The Project Gutenberg EBook of The War Trail, by Mayne Reid

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Title: The War Trail
       The Hunt of the Wild Horse

Author: Mayne Reid

Release Date: October 21, 2007 [EBook #23144]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAR TRAIL ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The War Trail, The Hunt of the Wild Horse, by Captain Mayne Reid.

________________________________________________________________________
This book, along with several other of this author's, occupies an
important position in the history of English literature, for it was one
of the first to deal with the Wild West.  The events take place shortly
after the Mexican War of the late 1840s.  The Mexicans themselves have
been conquered, but now it is necessary to protect them from a further
enemy, one who would war with both Americans and Mexicans--the Comanche
Indians.  The troop of rangers consists of many kinds of men, of Scots,
Irish, English, German, Swiss, Polish descent, and many others.  Some of
these take major roles in this story, and their words are reported just
as they would have been said.

Numerous extremely difficult situations are encountered, and it is often
the woodcraft and ingenuity of these men that gets them out of them,
sometimes in extremely (for you and me) unexpected ways.  This results
in a series of tense incidents, and, though the literary style is a bit
unusual, they are very gripping.

Many books by this author were published in the second half of the
nineteenth century, and some of them were printed with rather damaged
type.  The copy of this book that we worked from was one of these, so
there 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 cannot
wring thy memories from my heart!  Years may roll on, hand wax weak, and
heart 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 I
bathe 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 spur
my noble steed, whose joyous neigh tells that he too is inspired by the
scene.  I rest under the shade of the _corozo_ palm, and quaff the wine
of the _acrocomia_.  I climb thy mountains of amygdaloid and porphyry--
thy crags of quartz, that yield the white silver and the yellow gold.  I
cross thy fields of lava, rugged in outline, and yet more rugged with
their coverture of strange vegetable forms--acacias and cactus, yuccas
and zamias.  I traverse thy table-plains through bristling rows of giant
aloes, whose sparkling juice cheers me on my path.  I stand upon the
limits of eternal snow, crushing the Alpine lichen under my heel; while
down in the deep barranca, far down below, I behold the feathery fronds
of the palm, the wax-like foliage of the orange, the broad shining
leaves of the pothos, of arums, and bananas!  O that I could again look
with living eye on these bright pictures, that even thus palely outlined
upon the retina of memory, impart pleasure to my soul!

Land of Moctezuma!  I have other souvenirs of thee, more deeply graven
on my memory than these pictures of peace.  Thou recallest scenes of
war.  I traversed thy fields a foeman--sword in hand--and now, after
years gone by, many a wild scene of soldier-life springs up before me
with all the vividness of reality.

_The Bivouac_!--I sit by the night camp-fire; around are warlike forms
and bearded faces.  The blazing log reflects the sheen of arms and
accoutrements--saddles, rifles, pistols, canteens, strewing the ground,
or hanging from the branches of adjacent trees.  Picketed steeds loom
large in the darkness, their forms dimly outlined against the sombre
background of the forest.  A solitary palm stands near, its curving
fronds looking hoary under the fire-light.  The same light gleams upon
the fluted columns of the great organ-cactus, upon agaves and bromelias,
upon the silvery _tillandsia_, that drapes the tall trees as with a
toga.

The wild tale is told--the song is sung--the jest goes round--the hoarse
peal echoes through the aisles of the forest, frighting the parrot on
its perch, and the wolf upon his prowl.  Little reck they who sing, and
jest, and laugh--little reck they of the morrow.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

_The Skirmish_!--Morning breaks.  The fragrant forest is silent, and the
white blue light is just tinging the treetops.  A shot rings upon the
air: it is the warning-gun of the picket-sentinel, who comes galloping
in upon the guard.  The enemy approaches!  `To horse!' the bugle thrills
in clear loud notes.  The slumberers spring to their feet--they seize
their rifles, pistols, and sabres, and dash through the smouldering
fires till ashes cloud the air.  The steeds snort and neigh; in a trice
they are saddled, bridled, and mounted; and away sweeps the troop along
the forest road.

The enemy is in sight--a band of _guerilleros_, in all their
picturesqueness 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 charging
cheer.  We meet our swarthy foemen face to face; spear-thrusts are
answered by pistol-shots; our sabres cross and clink, but our snorting
steeds rear back, and will not let us kill each other.  We wheel and
meet again, with deadlier aim, and more determined arm; we strike
without remorse--we strike for freedom!

_The Battle-field_!--The serried columns and the bristling guns--the
roar of cannon and the roll of drums--the bugle's wildest notes, the
cheer, the charge--the struggle hand to hand--the falling foeman and his
dying groan--the rout, retreat, the hoarse huzza for victory!  I well
remember, 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--the
war-drum has ceased to beat, and the bugle to bray; the steed stands
chafing in his stall, and the conqueror dallies in the halls of the
conquered.  Love is now the victor, and the stern soldier, himself
subdued, is transformed into a suing lover.  In gilded hall or garden
bower, behold him on bended knee, whispering his soft tale in the ear of
some dark-eyed _dongella_, Andalusian or Aztec!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lovely land!  In truth have I sweet memories of thee; for who could
traverse thy fields without beholding some fair flower, ever after to be
borne upon his bosom!  And yet, not all my souvenirs are glad.  Pleasant
and painful, sweet and sad, they thrill my heart with alternate throes.
But the sad emotions have been tempered by time, and the glad ones, at
each returning tide, seem tinged with brighter glow.  In thy bowers, as
elsewhere, roses must be plucked from thorns; but in memory's mellowed
light I see not the thorns--I behold only the bright and beautiful
roses.



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 the
house 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 common
people.  They are built of large unburnt bricks (_adobes_), some of them
washed with lime, others gaudily coloured like the proscenium of a
theatre, 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 the
weather.

From the four corners of the piazza, narrow, unpaved, dusty lanes lead
off to the country, for some distance bordered on both sides by the
adobe houses.  Still farther out, on the skirts of the village, and
sparsely placed, are dwellings of frailer build, but more picturesque
appearance; they are _ridge-roofed_ structures, of the split trunks of
that gigantic lily, the arborescent yucca.  Its branches form the
rafters, 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_, tiled
or cemented--sometimes tastefully japanned--with a parapet breast-high
running round the edge.  This flat roof is the _azotea_, characteristic
of Mexican architecture.

When the sun is low and the evening cool, the azotea is a pleasant
lounging-place, especially when the proprietor of the house has a taste
for flowers; then it is converted into an aerial garden, and displays
the rich flora for which the picture-land of Mexico is justly
celebrated.  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 open
air gives a relish to the beverage.  Besides, your eye is feasted; you
enjoy the privacy of a drawing-room, while you command what is passing
in the street.  The slight parapet gives security, while hindering a too
free 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 all
the others.  I can see beyond them all, and note the prominent features
of the surrounding country.  My eye wanders with delight over the deep
rich verdure of its tropic vegetation; I can even distinguish its more
characteristic forms--the cactus, the yucca, and the agave.  I observe
that the village is girdled by a belt of open ground--cultivated
fields--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--a
perfect maze of leguminous trees--hems it in; and so near is the verge
of 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 the
indolence of the inhabitants; perhaps not.  It must be remembered that
these people are not agriculturists, but _vaqueros_ (herdsmen); and that
the glades and openings of that thick chapparal are speckled with herds
of fierce Spanish cattle, and droves of small sharp-eared Andalusian
horses, of the race of the Barb.  The fact of so little cultivation does
not abnegate the existence of industry on the part of the villagers.
Grazing is their occupation, not farming; only a little of the latter to
give them maize for their _tortillas_, chile to season it with, and
black beans to complete the repast.  These three, with the half-wild
beef of their wide pastures, constitute the staple of food throughout
all Mexico.  For drink, the denizen of the high table-land find his
favourite beverage--the rival of champagne--in the core of the gigantic
aloe; while he of the tropic coast-land refreshes himself from the juice
of another native endogen, the acrocomia palm.

Favoured land!  Ceres loves thee, and Bacchus too.  To thy fields both
the god and the goddess have been freely bounteous.  Food and drink may
be had from them on easy terms.  Alas! as in all other lands--one only
excepted--Nature's divine views have been thwarted, her aim set aside,
by the malignity of man.  As over the broad world the blight of the
despot is upon thy beauty.

Why are these people crowded together--hived, as it were, in towns and
villages?  Herdsmen--one would expect to find them scattered by reason
of their occupation.  Besides, a sky continually bright, a genial clime,
a picturesqueness of scene--all seem to invite to rural life; and yet I
have ridden for hours, a succession of lovely landscapes rising before
my eyes, all of them wild, wanting in that one feature which makes the
rural picture perfect--the house, the dwelling of man!  Towns there are;
and at long intervals the huge _hacienda_ of the landed lord, walled in
like a fortress; but where are the _ranchos_, the homes of the common
people?  True, I have noticed the ruins of many, and that explains the
puzzle.  I remember, now that I am on the _frontier_: that for years
past the banks of the Rio Bravo, from its source to the sea, have been
hostile ground--a war-border of fifteen hundred miles in length!  Many a
red conflict has occurred--is still occurring--between those Arabs of
the American desert--the _Horse_ Indians--and the pale-faced descendants
of the Spaniard.  That is why the ranchos exist only in ruins--that is
why the haciendas are loopholed, and the populace pent up within walls.
The condition of feudal Europe exists in free America, on the banks of
the Rio Bravo del Norte!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nearly a mile off, looking westward, I perceive the sheen of water: it
is a reach of the great river that glances under the setting sun.  The
river curves at that point; and the summit of a gentle hill, half
girdled by the stream, is crowned by the low white walls of a hacienda.
Though only one story high, this hacienda appears, from its extent, and
the style of its architecture, to be a noble mansion.  Like all of its
class, it is flat-roofed; but the parapet is crenated, and small
ornamental turrets over the angles and the great gateway relieve the
monotony of its outlines.  A larger tower, the belfry of a chapel,
appears in the background, the Mexican hacienda is usually provided with
its little _capilla_, for the convenient worship of the peon retainers.
The emblems of religion, such as it is, are thick over the land.  The
glimmer of glass behind the iron rejas relieves to some extent the
prison-like aspect, so characteristic of Mexican country-houses.  This
is further modified by the appearance over the parapet of green foliage.
Forms of tropic vegetation show above the wall; among others, the
graceful curving fronds of a palm.  This must be an exotic, for although
the lower half of the Rio Bravo is within the zone of the palms, the
species that grow so far north are fan-palms (_chamaerops_ and _sabal_).
This one is of far different form, with plume-shaped pinnate fronds, of
the character of _cocos_, _phoenix_, or _euterpe_.  I note the fact, not
from any botanical curiosity with which it inspires me, but rather
because the presence of this exotic palm has a significance.  It
illustrates a point in the character of him--it may be _her_--who is the
presiding spirit of the place.  No doubt there is a fair garden upon the
azotea--perhaps a fair being among its flowers!  Pleasant thoughts
spring up--anticipations.  I long to climb that sloping hill, to enter
that splendid mansion, and, longing still, I gaze.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ring of a bugle startles me from this pleasant reverie.  'Tis only a
stable-call; but it has driven sweet reflections out of my mind, and my
eyes are turned away from the bright mansion, and rest upon the piazza
of 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.  There
the well (_el poso_), with its gigantic wheel, its huge leathern belt
and buckets, its trough of cemented stone-work, offers an Oriental
aspect.  Verily, it is the Persian wheel!  'Tis odd to a northern eye to
find such a structure in this Western land; but the explanation is easy.
The Persian wheel has travelled from Egypt along the southern shores of
the Mediterranean.  With the Moors it crossed the Straits of Gibraltar,
and the Spaniard has carried it over the Atlantic.  The reader of the
sacred volume will find many a familiar passage illustrated in the
customs of Mexico.  The genius of the Arab has shaped many a thought for
the brain of the Aztec!

My eye rests not long upon the well, but turns to gaze on the scene of
active 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 the
mottled serape, his black broad-brimmed hat darkening still more his
swarth face--goes the _poblano_, the denizen of the adobe hut.  He shuns
the centre of the piazza, keeping around the walls; but at intervals his
eyes are turned towards the well with a look of mingled fierceness and
fear.  He reaches a doorway--it is silently opened by a hand within--he
enters quickly, and seems glad to get out of sight.  A little
afterwards, I can catch a glimpse of his sombre face dimly visible
behind the bars of the reja.

At distant corners, I descry small groups of his class, all similarly
costumed in calzoneros, striped blankets, and glaze hats; all, like him,
wearing uneasy looks.  They gesticulate little, contrary to their usual
habit, and converse only in whispers or low mutterings.  Unusual
circumstances surround them.

