyprio! I was too happy to sleep. It was our last night upon the prairies. Before the setting of anothersun we had crossed the Rio Grande, and arrived in the camp of our army. Under the broad protecting wings of the American eagle, my betrothedcould repose in safety, until that blissful hour when-- ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Of the Comanches we never heard more. The story of one only wasafterwards told--a fearful tale. Ill-fated Wakono! A horrid end washis. An oft-told tale by the prairie camp-fire is that of the skeleton of anIndian warrior found clasping the trunk of a tree! Wakono had horriblyperished. We had no design of giving him to such a fate. Without thought had weacted; and though he may have deserved death, we had not designed forhim such terrible retribution. Perhaps I was the only one who had any remorseful feeling; but theremembrance of that scalp-bedecked shield--the scenes in that Cypriangrove--those weeping captives, wedded to a woeful lot--the remembranceof these cruel realities evermore rose before my mind, stifling theremorse I should otherwise have felt for the doom of the ill-starredsavage. His death, though terrible in kind, was merited by his deeds;and was perhaps as just as punishments usually are. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Poetical justice demands the death of Ijurra, and by the hand ofHolingsworth. Truth enables me to satisfy the demand. On my return to the camp, I learned that the act was alreadyconsummated--the brother's blood had been avenged! It was a tragic tale, and would take many chapters in the telling. Imay not give them here. Let a few particulars suffice. From that dread night, Holingsworth had found a willing hand to aid himin his purpose of retribution--one who yearned for vengeance keenly ashimself. Wheatley was the man. The two, with a chosen party, had thrown themselves on the trail of theguerrilla; and with Pedro as their guide, had followed it far within thehostile lines. Like sleuth-hounds had they followed it night and day, until they succeeded in tracking the guerrilleros to their lair. It was a desperate conflict--hand to hand, and knife to knife--but therangers at length triumphed; most of the guerrilleros were slain, andthe band nearly annihilated. Ijurra fell by Holingsworth's own hand; while the death of the redruffian El Zorro, by the bowie knife of the Texan lieutenant, was anappropriate punishment for the cruelty inflicted upon Conchita. Therevenge of both was complete, though both still bore the sorrow withintheir hearts. The expedition of the two lieutenants was productive of other fruits. In the head-quarters of the guerrilla they found many prisoners, Yankeesand Ayankieados--among others, that rare diplomatist Don Ramon deVargas. Of course the old gentleman was released from captivity; and had arrivedat the American camp, just in time to welcome his fair daughter andfuture son-in-law from their grand ante-hymeneal "tour upon theprairies. "