Most of the women are within doors; a few of the poorer class--of pure
Indian race--are seated in the piazza.  They are hucksters, and their
wares are spread before them on a thin palm-leaf mat (_petate_), while
another similar one, supported umbrella-like on a stem, screens them and
their merchandise from the sun.  Their dyed woollen garments, their bare
heads, their coarse black hair, adorned with twists of scarlet worsted,
impart to them somewhat of a gipsy look.  They appear as free of care as
the zingali themselves: they laugh, and chatter, and show their white
teeth all day long, asking each new-comer to purchase their fruits and
vegetables, their _pinole_, _atole_, and _agua dulce_.  Their not
unmusical voices ring pleasantly upon the ear.

Now and then a young girl, with red _olla_ poised upon her crown, trips
lightly across the piazza in the direction of the well.  Perhaps she is
a _poblana_--one of the belles of the village--in short-skirted,
bright-coloured petticoat, embroidered but sleeveless chemisette, with
small satin slippers upon her feet; head, shoulders, and bosom, shrouded
in the blue-grey _reboso_; arms and ankles bare.  Several of these may
be seen passing to and fro.  They appear less uneasy than the men; they
even smile at intervals, and reply to the rude badinage uttered in an
unknown tongue by the odd-looking strangers around the well.  The
Mexican women are courageous as they are amiable.  As a race, their
beauty is undeniable.

But who are these strangers?  They do not belong to the place, that is
evident; and equally so that they are objects of terror to those who do.
At present they are masters here.  Their numbers, their proud confident
swagger, and the bold loud tone of their conversation, attest that they
are masters of the ground.  Who are they?

Odd-looking, I have styled them; and the phrase is to be taken in its
full significance.  A more odd-looking set of fellows never mustered in
a Mexican piazza, nor elsewhere.  There are fourscore of them; and but
that each carries a yager rifle in his hand, a knife in his belt, and a
Colt's pistol on his thigh, you could not discover the slightest point
of resemblance between any two of them.  Their arms are the only things
about them denoting _uniformity_, and some sort of organisation; for the
rest, they are as unlike one another as the various shapes and hues of
coarse broadcloth, woollen jeans, cottonades, coloured blankets, and
buckskin, 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--the
silken "tile"--samples might be seen, _badly crushed_.  There are coats
of broadcloth, few in number, and well worn; but many are the garments
of "Kentucky jeans" of bluish-grey, of copper-coloured nigger cloth, and
sky-coloured cottonade.  Some wear coats made of green blankets, others
of blue ones, and some of a scarlet red.  There are hunting-shirts of
dressed deerskin, with plaited skirt, and cape, fringed and jauntily
adorned with beads and embroidery--the favourite style of the backwoods
hunter, but others there are of true Indian cut--open only at the
throat, and hanging loose, or fastened around the waist with a belt--the
same that secures the knife and pistol.  There are cloth jackets too,
such as are worn by sailors, and others of sky-blue cottonade--the
costume of the Creole of Louisiana; some of red-brown leather--the
_jaqueta_ of the Spano-American; and still another fashion, the
close-fitting embroidered "spencer" of the Mexican ranchero.  Some
shoulders are covered by serapes, and some by the more graceful and
toga-like manga.  Look lower down: examine the limbs of the men of this
motley band: the covering of these is not less varied than their upper
garments.  You see wrappers of coarse cloth, of flannel, and of baize:
they are blue, and scarlet, and green.  You see leggings of raw hide and
of buckskin; boots of horse-leather reaching to the thighs; "nigger
boots" 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 limbs
encased in calzoneros, and others in the heavy stamped leather _botas_
of the Mexican horseman, resembling the greaves of warriors of the olden
time.

The heels of all are armed, though their armature is as varied as the
costumes.  There are spurs of silver and steel, some plated, and some
with the plating worn off; some strapped, and others screwed into the
heel of the boot; some light, with small rowels and tiny teeth, while
others are seen (the heavy spur of Mexico) of several pounds' weight,
with rowels five inches in diameter, and teeth that might be dashed
through the ribs of a horse!--cruel weapons of the Mexican _cavallero_.

But these spurs in the piazza, these botas and calzoneros, these mangas
and serapes, are not worn by _Mexicans_.  Their present wearers are men
of a different race.  Most of those tall stalwart bodies are the product
of 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 the
great 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, with
here and there a gay city spark from the larger towns of the "great
west."  Yes, and from other sources are individuals of that mixed band.
I recognise the Teutonic type--the fair hair and whitish-yellow
moustache of the German, the florid Englishman, the staid Scot, and his
contrast the noisy Hibernian; both equally brave.  I behold the adroit
and nimble Frenchman, full of laugh and chatter, the stanch soldierly
Swiss, and the moustached exile of Poland, dark, sombre, and silent.
What a study for an ethnologist is that band of odd-looking men!  Who
are 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 motley
aspect, I dare affirm, that not in Europe, not in America elsewhere, not
upon the great globe's surface, can be found a band, of like numbers, to
equal them in strength, daring, and warlike intelligence.  Many of them
have spent half a life in the sharpening practice of border warfare--
Indian or Mexican--and from these the others have learnt.  Some have
been gentlemen upon whom fortune has frowned; a few have been
desperadoes within the pale of civilised life; and a smaller few,
perhaps, _outlaws_ beyond it--bad materials wherewith to _colonise_; not
so bad, if you go but to _conquer_.

Rude as is the _coup d'oeil_ of the corps, I am proud to say that a high
sentiment 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 and
hair, dust-begrimed faces, slouched hats, and odd habiliments, belted as
they are with knife, pistol, powder-horn, and pouch--present such an
aspect.

But you would wrong them to take them as they look.  Few among them are
the pure bandits whose aim is plunder.  Many a noble heart beats beneath
a rude exterior--many a one truly humane.  There are hearts in that band
that throb under the influence of patriotism; some are guided by a still
nobler impulse, a desire to extend the area of freedom: others, it is
true, yearn but for revenge.  These last are chiefly Texans, who mourn a
friend or brother slain by Mexican treachery.  They have not forgotten
the cowardly assassination of Goliad; they remember the red butchery of
the 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 of
excitement 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 poor
adventurer--without friends, without home, without country, for my
native land is no more a nation--my heart is not cheered by a single
throb of patriotism.  I have no private wrong to redress, no public
cause, no country for which to combat.

During intervals of inaction, these thoughts recur to me, and give me
pain.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The men have picketed their horses in the church enclosure; some are
tied to trees, and others to the reja-bars of the windows: like their
riders, a motley group, various in size, colour, and race.  The strong
high-mettled steed of Kentucky and Tennessee, the light "pacer" of
Louisiana, the cob, the barb, his descendant the "mustang," that but a
few weeks ago was running wild upon the prairies, may all be seen in the
troop.  Mules, also, of two distinct races--the large gaunt mule of
North America, and the smaller and more sprightly variety, native of the
soil.

My own black steed, with his pretty fern-coloured muzzle, stands near
the fountain in the centre of the piazza.  My eye wanders with a sort of
habitual delight over the oval outlines of his body.  How proudly he
curves his swan like neck, and with mock anger paws up the dust!  He
knows that my eyes are upon him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

We have been scarcely an hour in the rancheria; we are perfect strangers
to it: we are the first American troop its people have yet seen--
although the war has been going on for some months farther down the
river.  We have been despatched upon scouting duty, with orders to scour
the surrounding country as far as it is safe.  The object in sending us
hither 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, from
another enemy--an enemy of _both of us_--the Comanche!  These Indian
Ishmaelites, report says, are upon the "_war-trail_" and have quite an
army in the field.  It is said they are foraging higher up the river,
where they have it all to themselves, and have just pillaged a
settlement in that direction--butchered the men, as is their wont, and
carried off the women, children, and chattels.  We came hither to
conquer 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, when
my reverie was disturbed by the hoof strokes of a horse.  The sounds
came from a distance, outside the village; the strokes were those of a
horse at full gallop.

I stepped hastily across the azotea, and looked over the parapet, in
hopes 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 very
young man--a mere youth, without beard or moustache, but of singularly
handsome features.  The complexion was dark, almost brown; but even at
the distance of two hundred yards, I could perceive the flash of a noble
eye, and note a damask redness upon his cheeks.  His shoulders were
covered with a scarlet manga, that draped backward over the hips of his
horse; and upon his head he wore a light sombrero, laced, banded, and
tasselled with bullion of gold.  The horse was a small but finely
proportioned mustang--spotted like a jaguar upon a ground colour of
cream--a true Andalusian.

The horseman was advancing at a gallop, without fear of the ground
before 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 involuntary
movement, he reined up his mustang, until its ample tail lay clustered
upon the dust of the road.  It was then that I noted the singular
appearance of both horse and rider.

Just at that moment, the ranger, who held picket on that side of the
village, sprang forth from his hiding-place, and challenged the horseman
to halt.  The challenge was unheeded.  Another jerk of the rein spun the
mustang round, as upon a pivot; and the next instant, impelled by the
spur, the animal resumed his gallop.  He did not return by the road, but
shot off in a new direction, nearly at right angles to his former
course.  A rifle-bullet would have followed, and most likely have
stopped 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 yet
unsaddled, and the bridle was still on.  He had been warmed by the
morning's scout; and I had ordered my negro groom to walk him round for
an 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, met
me half-way with the horse.

I seized the reins, and bounded into the saddle.  Several of the
readiest of the rangers followed my example; and as I galloped down the
lane that led out of the rancheria, I could tell by the clattering of
hoofs that half-a-dozen of them were at my heels.  I cared not much for
that, for surely I was a match for the stripling we meant to chase.  I
knew, moreover, that speed at the moment was of more importance than
strength; and that if the spotted horse possessed as much "bottom" as he
evidently did "heels," his rider and I would have it to ourselves in the
end.  I knew that all the horses of my troop were less swift than my
own; and from the half-dozen springs I had witnessed on the part of the
mustang, I felt satisfied that it remained only for me to overhaul him.

My springing down from the roof and up into the saddle had occupied
scarcely two minutes' time; and in two more, I had cleared the houses,
and was scouring across the fields after the scarlet horseman.  He was
evidently making to get round the village, and continue the journey our
presence had so suddenly interrupted.

The chase led through a field of _milpas_.  My horse sank deeply in the
loose earth, while the lighter mustang bounded over it like a hare.  He
was distancing me, and I began to fear I should lose him, when all at
once I saw that his course was intercepted by a list of magueys, running
transversely right and left.  The plants were of luxuriant growth, eight
or ten feet high, and placed alternately, so that their huge
hooked 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 he
perceived that I had leaned into the diagonal line, and could not fail
to head him.  With a quick wrench upon the rein, he once more wheeled
round, set his horse against the magueys, plied the spur, and dashed
right into their midst.  In a moment, both horse and rider were out of
sight; but as I spurred up to the spot, I could hear the thick blades
crackle under the hoofs of the mustang.

There was no time for reflection.  I must either follow, or abandon the
pursuit.  The alternative was not thought of.  I was on my honour, my
steed upon his mettle; and without halt we went plunging through the
magueys.

Torn and bleeding, we came out on the opposite side; and I perceived, to
my satisfaction, that I had made better time than the red rider before
me; his halt had lessened the distance between us.

But another field of milpas had to be passed, and he was again gaining
upon 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 the
field.  Like the magueys, it ran transversely to our course.

"That will stop him," thought I; "he must take to the right or left, and
then--"

My thoughts were interrupted.  Instead of turning either to right or
left, the Mexican headed his horse at the zequia, and the noble creature
rushing 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 needed
neither whip nor spur; he had seen the other leap the zequia, and he
knew what was expected of him.  With a bound he went over, clearing the
drain by several feet; and then, as if resolved upon bringing the affair
to an end, he laid his head forward, and stretched himself at
race-course speed.

A broad grassy plain--a savannah--lay before us, and the hoofs of both
horses, pursuer and pursued, now rang upon hard firm turf.  The rest of
the chase would have been a simple trial of speed, and I made sure of
overhauling the mustang before he could reach the opposite side, when a
new obstacle presented itself.  A vast herd of cattle and horses studded
the savannah throughout its whole extent; these, startled by our wild
gallop, tossed their heads, and ran affrighted in every direction, but
frequently as otherwise, directly in our way.  More than once I was
forced to rein in, to save my neck or my horse's from being broken over
a fierce bull or a long-horned lumbering ox; and more than once I was
compelled to swerve from my course.

What vexed me most, was that in this zigzag race, the mustang, from
practice perhaps, had the advantage; and while it continued, he
increased his distance.

We cleared the drove at length; but to my chagrin I perceived that we
were nearly across the plain.  As I glanced ahead, I saw the chapparal
near, with taller trees rising over it; beyond, I saw the swell of a
hill, with white walls upon its summit.  It was the hacienda already
mentioned: we were riding directly towards it.

I was growing anxious about the result.  Should the horseman reach the
thicket, I would be almost certain to lose him.  _I dared not let him
escape_.  What would my men say, if I went back without him?  I had
hindered the sentry from firing, and permitted to escape, perhaps a spy,
perhaps some important personage.  His desperate efforts to get off
favoured the supposition that he was one or the other.  _He must be
taken_!

Under fresh impulse, derived from these reflections, I lanced the flanks
of my horse more deeply than ever.  Moro seemed to divine my thoughts,
and stretched himself to his utmost.  There were no more cattle, not an
obstacle, and his superior speed soon lessened the distance between
himself and the mustang.  Ten seconds more would do it.

The ten seconds flew by.  I felt myself within shooting distance; I drew
my 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 a
fellow-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 not
altogether, a feeling of admiration: there was an indefinable idea in my
mind at the moment.  My finger rested on the trigger, and I could not
draw it.

"He must not escape!  He is nearing the trees!  He must not be allowed
to enter the thicket; I must cripple the horse."

I looked for a place to aim at--his hips were towards me--should I hit
him 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.  The
object of this manoeuvre was to throw me out of the track.  So far it
was 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, I
sent a bullet through his kidneys.  A single plunge forward was his
last, and both horse and rider came to the ground.

In an instant the latter had disengaged himself from his struggling
steed, and stood upon his feet.  Fearing that he might still endeavour
to escape to the cover of the thicket, I spurred forward, pistol in
hand, and pointed the weapon at his head.  But he made no attempt either
at further flight or resistance.  On the contrary, he stood with folded
arms, fronting the levelled tube, and, looking me full in the face, said
with an air of perfect coolness--

"_No matame, amigo!  Soy muger_!"  (Do not kill me, friend!  I am a
woman!)



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 led
me to suspect that the spy I pursued was a female.  As the mustang
sprung over the zequia, the flowing skirt of the manga was puffed
upward, and hung for some moments spread out in the air.  A velvet
bodice beneath, a tunic-like skirt, the _tournure_ of the form, all
impressed me as singular for a cavallero, however rich and young.  The
limbs I could not see, as the goat-skin _armas-de-agua_ were drawn over
them; but I caught a glimpse of a gold spur, and a heel of a tiny red
boot to which it was attached.  The clubbed hair, too, loosened by the
violent motion, had fallen backward, and in two thick plaits, slightly
dishevelled, rested upon the croup of the horse.  A young Indian's might
have been equally as long, but _his_ tresses would have been jet-black
and coarse-grained, whereas those under my eyes were soft, silky, and
nut-brown.  Neither the style of riding--_a la Duchesse de Berri_--nor
the manlike costume of manga and hat, were averse to the idea that the
rider was a woman.  Both the style and costume are common to the
_rancheras_ of Mexico.  Moreover, as the mustang made his last double, I
had caught a near view of the side face of the rider.  The features of
no man--not of the Trojan shepherd, not of Adonis or Endymion--were so
exquisitely chiselled as they.  Certainly a woman!  Her declaration at
once put an end to my conjectures, but, as I have said, did not astonish
me.

I _was_ astonished, however, by its tone and manner.  Instead of being
uttered in accents of alarm, it was pronounced as coolly as if the whole
thing had been a jest!  Sadness, not supplication, was the prevailing
tone, which was further carried out as she knelt to the ground, pressed
her 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 was
unheeded; she did not even look up.

"_Ay-de-mi! pobre yegua!  Lola, Lolita_!" she repeated, as coolly as if
the dead mustang was the only object of her thoughts, and I, the armed
assassin, fifty miles from the spot!  "A woman?"  I again ejaculated--in
my embarrassment scarcely knowing what to say.

"_Si, senor; nada mas_--_que quiere V.?_" (Yes, sir nothing more--what
do you want?)

As she made this reply, she rose to her feet, and stood confronting me
without the slightest semblance of fear.  So unexpected was the answer,
both in tone and sentiment, that for the life of me I could not help
breaking into a laugh.

"You are merry, sir.  You have made _me_ sad; you have killed my
favourite!"

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 proud
presence.

"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 been
worse!  I loved that creature dearly--dearly as I do my life--_as I love
my father_--_pobre yegua_--_yeguita_--_ita_--_ita_!"

And as she thus wildly expressed herself, she bent down, passed her arms
around the neck of the mustang, and once more pressed her lips to its
velvet muzzle.  Then gently closing its eyelids, she rose to an erect
attitude, and stood with folded arms, regarding the lifeless form with a
sad and bitter expression of countenance.

I scarcely knew what to do.  I was in a dilemma with my fair captive.  I
would have given a month of my "payroll" to have restored the spotted
mustang to life; but as that was out of the question, I bethought me of
some means of making restitution to its owner.  An offer of money would
not be delicate.  What then?

A thought occurred to me, that promised to relieve me from my
embarrassment.  The eagerness of the rich Mexicans to obtain our large
American horses--_frisones_, as they term them--was well known
throughout the army.  Fabulous prices were often paid for them by these
_ricos_, who wanted them for display upon the _Paseo_.  We had many good
half-bred bloods in the troop; one of these, thought I, might be
acceptable 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 the
rowels rang--"what?  A horse to me?--_Mira_!" she continued, pointing to
the plain: "look there, sir!  There are a thousand horses; they are
mine.  Now, know the value of your offer.  Do I stand in need of a
horse?"

"But, senorita," stammered I apologisingly, "these are horses of native
race.  The one I propose to--"

"Bah!" she exclaimed, interrupting me, and pointing to the mustang; "I
would not have exchanged _that native_ for all the frisones in your
troop.  Not one of them was its equal!"

A personal slight would not have called forth a contradiction; yet this
defiance had that effect.  She had touched the chord of my vanity--I
might 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 stood
for some moments gazing at him in silence.  I watched the expression of
her eye; I saw it kindle into admiration as it swept over the gracefully
curving outlines of my noble steed.  He looked at the moment superb; the
short skurry had drawn the foam from his lips, and flakes of it clung
against his neck and counter, contrasting finely with the shining black
of his skin; his sides heaved and fell in regular undulations, and the
smoke issued from his blood-red nostrils; his eye was still on fire, and
his neck proudly arched, as though conscious of his late triumph, and
the interest he was now exciting.

For a long while she stood gazing upon him, and though she spoke not a
word, 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, that
rendered me extremely uncomfortable; and I felt regret that I had so
pointedly 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 a
thousand; but on the strength of the offer I had made, what if she
should fancy _him_?  The circumstances were awkward for a refusal;
indeed, under any circumstances refusal would have been painful.  I
began to feel that I could deny her nothing.  This proud beautiful woman
already _divided my interest with Moro_!

My position was a delicate one; fortunately, I was relieved from it by
an incident that carried our thoughts into a new current: the troopers
who 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 to
their quarters.  They stared for a moment at the fallen mustang with its
rich blood-stained trappings, at its late rider, and her picturesque
garments; and then, muttering a few words to one another, obeyed the
order.  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 know
what answer to make.  The excitement of the chase, the encounter, and
its curious developments--perhaps above all other things, the bewitching
beauty of my captive--had driven out of my mind the whole purpose of the
pursuit; 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 can
testify.  "Fair ladies--though never one so fair as she--have, ere now,
served their country in this fashion.  She may be the bearer of some
important dispatch for the enemy.  If so, and I permit her to go free,
the consequences may be serious--unpleasant even to myself."  So ran my
reflections.

On the other hand, I disliked the duty of taking her back a prisoner.  I
feared to execute it; I dreaded _her_ displeasure.  _I wished to be
friends with her_.  I felt the influence of that mysterious power which
transcends all strength--the power of beauty.  I had been but ten
minutes in the company of this brown-skinned maiden, and already she
controlled 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 the
question--

"Am I your captive?"

"I fear, senorita, I am _yours_."

I was prompted to this declaration, partly to escape from a direct
answer, and partly giving way to the passion already fast gathering in
my bosom.  It was no coquetry on my part, no desire to make a pretty
passage of words.  Though I spoke only from impulse, I was serious; and
with no little anxiety did I watch the effect of my speech.

Her large lustrous eyes rested upon me, at first with a puzzled
expression; this gradually changed to one of more significance--one that
pleased me better.  She seemed for a moment to throw aside her
indifference, and regard me with more attention.  I fancied, from the
glance she gave, that she was contented with what I had said.  For all
that, the slight curl upon her pretty lip had a provoking air of triumph
in 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 could
into her beautiful eyes, "if you give me your word that you are _not a
spy_, 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?--you
bear no dispatch for our enemy?"

"Nothing of the sort, mio capitan;" and she continued her light
laughter.

"Why, then, did you try to make away from us?"

"Ah, cavallero! are you not Tejanos?  Do not be offended when I tell you
that 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 at
the mustang, while a bitter smile played upon her lips.  "I perceive it
now; I did not then.  I did not think there was a horseman in all your
troop could come up with me.  _Merced_! there was _one_.  _You_ have
overtaken me: _you alone_ could have done it."

As she uttered these words, her large brown eyes were once more turned
upon me--not in a fixed gaze, but wandering.  She scanned me from the
forage-cap on my crown to the spur upon my heel.  I watched her eye with
eager interest: I fancied that its scornful expression was giving way; I
fancied there was a ray of tenderness in the glance, I would have given
the 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 was
directed 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 my
captive.  I had not yet given her permission to depart: I hastened to
tender it.

"Spy or no spy, senorita, I shall not detain you.  I shall bear the
risk: 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 have
been subjected?"

"Freely, capitan--freely."

"I shudder at thought of the risk you have run.  Why did you act with
such imprudence?  Your sudden flight at sight of our picket caused
suspicion, 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 I
could see, you might have been a guerilla of my _countrymen_.  How would
it be if this paper, and sundry others I carry, were to fall into the
hands of Caiales?  You perceive, capitan, we fear our _friends_ more
than our _enemies_."

I now fully comprehended the motive of her flight.

"You speak Spanish too well, mio capitan," continued she.  "Had you
cried `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 overcame
her; and sinking down upon her knees, she passed her arms around the
neck of the mustang, now stiff and cold.  Her face was buried in the
long thick mane, and I could perceive the tears sparkling like dew-drops
over the tossed hair.

"_Pobre Lolita_!" she continued, "I have good cause to grieve; I had
reason to love you well.  More than once you saved me from the fierce
Lipan and the brutal Comanche.  What am I to do now?  I dread the Indian
foray; I shall tremble at every sign of the savage.  I dare no more
venture upon the prairie; I dare not go abroad; I must tamely stay at
home.  _Mia querida_! you were my wings: they are clipped--I fly no
more."

All this was uttered in a tone of extreme bitterness; and I--I who so
loved my own brave steed--could appreciate her feelings.  With the hope
of imparting even a little consolation, I repeated my offer.

"Senorita," I said, "I have swift horses in my troop--some of noble
race--"

"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 so
cavalierly 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 not
a _balcon_ or _reja_ into which you did not glance--not a smile in the
whole street you did not seem anxious to reciprocate--Ha, ha, ha!  I
fear, 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 I
value, 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 prevented
me for some time from replying.  She noticed my hesitation, but remained
silent, awaiting my answer.

"Senorita," I stammered out at length, "that steed is a great
favourite--an old and tried friend.  _If_ you desire--to possess him, he
is--he is at your service."

In emphasising the "if," I was appealing to her generosity.  It was to
no purpose.

"Thank you," she replied coolly; "he shall be well cared for.  No doubt
he 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 will
do; but it is not equal to ours.  I use a mameluke.  Help me to that
lazo."

She pointed to a lazo of white horsehair, beautifully plaited, that was
coiled upon the saddle of the mustang.

I unloosed the rope--mechanically I did--and in the same way adjusted it
to 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 gloved
hand--"now I shall see how he performs."

At the word, she bounded into the saddle, her small foot scarcely
touching the stirrup.  She had thrown off her manga, and her woman's
form was now displayed in all its undulating outlines.  The silken skirt
draped 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 to
the saddle; and the tight bodice, lashed with lace, displayed the full
rounding of her bosom, as it rose and fell in quiet regular breathing--
for she seemed in no way excited or nervous.  Her full round eye
expressed only calmness and courage.

I stood transfixed with admiration.  I thought of the Amazons: were they
beautiful like her?  With a troop of such warriors one might _conquer a
world_!

A fierce-looking bull, moved by curiosity or otherwise, had separated
from the herd, and was seen approaching the spot where we were.  This
was just what the fair rider wanted.  At a touch of the spur, the horse
sprang forward, and galloped directly for the bull.  The latter, cowed
at the sudden onset, turned and ran; but his swift pursuer soon came
within lazo distance.  The noose circled in the air, and, launched
forward, was seen to settle around the horns of the animal.  The horse
was now wheeled round, and headed in an opposite direction.  The rope
tightened with a sudden pluck, and the bull was thrown with violence to
the plain, where he lay stunned and apparently lifeless.  Before he had
time to recover himself, the rider turned her horse, trotted up to the
prostrate 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 and
gazing 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, she
added--

"And this horse is mine?"

"Yes, lady, if you will it," I replied somewhat cheerlessly, for I felt
as if my best friend was about to be taken from me.

"But I do _not_ will it," said she, with an air of determination; and
then breaking into a laugh, she cried out, "Ha! capitan, I know your
thoughts.  Think you I cannot appreciate the sacrifice you would make?
Keep your favourite.  Enough that one of us should suffer;" and she
pointed to the mustang.  "Keep the brave black; you well know how to
ride 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 words
I expected it, but in the glance.  Assuredly there was no frown; I even
fancied 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, noble
capitan, if you are as true to her as to you brave steed, she will have
no 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!"  She
pointed to the hacienda.  "Here is one who will look to the remains of
poor Lola;" and she signalled to a vaquero at that moment coming from
the herd.  "Remember, capitan, you are an enemy; I must not accept your
politeness; neither may I offer you hospitality.  Ah! you know not us--
you know not the tyrant Santa Anna.  Perhaps even at this moment his
spies are--" She glanced suspiciously around as she spoke.  "O Heavens!"
she exclaimed with a start, as her eyes fell upon the form of a man
advancing down the hill.  "_Santissima Virgen_! it is Ijurra!"

"Ijurra?"

"Only my cousin; but--" She hesitated, and then suddenly changing to an
expression of entreaty, she continued: "O leave me, senor!  _Por amor
Dios_! leave me.  Adieu, adieu!"

Though I longed to have a nearer view of "Ijurra," the hurried
earnestness of her manner overcame me; and without making other reply
than a simple "Adios," I vaulted into the saddle, and rode off.

On reaching the border of the woods, curiosity--a stronger feeling
perhaps--mastered my politeness; and, under the pretence of adjusting my
stirrup, 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 of
Mexico: dark cloth polka-jacket, blue military trousers, with scarlet
sash 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 personal
appearance, nor yet his costume, that had my attention at the moment.  I
watched only his actions.  He stood confronting his cousin, or rather he
stood _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 he
spoke.  There was a fierce vulture-like expression upon his face; and
even in the distance I could tell, from the tones of his voice, that he
was talking angrily!

Why should she fear _him_?  Why submit to such rude rebuke?  He must
have a strange power over that spirit who could force it thus tamely to
listen to reproach?

These were my reflections.  My impulse was to drive the spurs into the
sides of my horse, and gallop back upon the ground.  I might have done
so had the scene lasted much longer; but I saw the lady suddenly leave
the 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 full
of the incident that had just transpired, I rode unconsciously, leaving
my 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 dashed
through the magueys, I leaped the _zequia_, and galloped through the
affrighted herd; I beheld the spotted mustang stretched lifeless upon
the plain, its rider bending and weeping over it.  That face of rare
beauty, that form of exquisite proportion, that eye rotund and noble,
that tongue so free, and heart so bold--all were again encountered in
dreamland.  A dark face was in the vision, and at intervals crossed the
picture like a cloud.  It was the face of Ijurra.

I think it was that awoke me, but the _reveille_ of the bugle was
ringing in my ears as I leaped from my couch.

For some moments I was under the impression that the adventure had been
a 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 which
lay a coil of white horsehair rope, with a silver ring at the end.  I
remembered the lazo.

When fairly awake, I reviewed my yesterday's adventure from first to
last.  I tried to think calmly upon it; I tried to get it out of my
thoughts, and return seriously to my duties.  A vain attempt!  The more
I reflected upon the incident, the more I became conscious of the
powerful interest its heroine had excited within me.  Interest, indeed!
Say rather _passion_--a passion that in one single hour had grown as
large 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 I
understood what the feeling was.  I needed no Cupid to tell me I was in
love again--to the very ends of my fingers.

To paint the object of my passion is a task I shall not attempt.  Beauty
like hers must be left to the imagination.  Think of the woman you
_yourself_ love or have loved; fancy her in her fairest moments, in
bower or boudoir--perchance a blushing bride--and you may form some
idea--No, no, no! you could never have looked upon woman so lovely as
Isolina de Vargas.

Oh! that I could fix that fleeting phantom of beauty--that I could paint
that likeness for the world to admire!  It cannot be.  The most puissant
pen is powerless, the brightest colour too cold.  Though deeply graven
upon the tablet of my heart, I cannot multiply the impression.

It is idle to talk of wavy hair, profuse and glossed--of almond eyes
with long dark fringes--of pearl-white teeth, and cheeks tinted with
damascene.  All these had she, but they are not peculiar
characteristics.  Other women are thus gifted.  The traits of _her_
beauty lay in the intellectual as much as the physical--in a happy
combination of both.  The soul, the spirit, had its share in producing
this incomparable picture.  It was to behold the play of those noble
features, to watch the changing cheek, the varying smile, the falling
lash, the flashing eye, the glance now tender, now sublime--it was to
look on all this, and be impressed with an idea of the divinest
loveliness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I ate my frugal breakfast, such a vision was passing before me.  I
contemplated the future with pleasant hopes, but not without feelings of
uneasiness.  I had not forgotten the abrupt parting--no invitation to
renew the acquaintance, no hope, no prospect that I should ever behold
that beautiful woman again, unless blind chance should prove my friend.

I am not a fatalist, and I therefore resolved not to rely upon mere
destiny, but, if possible, to help it a little in its evolution.

Before I had finished my coffee, a dozen schemes had passed through my
mind, all tending towards one object--the renewal of my acquaintance
with Isolina de Vargas.  Unless favoured by some lucky accident, or,
what was more desirable, _by the lady herself_, I knew we might never
meet 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 _en
route_ 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 right
of entry anywhere.  Not so.  Whatever be the licence of the mere soldier
as regards the common people of a conquered country, the position of the
officer with its higher class is essentially different.  If a gentleman,
he naturally feels a delicacy in making any advances towards an
acquaintance; and his honour restrains him from the freer forms of
introduction.  To take advantage of his position of power would be a
positive meanness, of which a true gentleman cannot be guilty.  Besides,
there may be rancour on the part of the conquered--there usually is--but
even when no such feeling exists, another barrier stands in the way of
free association between the officer and "society."  The latter feels
that the position of affairs will not be permanent; the enemy will in
time evacuate, and then the vengeance of mob-patriotism is to be
dreaded.  Never did the ricos of Mexico feel more secure than while
under the protection of the American army: many of them were disposed to
be friendly; but the phantom of the future, with its mob _emeutes_,
stared them in the face, and under this dread they were forced to adopt
a hypocritical exclusiveness.  Epaulettes must not be seen glancing
through the windows of their drawing-rooms!

Under such circumstances, my situation was difficult enough.  I might
gaze upon the outside walls of that handsome hacienda till my heart
ached, but how was I to effect an entrance?

To charge a fort, a battery, an intrenched camp--to storm a castle, or
break a solid square--one or all would have been child's play compared
with the difficulty of crossing that glacial line of etiquette that
separated me from my beautiful enemy.

To effect this purpose, a dozen schemes were passed through my mind, and
rejected, till my eyes at length rested upon the most interesting object
in the apartment--the little white rope that hung from my saddlebow.  In
the lazo, I recognised my "forlorn-hope."  That pretty implement must be
returned to its owner.  _I myself should take it home_!  So far
_destiny_ should be guided by _me_; beyond, I should have to put my
trust in destiny.

I think best under the influence of a cigar; and lighting one, I
ascended to the azotea, to complete my little scheme.

I had scarcely made two turns of the roof, when a horseman galloped into
the piazza.  He was in dragoon uniform, and I soon perceived he was an
orderly from headquarters, inquiring for the commandant of the outpost.
One of the men pointed to me; and the orderly trotting forward, drew up
in front of the alcalde's house, and announced that he was the bearer of
a dispatch from the general-in-chief, at the same time showing a folded
paper.  I directed him to pass it up on the point of his sabre, which he
did; and then saluting me, he turned his horse and galloped back as he
had 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 the
hacienda of Don Ramon de Yargas, in the neighbourhood of your station.
You will there find five thousand head of beeves, which you will cause
to be driven to the camp of the American army, and delivered to the
commissary-general.  You will find the necessary drivers upon the
ground, 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 brains
for some scheme of introduction to Don Ramon de Vargas, here comes one
ready fashioned to my hand."

I thought no more about the lazo: the rope was no longer an object of
prime interest.  Trimmed and embellished with the graceful excuse of
"duty," I should now ride boldly up to the hacienda, and enter its gates
with the confident air of a welcome guest.  Welcome, indeed!  A contract
for five thousand beeves, and at war-prices!  A good stroke of business
on 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 most
intimate terms, and so be "asked back."  I am usually popular with old
gentlemen, and I trusted to my bright star to place me _en rapport_ with
Don Ramon de Vargas.  The coralling of the cattle would occupy some
time--a brace of hours at the least.  That would be outside work, and I
could intrust it to my lieutenant or a sergeant.  For myself, I was
determined to stay by the walls.  The Don must go out to look after his
vaqueros.  It would be rude to leave me alone.  He would introduce me to
his daughter--he could not do less--a customer on so large a scale!  We
should 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 fancies
I had conjured up.

A dispatch from head-quarters calls for prompt attention and my
reflections were cut short by the necessity of carrying the order into
execution.  Without loss of time, I issued the command for about fifty
of the rangers to "boot and saddle."

I was about to pay more than ordinary attention to my toilet, when it
occurred to me I might as well first peruse the "note" referred to in
the dispatch.  I opened the paper; to my surprise the document was in
Spanish.  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 from
me_ with a _show of force_; and even a _little rudeness_, on the part of
those you send, would not be out of place.  My vaqueros are at your
service, 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 as
clear as noonday; and, although, it gave me a high opinion of the
administrative talents of Don Ramon de Vargas, it was by no means a
welcome document.  It rendered null every act of the fine programme I
had sketched out.  By its directions, there was to be no "embracing," no
hobnobbing 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 up
with a swagger, bang the doors, threaten the trembling porter, kick the
peons, 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 intelligent
creature would be in the secret.  Yes, she will understand my motives.
I can act with as much mildness as circumstances will permit.  My Texan
lieutenant will do the kicking of the peons, and that without much
pressing.  If she be not cloistered, I will have a glimpse at her; so
here goes.  "_To horse_!"

The bugle gave the signal; fifty rangers--with Lieutenants Holingsworth
and Wheatley--leaped into their saddles, and next moment were filing by
twos 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 was
to be seen outside, not even the apparition of a frightened peon.  I had
given my Texan lieutenant his cue; he knew enough of Spanish for the
purpose.

Flinging himself out of the saddle, he approached the gate, and
commenced 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 same
time thundering on the woodwork with his weapon.

When the noise ceased, a faint "_Quien es_?"  (Who is it?) was heard
from 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 honest
men.)

A rattling of chains and shooting of bolts now commenced, and lasted for
at least a couple of minutes, at the end of which time the great
folding-doors opened inward, displaying to view the swarthy leather-clad
_portero_, the brick-paved _saguan_, and a portion of the _patio_, or
courtyard within.

As soon as the door was fairly open, Wheatley made a rush at the
trembling porter, caught him by the jerkin, boxed both his ears, and
then commanded him in a loud voice to summon the _dueno_!

This conduct, somewhat unexpected on the part of the rangers, seemed to
be just to their taste; and I could hear behind me the whole troop
chuckling in half-suppressed laughter.  _Guerilleros_ as they were, they
had never been allowed much licence in their dealings with the
inhabitants--the non-combatants--of the country, and much less had they
witnessed such conduct on the part of their officers.  Indeed, it was
cause of complaint in the ranks of the American army, and with many
officers too, that even hostile Mexicans were treated with a lenient
consideration denied to themselves.  Wheatley's behaviour, therefore,
touched a chord in the hearts of our following, that vibrated pleasantly
enough; they began to believe that the campaign was about to become a
little 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 be
too badly frightened to deliver his message.  "Go, say to your master
that an American officer has business with him, and _must_ see him
immediately."

The man went off, after a little more persuasion from the free hand of
Wheatley, 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 Texan
lieutenant to follow me, I headed my horse for the great archway, and
rode in.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

DON RAMON.

On entering the courtyard, a somewhat novel scene presented itself--a
Spanish picture, with some transatlantic touches.  The _patio_ of a
Mexican house is its proper front.  Here you no longer look upon
jail-like door and windows, but facades gaily frescoed, curtained
verandahs, and glazed sashes that reach to the ground.  The patio of Don
Ramon's mansion was paved with brick.  A fountain, with its tank of
japanned mason-work, stood in the centre; orange-trees stretched their
fronds over the water: their golden globes and white wax-like flowers
perfumed the atmosphere, which, cooled by the constant evaporation of
the _jet_, felt fresh and fragrant.  Around three sides of the court
extended a verandah, its floor of painted tiles rising but a few inches
above the level of the pavement.  A row of _portales_ supported the roof
of this verandah, and the whole corridor was railed in, and curtained.
The curtains were close-drawn, and except at one point--the entrance
between two of the portales--the corridor was completely screened from
our view, and consequently all the windows of the house, that opened
into the verandah.  No human face greeted our searching glances.  In
looking to the rear--into the great _corral_, or cattle-yard--we could
see numerous peons in their brown leathern dresses, with naked legs and
sandalled feet; vaqueros in all their grandeur of velveteens,
bell-buttons, and gold or silver lace; with a number of women and young
girls in coloured _naguas_ and rebosos.  A busy scene was presented in
that quarter.  It was the great cattle enclosure, for the estate of Don
Ramon de Vargas was a _hacienda de ganados_, or grand grazing-farm--a
title which in no way detracts from the presumed respectability of its
owner, many of the noble hidalgoes of Mexico being _graziers_ on a large
scale.

On entering the patio, I only glanced back at the corral; my eyes were
busy with the curtained verandah, and, failing there were carried up to
the azotea, in hopes of discovering the object of my thoughts.  The
house, as I have elsewhere stated, was but a single story in height, and
from the saddle I could almost look into the azotea.  I could see that
it was a sanctuary of rare plants, and the broad leaves and bright
corollas of some of the taller ones appeared over the edge of the
parapet.  Abundance of fair flowers I could perceive, but not that one
for which I was looking.  No face yet showed, no voice greeted us with a
welcome.  The shouts of the vaqueros, the music of singing-birds caged
along the corridor, and the murmur of the fountain, were the only
sounds.  The two former suddenly became hushed, as the hoofs of our
horses rang upon the stone pavement, and the heedless water alone
continued to utter its soft monotone.

Once more my eyes swept the curtain, gazing intently into the few
apertures 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, and
wenches, had poured in through the back gateway, and stood staring with
astonishment at the unexpected guests.

After a considerable pause, the tread of feet was heard upon the
corridor, 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 old
gentleman made his appearance behind the railing.  He was a person of
large frame, and although slightly stooping with age, his step was firm,
and his whole aspect bespoke a wonderful energy and resolution.  His
eyes were large and brilliant, shadowed by heavy brows, upon which the
hair still retained its dark colour, although that of his head was white
as snow.  He was simply habited--in a jacket of nankeen cloth, and wide
trousers of like material.  He wore neither waistcoat nor cravat.  A
full white shirt of finest linen covered his breast, and a sash of dull
blue colour was twisted around his waist.  On his head was a costly hat
of the "Guayaquil grass," and in his fingers a husk cigarrito smoking at
the end.

Altogether, the aspect of Don Ramon--for it was he--despite its assumed
sternness, was pleasing and intelligent; and I should have relished a
friendly chat with him, even upon his own account.

This, however, was out of the question.  I must abide by the spirit of
my orders: the farce must be played out; so, touching the flanks of my
horse, 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, of
course, for the benefit of the peons and vaqueros.  "I am sent to offer
you a contract to supply the army with beeves.  I have here an order
from the general-in-chief--"

"I have no beeves for sale," interrupted Don Ramon, in a loud, indignant
voice; "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 that
I should do so.  Moreover, your vaqueros must accompany us, and drive
the cattle to the American camp."

As I said this, I signalled to Holingsworth, who rode in with his
following; 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 my
government--to yours--I shall have redress."

"You shall have payment, Don Ramon," said I, apparently trying to pacify
him.

"Payment, _carrambo_!--payment from robbers, _filibusteros_--"

"Come, come, old gentleman!" cried Wheatley, who was only half behind
the scenes, and who spoke rather in earnest, "keep a good tongue in your
head, 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 of
the latter phrase that would certainly have brought Wheatley's revolver
from his belt, had I not, at the moment, whispered a word in the
lieutenant'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 to
Don Ramon, "don't you be scared about the dollars.  Uncle Sam's a
liberal trader and a good paymaster.  I wish your beef was mine, and I
had _his_ promise to pay for it.  So take things a little easier, if you
please; 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 the
curtains, and hiding himself from our sight.

During the whole scene I had great difficulty in controlling my
countenance.  I could perceive that the Mexican laboured under a similar
difficulty.  There was a laughing devil in the corner of his keen eye
that required restraint; and I thought once or twice either he or I
should lose our equanimity.  _I_ certainly should have done so, but that
my heart and eyes were most of the time in other quarters.  As for the
Don, 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 the
dialogue, might have afterwards brought him to grief.  Most of them were
his 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 reasons
for assuming a character; and well did the old gentleman sustain it.

As he drew the curtain, his half-whispered "Adios capitan!" heard only
by myself, sounded full of sweetness and _promise_; and I felt rather
contented as I straightened myself in the saddle, and issued the order
for _rieving_ his cattle.



CHAPTER NINE.

"UN PAPELCITO."

Wheatley now rode after the troop, with which Holingworth had already
entered the corral.  A band of drivers was speedily pressed into
service; and with these the two lieutenants proceeded to the great plain
at the foot of the hill, where most of Don Ramon's cattle were at
pasture.  By this arrangement I was left alone, if I except the company
of half-a-dozen slippered wenches--the deities of the _cocina_--who,
clustered in the corner of the patio, eyed me with mingled looks of
curiosity and fear.

The verandah curtains remained hermetically closed, and though I glanced
at every aperture that offered a chance to an observing eye, no one
appeared to be stirring behind them.

"Too high-bred--perhaps indifferent?" thought I.  The latter supposition
was by no means gratifying to my vanity.  "After all, now that the
others 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 never
do.  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 fountain
came under my eyes.  Its water reminded me that I was thirsty, for it
was 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 filling
it with the cool sparkling liquid, I drained it off.  It was very good
water, but not Canario or Xeres.

Sweeping the curtain once more, I turned with a disappointed glance, and
jagging my horse, rode doggedly out through the back gateway.

Once in the rear of the buildings, I had a full view of the great meadow
already known to me; and pulling up, I sat in the saddle, and watched
the animated scene that was there being enacted.  Bulls, half wild,
rushing to and fro in mad fury, vaqueros mounted on their light
mustangs, with streaming sash and winding lazo; rangers upon their
heavier steeds, offering but a clumsy aid to the more adroit and
practised herdsmen; others driving off large groups that had been
already collected and brought into subjection: and all this amidst the
fierce bellowing of the bulls, the shouts and laughter of the delighted
troopers, the shriller cries of the vaqueros and peons: the whole
forming a picture that, under other circumstances, I should have
contemplated with interest.  Just then my spirits were not attuned to
its enjoyment, and although I remained for some minutes with my eyes
fixed upon the plain, my thoughts were wandering elsewhere.

I confess to a strong faith in woman's curiosity.  That such a scene
could be passing under the windows of the most aristocratic mansion,
without its most aristocratic inmate deigning to take a peep at it, I
could not believe.  Besides, Isolina was the very reverse.

"Ha!  Despite that jealous curtain, those beautiful eyes are glancing
through some aperture--window or loophole, I doubt not;" and with this
reflection 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 the
shutters of the windows were closed; but these opened inward, and since
that time one or other of them might have been set a little ajar.  From
my knowledge of Mexican interiors, I knew that the front windows are
those of the principal apartments--of the _sola_ and grand _cuarto_, or
drawing-room--precisely those where the inmates of that hour should be
found.

"Fool!" thought I, "to have remained so long in the patio.  Had I gone
round 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, and
re-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 horse
across the paved court, and entered under the arched _saguan_.  The
massive gate stood open, as we had left it; and on looking into the
little box of the portero, I perceived that it was empty.  The man had
hid himself, in dread of a second interview with the Texan lieutenant!

In another moment I had emerged from the gateway, and was about turning
my horse to inspect the windows, when I heard the word "Capitan,"
pronounced in a voice, that sounded soft as a silver bell, and thrilled
to my heart like a strain of music.

I looked towards the windows.  It came not thence; they were close shut
as ever.  Whence--

Before I had time to ask myself the question, the "Capitan" was repeated
in a somewhat louder key, and I now perceived that the voice proceeded
from above--from the azotea.

I wrenched my horse round, at the same time turning my eyes upward.  I
could see no one; but just at that moment an arm, that might have been
attached to the bust of Venus, was protruded through a notch in the
parapet.  In the small hand, wickedly sparkling with jewels, was
something white, which I could not distinguish until I saw it projected
on the grass--at the same moment that the phrase "Un papelcito" reached
my ears.

Without hesitation I dismounted--made myself master of the _papelcito_;
and then leaping once more into the saddle, looked upward.  I had
purposely drawn my horse some distance from the walls, so that I might
command a better view.  I was not disappointed--Isolina!

The face, that lovely face, was just distinguishable through the slender
embrasure, the large brown eyes gazing upon me with that half-earnest,
half-mocking glance I had already noticed, and which produced within me
both 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 one
disturbed her; a finger rested momentarily on her lips, and then her
face 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 had
evidently withdrawn from the front of the building, though she was still
upon the azotea.  Some one had joined her; and I could hear voices in
conversation; her own contrasting with the harsher tones of a man.
Perhaps her father--perhaps--that other _relative_--less agreeable
supposition!

I was about to ride off, when it occurred to me that I had better first
master the contents of the "papelcito."  Perhaps it might throw some
light on the situation, and enable me to adopt the more pleasant
alternative of remaining a while longer upon the premises.

I had thrust the _billet_ into the breast of my frock; and now looked
around for some place where I might draw it forth and peruse it
unobserved.  The great arched gateway, shadowy and tenantless, offered
the desired accommodation; and heading my horse to it, I once more rode
inside the saguan.

Facing around so as to hide my front from the _cocineras_, I drew forth
the strip of folded paper, and spread it open before me.  Though written
in pencil, and evidently in a hurried impromptu, I had no difficulty in
deciphering 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 pondering
upon its contents.  Part was clear enough--the remaining part full of
mystery.

"We fear our _friends_ more than _our foes_."  I was behind the scenes
sufficiently to comprehend what was intended by that cunningly worded
phrase.  It simply meant that Don Ramon de Vargas was _Ayankieado_--in
other words, a friend to the American cause, or, as some loud demagogues
would have pronounced him, a "traitor to his country."  It did not
follow, however, that he was anything of the kind.  He might have wished
success to the American arms, and still remained a true friend to his
country--not one of those blind bigots whose standard displays the
brigand motto, "Our country right or wrong;" but an enlightened patriot,
who desired more to see Mexico enjoy peace and happiness under foreign
domination, than that it should continue in anarchy under the iron rule
of native despots.  What is there in the empty title of _independence_,
without peace, without liberty?  After all, patriotism in its ordinary
sense is but a doubtful virtue--perhaps nearer to a crime!  It will one
day appear so; one day in the far future it will be supplanted by a
virtue of higher order--the patriotism that knows no boundaries of
nations, 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, who
cared not that the _name_ of "Mexico" should be blotted from the map, so
long as peace and prosperity should be given to his country under
another name?  Was Don Ramon one of these?  It might be.  There were
many such in Mexico at that time, and these principally of the class to
which Senor de Vargas belonged--the _ricos_, or proprietors.  It is easy
enough to explain why the Ayankieados were of the class of ricos.

Perhaps the affection of Don Ramon for the American cause had less lofty
motives; perhaps the five thousand beeves may have had something to do
with 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 to
the ambiguous phrase now twice used by his fair daughter--"We fear our
_friends_ more than our _foes_."  On either supposition, the meaning was
clear.

What followed was far from being equally perspicuous.  _A guest in the
house dreaded by her father_?  Here was mystery indeed.  Who could that
guest be?--who but _Ijurra_?

But Ijurra was her cousin--she had said so.  If a cousin, why should he
be dreaded?  Was there still another guest in the house?  That might be:
I had not been inside to see.  The mansion was large enough to
accommodate another--half a score of others.  For all that, my thoughts
constantly turned upon Ijurra, why I know not, but I could not resist
the 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 only
time I had ever seen the man--his angry speech and looks addressed to
Isolina--her apparent fear of him: these it was, no doubt, that guided
my instincts; and I at length came to the conviction that he was the
fiend dreaded by Don Ramon.  And she too feared him!  "God grant she do
not also _love_ him!"

Such was my mental ejaculation, as I passed on to consider the closing
sentences of the hastily written note.  In these I also encountered
ambiguity of expression; whether I construed it aright, time would tell.
Perhaps my wish was too much parent to my thoughts: but it was with an
exulting heart I read the closing sentence and rode forth from the
gateway.



CHAPTER TEN.

AN OLD ENMITY.

I rode slowly, and but a few paces before reining up my horse.  Although
I was under the impression that it would be useless remaining, and that
an interview with Isolina was impossible--for that day at least--I could
not 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; if
but to wave her hand, and waft me an adieu; if but--

When a short distance separated me from the walls, I drew up; and
turning in the saddle, glanced back to the parapet.  A face was there,
where hers had been; but, oh, the contrast between her lovely features
and those that now met my gaze!  Hyperion to the Satyr!  Not that the
face now before me was ugly or ill-featured.  There are some, and women
too, who would have termed it handsome; to my eyes it was hideous!  Let
me confess that this hideousness, or more properly its cause, rested in
the moral, rather than the physical expression; perhaps, too, little of
it might have been found in my own heart.  Under other circumstances, I
might not have criticised that face so harshly.  All the world did not
agree with me about the face of Rafael Ijurra--for it was he who was
gazing over the parapet.

Our eyes met; and that first glance stamped the relationship between
us--hostility for life!  Not a word passed, and yet the looks of each
told the other, in the plainest language, "_I am your foe_."  Had we
sworn it in wild oaths, in all the bitter hyperbole of insult, neither
of us would have felt it more profound and keen.

I shall not stay to analyse this feeling of sudden and unexpressed
hostility, though the philosophy of it is simple enough.  You too have
experienced it--perhaps more than once in your life, without being
exactly able to explain it.  I am not in that dilemma: I could explain
it easily enough; but it scarcely merits an explanation.  Suffice to
say, that while gazing upon the face of that man, I entertained it in
all its strength.

I have called it an _unexpressed_ hostility.  Therein I have spoken
without thought: it was fully expressed by both of us, though not in
words.  Words are but weak symbols of a passion, compared with the
passion itself, exhibited in the clenched hand, the lip compressed, the
flashing eye, the clouded cheek, the quick play of the muscles--weak
symbols are words compared with signs like these.  No words passed
between Ijurra and myself; none were needed.  Each read in the other a
rival--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 an
aspect, each hated the other at sight.

In the face of Ijurra I read more.  I saw before me a man of bad heart
and 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 bad
faith.  His beauty was the beauty of the jaguar.  He had the air of an
accomplished man, accustomed to conquest in the field of love--
heartless, reckless, false.  O mystery of our nature, there are those
who love such men!

In Ijurra's face I read more: _he knew my secret_!  The significant
glance of his eye told me so.  He knew why I was lingering there.  The
satiric smile upon his lip attested it.  He saw my efforts to obtain an
interview, and confident in his own position, held my failure but
lightly--a something only to amuse him.  I could tell all this by the
sardonic sneer that sat upon his features.

As we continued to gaze, neither moving his eyes from the other, this
sneer became too oppressive to be silently borne.  I could no longer
stand such a satirical reading of my thoughts.  The insult was as marked
as words could have made it; and I was about to have recourse to words
to reply, when the clatter of a horse's hoofs caused me to turn my eyes
in an opposite direction.  A horseman was coming up the hill, in a
direct line from the pastures.  I saw it was one of the lieutenants--
Holingsworth.

A few more stretches of his horse brought the lieutenant upon the
ground, where he pulled up directly in front of me.

"Captain Warfield!" said he, speaking in an official tone, "the cattle
are 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.  He
started in his saddle, as if a serpent had stung him; his hollow eyes
shot prominently out, glaring wildly from their sockets, while the
muscles of his throat and jaws twitched in convulsive action!

For a moment, the desperate passion seemed to stifle his breathing, and
while thus silent, the expression of his eyes puzzled me.  It was of
frantic joy, and ill became that face where I had never observed a
smile.  But the strange look was soon explained--it was not of
friendship, 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 that
Ijurra knew the man who addressed him.  His dark countenance turned
suddenly pale, and then became mottled with livid spots, while his eyes
scintillated, and rolled about in the unsteady glances of terror.  He
made no reply beyond the ejaculation "Demonio!" which seemed
involuntarily to escape him.  He appeared unable to reply; surprise and
fright 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 muzzle
of his rifle was pointing to the notch in the parapet--pointing to the
face of Ijurra!

"Hold, Holingsworth!--hold!" cried I, pressing my heel deeply into my
horse's flanks, and dashing forward.

Though my steed sprang instantly to the spur, and as quickly I caught
the lieutenant's arm, I was too late to arrest the shot.  I spoiled his
aim, however; and the bullet, instead of passing through the brain of
Rafael Ijurra, as it would certainly have done, glanced upon the mortar
of the parapet, sending a cloud of lime-dust into his face.

Up to that moment the Mexican had made no attempt to escape beyond the
aim of his antagonist.  Terror must have glued him to the spot.  It was
only when the report of the rifle, and the blinding mortar broke the
spell, 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.  This
is a private affair; and, by the Eternal, the General himself--Bah!  I
lose time; the villain will escape!" and before I could seize either
himself or his bridle-rein, Holingsworth had shot his horse past me, and
entered the gateway at a gallop.

I followed as quickly as I could, and reached the patio almost as soon
as he; but too late to hinder him from his purpose.

I grasped him by the arm, but with determined strength he wrenched
himself free--at the same instant gliding out of the saddle.

Pistol in hand, he rushed up the _escalera_, his trailing scabbard
clanking 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 would
carry me.

While on the stairway, I heard loud words and oaths above, the crash of
falling objects, and then two shots following quick and fast upon each
other.  I heard screaming in a woman's voice, and then a groan--the last
uttered 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 found
perfect silence there.  I saw no one, male or female, living or dead!
True, the place was like a garden, with plants, shrubs, and even trees
growing in gigantic pots.  I could not view it all at once.  They might
still 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 I
should 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 small
escalera--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 that
way?

For a moment I hesitated to follow; but it was no time to stand upon
etiquette; and I was preparing to plunge down the stairway, when I heard
shouting outside the walls, and then another shot from a pistol.

I turned, and stepped hastily across the azotea in the direction of the
sounds.  I looked over the parapet.  Down the slope of the hill two men
were running at the top of their speed, one after the other.  The
hindmost held in his hand a drawn sabre.  It was Holingsworth still in
pursuit of Ijurra!

The latter appeared to be gaining upon his vengeful pursuer, who,
burdened with his accoutrements, ran heavily.  The Mexican was evidently
making for the woods that grew at the bottom of the hill; and in a few
seconds more he had entered the timber, and passed out of sight.  Like a
hound upon the trail, Holingsworth followed, and disappeared from my
view at the same spot.

Hoping I might still be able to prevent the shedding of blood, I
descended hastily from the azotea, mounted my horse, and galloped down
the hill.

I reached the edge of the woods where the two had gone in, and followed
some distance upon their trail; but I lost it at length, and came to a
halt.

I remained for some minutes listening for voices, or, what I more
expected to hear, the report of a pistol.  Neither sound reached me.  I
heard only the shouts of the vaqueros on the other side of the hill; and
this reminding me of my duty, I turned my horse, and rode back to the
hacienda.

There, everything was silent: not a face was to be seen.  The inmates of
the house had hidden themselves in rooms barred up and dark; even the
damsels of the kitchen had disappeared--thinking, no doubt, that an
attack would be made upon the premises, and that spoliation and plunder
were intended.

I was puzzled how to act.  Holingsworth's strange conduct had
disarranged my ideas.  I should have demanded admission, and explained
the occurrence to Don Ramon; but I had no explanation to give; I rather
needed one for myself; and under a painful feeling of suspense as to the
result, I rode off from the place.

Half-a-dozen rangers were left upon the ground with orders to await the
return of Holingsworth, and then gallop after us; while the remainder of
the troop, with Wheatley and myself in advance of the vast drove, took
the route for the American camp.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

RAFAEL IJURRA.

In ill-humour I journeyed along.  The hot sun and the dusty road did not
improve my temper, ruffled as it was by the unpleasant incident.  I was
far from satisfied with my first lieutenant, whose conduct was still a
mystery.  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 peculiar
character and temperament--as unlike him who rode by my side as acid to
alkali.  The latter was a dashing, cheerful fellow, dressed in
half-Mexican costume, who could ride a wild horse and throw the lazo
with 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 or
Indian foeman, ever since the lone-star had spread its banner to the
breeze.  No raw recruit was Wheatley; though young, he was what Texans
term an "old Indian fighter"--a real "Texas ranker."

Holingsworth was not a Texan, but a Tennessean, though Texas had been
for some years his adopted home.  It was not the first time he had
crossed the Rio Grande.  He had been one of the unfortunate Mier
expedition--a survivor of that decimated band--afterwards carried in
chains to Mexico, and there compelled to work breast-deep in the mud of
the great _zancas_ that traverse the streets.  Such experience might
account for the serious, somewhat stern expression that habitually
rested upon his countenance, and gave him the character of a "dark
saturnine man."  I have said incidentally that I never saw him smile--
never.  He spoke seldom, and, as a general thing, only upon matters of
duty; but at times, when he fancied himself alone, I have heard him
mutter threats, while a convulsive twitching of the muscles and a
mechanical clenching of the fingers accompanied his words, as though he
stood in the presence of some deadly foe!  I had more than once observed
these frenzied outbursts, without knowing aught of their cause.  Harding
Holingsworth--such was his full name--was a man with whom no one would
have 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 is
idle to add this, since otherwise he could not have stood among them in
the capacity of a leader.  Men like them, who have the election of their
own officers, do not trust their lives to the guidance of either
stripling or coward.

Wheatley and I were talking the matter over as we rode along, and
endeavouring to account for the strange behaviour of Holingsworth.  We
had both concluded that the affair had arisen from some old enmity--
perhaps connected with the Mier expedition--when accidentally I
mentioned the Mexican's name.  Up to this moment the Texan lieutenant
had not seen Ijurra--having been busy with the cattle upon the other
side of the hill--nor had the name been pronounced in his hearing.

"Ijurra?" he exclaimed with a start, reining up, and turning upon me an
inquiring 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 or
Mexico either, and that's saying a good deal.  Rafael Ijurra?  'Tis he,
by thunder!  It _can_ be nobody else; and Holingsworth--Ha! now I think
of 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.  His
account, without the expletives and emphatic ejaculations which adorned
it, was substantially as follows:--

Rafael Ijurra was by birth a Texan of Mexican race.  He had formerly
possessed a hacienda near San Antonio de Bexar, with other considerable
property, all of which he had spent at play, or otherwise dissipated, so
that he had sunk to the status of a professional gambler.  Up to the
date of the Mier expedition he had passed off as a citizen of Texas,
under the new regime, and pretended much patriotic attachment to the
young 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 at
the halt by Laredo urged the imprudent advance upon Mier; and his
presumed knowledge of the country--of which, he was a native--gave
weight to his counsel.  It afterwards proved that his free advice was
intended for the benefit of the enemy, with whom he was in secret
correspondence.

On the night before the battle Ijurra was missing.  The Texan army was
captured after a brave defence--in which they slew more than their own
number of the enemy--and, under guard, the remnant was marched off for
the capital of Mexico.  On the second or third day of their march, what
was the astonishment of the Texan prisoners to see Rafael Ijurra _in the
uniform of a Mexican officer, and forming part of their escort_!  But
that their hands were bound, they would have torn him to pieces, so
enraged were they at this piece of black treason.

"I was not in that ugly scrape," continued the lieutenant.  "As luck
would have it, I was down with a fever in Brazos bottom, or I guess I
should have had to _draw my bean_ with the rest of 'em, poor fellows!"

Wheatley's allusion to "drawing his bean" I understood well enough.  All
who have ever read the account of this ill-starred adventure will
remember, that the Texans, goaded by ill-treatment, rose upon their
guard, disarmed, and conquered them; but in their subsequent attempt to
escape, 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 white
beans of Mexico (_frijoles_) were made use of as the expositors of the
fatal decrees of destiny.  A number of the beans, corresponding to the
number of the captives, was placed within an earthen _olla_--there being
a black bean for every nine white ones.  He who drew the black bean must
die!

During the drawing of this fearful lottery, there occurred incidents
exhibiting 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 of
lighter temper jested over the bloody tragedy.  One would say, `_Boys!
this beats raffling all to pieces_!'  Another, `_Well, this is the
tallest gambling-scrape I ever was in_.'  Robert Beard, who lay upon the
ground exceedingly ill, called his brother William, and said, `Brother,
if you draw a black bean, I'll take your place--I want to die!'  The
brother, with overwhelming anguish, replied, `No, I will keep my own
place; _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 never
failed in my life to draw a prize!'  He then coolly added, `They only
rob 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't
make 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 not
cheat me out of it!'  Saying this, he ate heartily, smoked a cigar, and
in twenty minutes after had ceased to live!  The Mexicans fired fifteen
shots at Whaling before he expired!  Young Torrey, quite a youth but in
spirit 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 was
willing to die.'  Edward Este spoke of his death with the coolest
indifference.  Cash said, `Well, they murdered my brother with Colonel
Fannin, and they are about to murder me.'  J.L. Jones said to the
interpreter, `Tell the officer to look upon men who are not afraid to
die for their country.'  Captain Eastland behaved with the most
patriotic dignity; he desired that his country should not particularly
avenge his death.  Major Dunham said he was prepared to die for his
country.  James Ogden, with his usual equanimity of temper, smiled at
his fate and said, `I am prepared to meet it.'  Young Robert W. Harris
behaved in the most unflinching manner, and called upon his companions
to avenge their murder.

"They were bound together--their eyes being bandaged--and set upon a log
near the wall with their backs towards their executioners.  They all
begged the officer to shoot them in front, and at a short distance,
saying they `_were not afraid to look death in the face_.'  This request
the Mexican refused; and to make his cruelty as refined as possible,
caused the fire to be delivered from a distance, and to be continued for
ten or twelve minutes, lacerating and mangling those heroes in a manner
too 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 to
remember Ijurra, now I think of it.  I shall give the story to you as I
heard it;" and my companion proceeded with a relation, which caused the
blood to curdle in my veins, as I listened.  It fully explained, if it
did not palliate, the fierce hatred of the Tennessean towards Rafael
Ijurra.

In the Mier expedition Holingsworth had a brother, who, like himself,
was made prisoner.  He was a delicate youth, and could ill endure the
hardships, much less the barbarous treatment, to which the prisoners
were exposed during that memorable march.  He became reduced to a
skeleton, and worse than that, footsore, so that he could no longer
endure the pain of his feet and ankles, worn skinless, and charged with
the spines of acacias, cactus, and the numerous thorny plants in which
the dry soil of Mexico is so prolific.  In agony he fell down upon the
road.

Ijurra was in command of the guard; from him Holingsworth's brother
begged to be allowed the use of a mule.  The youth had known Ijurra at
San 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 intending
to use its point on the poor wayworn invalid!  The latter rose with an
effort, and made a desperate attempt to keep on; but his resolution
again failed him.  He could not endure the agonising pain, and after
staggering 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 pistol
from his belt, and cocking it, evidently with the determination to carry
out his threat.  "Forward!"

"I cannot," faintly replied the youth.

"Forward, or I fire!"

"Fire!" cried the young man, throwing open the flaps of his
hunting-shirt, and making one last effort to stand erect.

"You are scarce worth a bullet," said the monster with a sneer; at the
same instant he levelled his pistol at the breast of his victim, and
fired!  When the smoke was blown aside, the body of young Holingsworth
was seen lying at the base of the rock, doubled up, dead!

A thrill of horror ran through the line of captives.  Even their
habitually brutal guards were touched by such wanton barbarity.  The
brother of the youth was not six yards from the spot, tightly bound, and
witness of the whole scene!  Fancy his feelings at that moment!

"No wonder," continued the Texan--"no wonder that Harding Holingsworth
don't stand upon ceremony as to where and when he may attack Rafael
Ijurra.  I verily believe that the presence of the Commander-in-chief
wouldn't restrain him from taking vengeance.  It ain't to be wondered
at!"

In hopes that my companion might help me to some knowledge of the family
at 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 the
old fellow several times.  He used to come to San Antonio once a-year on
business with the merchants there.  I remember, too, he once brought a
daughter with him--splendid girl that, and no mistake!  Faith, she
crazed half the young fellows in San Antonio, and there was no end of
duels about her.  She used to ride wild horses, and fling the lazo like
a Comanche.  But what am I talking about?  That mezcal _has_ got into my
brains, sure enough.  It must have been _her_ you chased?  Sure as
shooting it was!"

"Probable enough," I replied, in a careless way.  My companion little
knew the deep, feverish interest his remarks were exciting, or the
struggle it was costing me to conceal my emotions.

One thing I longed to learn from him--whether any of these amorous
duellists had been favoured with the approbation of the lady.  I longed
to put this question, and yet the absolute dread of the answer
restrained my tongue!  I remained silent, till the opportunity had
passed.

The hoof-strokes of half-a-dozen horses coming rapidly from the rear,
interrupted the conversation.  Without surprise, I perceived that it was
Holingsworth and the rangers who had been left at the hacienda.

"Captain Warfield!" said the Tennessean as he spurred alongside, "my
conduct 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 good
reason, I hold Rafael Ijurra as my most deadly foe.  _I came to Mexico
to kill that man_; and, by the Eternal! if I don't succeed, I care not
who kills _me_!"

"You have _not_ then--"

With a feeling of relief, I put the question, for I read he answer in
the look of disappointed vengeance that gleamed in the eyes of the
Tennessean.  I was not permitted to finish the interrogatory; he knew
what 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 that
flashed from the speaker's eye expressed his deep purpose more plainly
than words.

The next moment he fell back to his place in the troop, and with his
head slightly bent forward, rode on in silence.  His dark taciturn
features were lit up at intervals by an ominous gleam, showing that he
still brooded over his unavenged wrong.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

THE YELLOW DOMINO.

The next two days I passed in feverish restlessness.  Holingsworth's
conduct had quite disconcerted my plans.  From the concluding sentences
of Isolina's note, I had construed an invitation to revisit the hacienda
in some more quiet guise than that of a filibustero; but after what had
transpired, I could not muster courage to present myself under any
pretence.  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 a
nephew--a cousin!  Don Ramon had stipulated for a "little rudeness;" he
had had the full measure of his bargain, and a good deal more.  He could
not 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 I
remained in vacillating indecision; I neither saw nor heard of her who
engrossed 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 slightest
impression, for I cared little for dancing, and less for grand balls; in
early youth I had liked both; but not then.

The thing would at once have passed from my thoughts, had it not been
for some additional information imparted at the same time, which to me
at once rendered the ball attractive.

The information I allude to was, that the ball was got up "by
authority," and would be upon a grand scale.  Its object was political;
in other words, it was to be the means of bringing about a friendly
intercourse between the conquerors and the conquered--a desirable end.
Every effort would be made to draw out the "native society," and let
them see that we Yankee officers were not such "barbarians" as they
affected to deem, and in reality pronounced us.  It was known--so stated
my 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 the
maskers--not that I intended to go in _costume_.  In my slender wardrobe
was a civilian dress proper cut, and tolerably well preserved: that
would answer my purpose.  The ball was to come off on the night
following 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 two
hours brought me on the ground, and I found that I was late enough to be
fashionable.

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 half
of them ladies.  Many were in character costumes, as Tyrolese peasants,
Andalusian _majas_, Bavarian broom-girls, Wallachian boyards, Turkish
sultanas, and bead-bedecked Indian belles.  A greater number were
disguised in the ungraceful domino, while not a few appeared in regular
evening dress.  Most of the ladies wore masks; some simply hid their
faces behind the coquettish _reboso topado_, while others permitted
their charms to be gazed upon.  As the time passed on, and an occasional
_copita de vino_ strengthened the nerves of the company, the uncovered
faces became more numerous, and masks got lost or put away.

As for the gentlemen, a number of them also wore masks--some were in
costume, but uniforms predominated, stamping the ball with a military
character.  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.  The
presence of these prisoners, in the full glitter of their gold-lace, was
not exactly in good taste; but a moment's reflection convinced one it
was not a matter of choice with them.  Poor fellows! had they abided by
the laws of etiquette, they could not have been there; and no doubt they
were as desirous of shaking their legs in the dance as the gayest of
their captors.  Indeed, in this species of rivalry they far outstripped
the latter.

I spent but little time in observing these peculiarities; but one idea
engrossed my mind, and that was to find Isolina de Vargas--no easy task
amid such a multitude of maskers.

Among the uncovered faces she was not.  I soon scanned them all, or
rather glanced at them.  It needed no scanning to recognise hers.  If
there, she was one of the _mascaritas_, and I addressed myself to a
close observation of the _dames en costume_ and the dominoes.  Hopeless
enough appeared the prospect of recognising her, but a little hope
sustained me in the reflection, that, being myself uncovered, she might
recognise _me_.

When a full half-hour had passed away, and my lynx-like surveillance was
still unrewarded, this hope died within me; and, what may appear
strange, I began to wish she was _not_ there.

"If present," thought I, "she must have seen me ere this, and to have
taken no notice--"

A little pang of chagrin accompanied this reflection.

I flung myself upon a seat, and endeavoured to assume an air of
indifference, though I was far from feeling indifferent, and my eyes as
before kept eagerly scanning the fair masters.  Now and then, the
_tournure_ of an ankle--I had seen Isolina's--or the elliptical sweep of
a fine figure, inspired me with fresh hope: but as the mascaritas who
owned 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, a
well-turned ankle is no distinctive mark among the fair _doncellas_ of
Mexico.

At length, a pair of unusually neat ones, supporting a figure of such
superb outlines, that even the ungraceful domino could not conceal them,
came under my eyes, and riveted my attention.  My heart beat wildly as I
gazed.  I could not help the belief that the lady in the yellow domino
was Isolina de Vargas.

She was waltzing with a young dragoon officer; and as they passed me I
rose from my seat, and approached the orbit of the dance, in order to
keep them under my eyes.

As they passed me a second time, I fancied the lady regarded me through
her 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 the
elegant gentlemen of the service--a professed lady killer--a fellow,
who, notwithstanding his well-known deficiency of brains, was ever
welcome among women.  She seemed to press closely to him as they whirled
around, while her head rested languishingly upon his shoulder.  She
appeared to be _contented_ with her partner.  I could scarcely endure
the agony of my fancies.  It was a relief to me when the music ceased
and 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.  He
conducted her to a seat, and then placing himself by her side, the two
appeared to engage in an earnest and interesting conversation.

With me politeness was now out of the question.  I had grown as jealous
as a tiger; and I drew near enough become a listener.  The lowness of
the tone in which conversed precluded the possibility of my hearing much
of what was said, but I could make out that the spark was "coaxing" his
partner to remove her mask.  The voice that replied was surely
Isolina's!

I could myself have torn the silken screen from her face through very
vexation; but I was saved that indiscretion, for the request of her
cavalier seemed to prevail, and the next instant the mask was removed by
the lady's own hand.

Shade of Erebus! what did I see?  She was black--a _negress_!  Not black
as ebony, but nearly so; with thick lips, high cheek-bones, and a row of
short "kinky" curls dangling over the arch of her glistening forehead!

My astonishment, though perhaps of a more agreeable kind, was not
greater than that of the dragoon lieutenant--who, by the way, was also a
full-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-muttered
excuses, 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--hastily
readjusted her mask, and rising from her seat, glided away from the
scene of her humiliation.

I gazed after her with a mingled feeling of curiosity and pity; I saw
her pass out of the door alone, evidently with the intention of leaving
the ball.

I fancied she had departed, as her domino, conspicuous by its bright
yellow 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 I
had come to the ball.  She was either _not_ there, or did not wish to be
recognised, even by _me_.  The latter supposition was the more bitter of
the two; and goaded by it and one or two other uncongenial thoughts, I
paid frequent visits to the "refreshment-room," where wine flowed
freely.  A cup or two drove the _one idea_ out of my mind; and after a
while, I grew more companionable, and determined to enjoy myself like
others around me.  I had not danced as yet, but the wine soon got to my
toes as well as into my head; and I resolved to put myself in motion
with the first partner that offered.

I soon found one--a blue domino--that came right in my way, as if the
fates 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 by
surprise, had I not known that there were many French people living in
C--, as in all the large cities of Mexico.  They are usually jewellers,
dentists, milliners, or rather artisans of that class who drive a
lucrative trade among the luxury-loving _Mexicanos_.  To know there were
French people in the place, was to be certain you would find them at the
ball; and there were they, numbers of them, pirouetting about, and
comporting themselves with the gay _insouciance_ characteristic of their
nation.  I was not surprised, then, when my blue domino addressed me in
French.

"A French _modiste_!" conjectured I, as soon as she spoke.

Milliner or no, it mattered not to me; I wanted a dancing partner; and
after another phrase or two in the same sweet tongue, away went she and
I in the curving whirl of a waltz.

After sailing once round the room, I had two quite new and distinct
impressions upon my mind: the first, that I had a partner _who could
waltz_, a thing not to be met with every day.  My blue domino seemed to
have 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 ever
was clasped by a lover.  There was a pleasing rotundity about it,
combined with a general symmetry of form and serpentine yieldiness of
movement that rendered dancing with such a partner both easy and
delightful.  My observation at the moment was, that if the face of the
modiste bore any sort of proportion to her figure, she needed not have
come so far from France to push her fortune.

With such a partner I could not otherwise than waltz well; and never
better than upon that occasion.  We were soon under the observation of
the company, and became the cynosure of a circle.  This I did not
relish, and drawing my blue domino to one side, we waltzed towards a
seat, into which I handed her with the usual polite expression of
thanks.

This seat was in a little recess or blind window, where two persons
might freely converse without fear of an eaves-dropper.  I had no desire
to run away from a partner who danced so well, though she were a
modiste.  There was room for two upon the bench, and I asked permission
to 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 no
other who claims you as a partner?--no other in this assemblage you
would prefer?"

"Not one, I assure you.  You are the only one present with whom I care
to dance."

As I said this, I thought I perceived a slight movement, that indicated
some emotion.

"It was a gallant speech, and the modiste is pleased with the
compliment," thought I.

Her reply:--

"It flatters me, sir, that you prefer my company to that of the many
splendid beauties who are in this saloon; though it may gratify me still
more _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 grand
dame--that if I knew her real position her humble avocation, I should
not longer care to dance with her.  In that she is mistaken.  I make no
distinction between a milliner and a marchioness, especially in a
ball-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 who
you are, and it is not possible I ever may, unless you will have the
goodness 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 partner
in the next dance; and to say the truth, I should regret that, since you
waltz 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! let
me beg of you to remove that envious counterfeit.  Let us converse
freely face to face.  _I_ am not masked, as you see."

"In truth, sir, you have no reason to hide your face, which is more than
I can say for many other men in this room."

"Quick-witted milliner," thought I.  "Bravo, Ranelagh!  Vive la
Mabille!"

"Thanks, amiable masker!"  I replied.  "But you are too generous: you
flatter me--"

"It is worth while," rejoined she, interrupting me; "it improves your
cheek: blushes become you, ha, ha, ha!"

"The deuce!"  I ejaculated, half aloud, "this _dame du Boulevard_ is
laughing at me!"

"But what _are_ you?" she continued, suddenly changing her tone.  "You
are 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 have
heard 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 many
uniforms; besides your manner--"

"What manner?"  I asked, with some degree of confusion, fearing that in
my search after Isolina I had committed some stupid piece of
left-handedness.

"Four abstraction; and, by the way, had you not little _penchant_ for a
yellow domino?"

"A yellow domino?" repeated I, raising my hand to my head, as though it
cost me an effort to remember it--"a yellow domino?"

"Ay, ay--a ye-ll-ow dom-in-o," rejoined my companion, with sarcastic
emphasis--"a yellow domino, who waltzed with a young officer--not
bad-looking, by the way."

"Ah!  I think I _do_ remember--"

"Well, I think you _ought_," rejoined my tormentor, "and well, too: you
took sufficient pains to _observe_."

"Ah--aw--yes," stammered I.

"I thought you were conning verses to her, and as you had not the
advantage 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 join
my 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 was
not _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 strange
at 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 returned
since.  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: a
finer dancer I never saw--I beg pardon, I except my present partner--a
good foot, an elegant figure, and then to turn out--"

"What?"

"_Una negrilla_!"

"I fear, monsieur, you Americans are not very gallant towards the ladies
of 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 made
verses."

"I thought as much.  What an instinct I have!  O that I could prevail
upon 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 to
praise."

"Ah, monsieur, you little know: were I to unmask those features, I
should stand but a poor chance of getting the verses.  My plain face
would counteract all your poetic inspirations."

"Shade of Lucretia! this is no needlewoman, though dealing in weapons
quite as sharp.  Modiste, indeed!  I have been labouring under a
mistake.  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 hidden
behind a plain face; besides, there was the gracefulness of form, the
small 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 I
could perceive even through the mask.  Beyond a doubt, she was
beautiful.

"Lady!"  I said, speaking with more earnestness than ever, "I entreat
you to unmask yourself.  Were it not in a ball-room, I should beg the
favour upon my knees."

"And were I to grant it, you could hardly rise soon enough, and
pronounce your lukewarm leave-taking.  Hat monsieur! think of the yellow
domino!"

"Mam'selle, you take pleasure in mortifying me.  _Do_ you deem me
capable of such fickleness?  Suppose for a moment, you are not what the
world calls beautiful, you could not, by removing your mask, also strip
yourself of the attractions of your conversation--of that voice that
thrills through my heart--of that grace exhibited in your every
movement!  With such endowments how could a woman appear ill-looking?
If your face was even as black as hers of the yellow domino, I verily
believe I could not perceive its darkness."

"Ha, ha, ha! take care what you say, monsieur.  I presume you are not
more indulgent than the rest of your sex; and well know I that, with you
men, 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 tell
you, sir, that in spite of all the fine qualities you imagine me to
possess, I am a vision that would horrify you to look upon."

"Impossible!--your form, your grace, your voice.  Oh, unmask!  I accept
every 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 fastened
behind: yes, the knot is here--now I have it--so--so--"

With trembling fingers I undid the string, and pulled off the piece of
taffety.  Shade of Sheba! what did I see?

The mask fell from my fingers, as though it had been iron at a cherry
heat.  Astonishment caused me to drop it; rather say horror--horror at
beholding the face underneath--the face _of the yellow domino_!  Yes,
there was the same negress with her thick lips, high cheek-bones, and
the little well-oiled kinks hanging like corkscrews over her temples!

I knew not either what to say or do; my gallantry was clean gone; and
although I resumed my seat, I remained perfectly dumb.  Had I looked in
a mirror at that moment, I should certainly have beheld the face of a
fool.

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 the
same time crying out in a tone of raillery--

"Now, Monsieur le Poete, does my face inspire you?  When may I expect
the verses?  To-morrow?  Soon?  Never?  Ah! monsieur, I fear you are not
more gallant to us poor `ladies ob colour' than your countryman the
lieutenant.  Ha, ha, ha!"

I was too much ashamed of my own conduct, and too deeply wounded by her
reproach, to make reply.  Fortunately her continued laughter offered me
an opportunity to mutter some broken phrases, accompanied by very clumsy
gestures, and thus take myself off.  Certainly, in all my life, I never
made a more awkward adieu.

I walked, or rather _stole_, towards the entrance, determined to leave
the ball-room, and gallop home.

On reaching the door, my curiosity grew stronger than my shame; and I
resolved to take a parting look at this singular Ethiopian.  The blue
domino, still within the niche, caught my eye at once; but on looking up
to the face--gracious Heaven! _it was Isolina's_!

I stood as if turned into stone.  My gaze was fixed upon her face, and I
could not take it off.  She was looking at me; but, oh! the expression
with which those eyes regarded me!  That was a glance to be remembered
for life.  She no longer laughed, but her proud lip seemed to curl with
a 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 too
late.  I should only subject myself to further ridicule from that
capricious spirit.

Perhaps my look of remorse had more effect than words.  I thought her
expression changed; her glance became more tender, as if inviting me
back!  Perhaps--

At this moment a man approached, and without ceremony seated himself by
her side.  His face was towards me--I recognised Ijurra!

"They converse.  Is it of _me_?  Is it of --?  If so, he will laugh.  A
world to see that man laugh, and know it is at _me_.  If he do, I shall
soon 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 the
maskers.

"Some wine, mozo!"

A deep long draught, a few seconds spent in buckling on my sword, a few
more in reaching the gate, one spring, and my saddled steed was under
me.

I rode with desperate heart and hot head; but the cool night-air, the
motion of my horse, and his proud spirit mingling with mine, gave me
relief, and I soon felt calmer.

On reaching the rancheria, I found my lieutenants still up, eating their
rudely cooked supper.  As my appetite was roused, I joined them at their
meal; and their friendly converse restored for the time my spirit's
equanimity.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

LOVE-THOUGHTS.

A dread feeling is jealousy, mortified vanity, or whatever you may
designate the disappointment of love.  I have experienced the sting of
shame, the blight of broken fortune, the fear of death itself; yet none
of these ever wrung my heart so rudely as the pang of an unreciprocated
passion.  The former are but transient trials, and their bitterness soon
has an end.  Jealousy, like the tooth of the serpent, carries poison in
its sting, and long and slow is the healing of its wound.  Well knew he
this, that master of the human heart: Iago's prayer was not meant for
mockery.

To drown my mortification, I had drunk wine freely at the ball; and on
returning home, had continued my potations with the more fiery spirit of
"Catalan."  By this means I gained relief and sleep, but only of short
duration.  Long before day I was awake--awake to the double bitterness
of jealousy and shame--awake to both mental and physical pain, for the
fumes of the vile stuff I had drunk wrecked my brain as though they
would burst open my skull.  An ounce of opium would not have set me to
sleep again, and I tossed on my couch like one labouring under delirium.

Of course the incidents of the preceding night were uppermost in my
mind.  Every scene and action that had occurred were as plainly before
me as if I was again witnessing them.  Every effort to alienate my
thoughts, and fix them upon some other theme, proved vain and idle; they
ever returned to the same circle of reflections, in the centre of which
was Isolina de Vargas!  I thought of all that had passed, of all she had
said.  I remembered every word.  How bitterly I remembered that scornful
laugh!--how bitterly that sarcastic smile, when the double mask was
removed!

The very remembrance of her beauty pained me!  It was now to me as to
Tantalus the crystal waters, never to be tasted.  Before, I had formed
hopes, had indulged in prospective dreams: the masquerade adventure had
dissipated them.  I no longer hoped, no longer permitted myself to dream
of pleasant times to come: I felt that I was scorned.

This feeling produced a momentary revulsion in my thoughts.  There were
moments when I hated her, and vengeful impulses careered across my soul.

These were fleeting moments: again before me rose that lovely form, that
proud grand spirit, in the full entirety of its power, and again my soul
became absorbed in admiration, and yielded itself to its hopeless
passion.  It was far from being my first love.  And thus experienced, I
could reason upon it.  I felt certain it was to be the strongest and
stormiest of my life.

I know of three loves distinct in kind and power.  First, when the
passion is reciprocated--when the heart of the beloved yields back
thought for thought, and throb for throb, without one reserved
pulsation.  This is bliss upon earth--not always long-lived--ending
perchance in a species of sublimated friendship.  To have is no longer
to desire.

The second is love entirely unrequited--love that never knew word or
smile of encouragement, no soft whisper to fan it into flame, no ray of
hope to feed upon.  Such dies of inanition--the sooner that its object
is out of the way, and absence in time will conquer it.

The third is the love that "dotes yet doubts," that doubts but never
dies--no never.  The jealousy that pains, only sustains it; it lives on,
now happy in the honeyed conviction of triumph, now smarting under real
or fancied scorn--on, on, so long as its object is accessible to sight
or hearing!  No matter how worthless that object may be or become--no
matter how lost or fallen!  Love regards not this; it has nought to do
with 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 or
water.  To the last belongs love, which, I repeat again, has no sympathy
with the moral feelings of our nature, but, alas! as one might almost
believe, with their opposite.  Even a plain but wicked coquette will
captivate more hearts than a beautiful saint, and the brilliant
murderess ere now has made conquests at the very foot of the scaffold!

It pains me to pronounce these convictions, derived as they are from
experience.  There is as little gain as pleasure in so doing, but
popularity must be sacrificed at the shrine of truth.  For the sake of
effect, I shall not play false with philosophy.

Rough ranger as I was, I had studied psychology sufficiently to
understand these truths; and I endeavoured to analyse my passion for
this girl or woman--to discover _why_ I loved her.  Her physical beauty
was of the highest order, and that no doubt was an element; but it was
not all.  Had I merely looked upon this beauty under ordinary
circumstances--that is, without coming in contact with the spirit that
animated 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 less
brilliant setting might have failed to draw my admiration.  I was the
captive both of the spirit and the form.  Soul and body had co-operated
in producing my passion, and this may account for its suddenness and
profundity.  Why I loved her person, I knew--I was not ignorant of the
laws of beauty--but why the spirit, I knew not.  Certainly not from any
idea I had formed of her high _moral_ qualities; I had no evidence of
these.  Of her courage, even to daring, I had proof; of energy and
determined will; of the power of thought, quick and versatile; but these
are not _moral_ qualities, they are not even _feminine_!  True, she wept
over her slain steed.  Humanity?  I have knows a hardened _lorette_ weep
bitter tears for her tortoise-shell cat.  She refused to take from me my
horse.  Generosity?  She had a thousand within sight.  Alas! in thus
reviewing 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 passion
was pure, and I do not believe that my heart was wicked.  Mystery of our
nature!  He who reads all hearts alone can solve thee!

I loved without reason; but I loved now without hope.  Hope I had before
that night.  Her glance through the turrets--her note--its contents--a
word, a look at other times, had inspired me with hopes, however faint
they were.  The incident of the ball-room had crushed them.

Ijurra's dark face kept lowering before me; even in my visions he was
always by her side.  What was between the two?  Perhaps a nearer
relationship 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; I
climbed to the azotea, and paced it to and fro, as the tiger walks his
cage.  My thoughts were wild, and my movements without method.

To add to the bitterness of my reflections, I now discovered that I had
sustained a loss--not in property, but something that annoyed me still
more.  I had lost the order and its enclosure--the note of Don Ramon.  I
had dropped them on the day in which they were received, and I believed
in the patio of the hacienda, where they must have been picked up at
once.  If by Don Ramon himself, then all was well; but if they had
fallen into the hands of some of the leather-clad herdsmen, ill affected
to Don Ramon, it might be an awkward affair for that gentleman--indeed
for myself.  Such negligence would scarcely be overlooked at
head-quarters; and I had ill forebodings about the result.  It was one
of my soul's darkest hours.

From its very darkness I might have known that light was near, for the
proverb 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 sugared
cake--the _desayuna_ of every Mexican--were brought, and these served me
for breakfast.  A glass of cognac and a Havanna were more to the
purpose, and helped to stay the wild trembling of my nerves.
Fortunately, there was no duty to perform, else I could ill have
attended to it.

I remained on the azotea till near mid-day.  The storm raging within
prevented me from taking note of what was passing around.  The scenes in
the piazza, the rangers and their steeds, the "greasers" in their
striped blankets, the _Indias_ squatted on their _petates_, the pretty
poblanas, were all unnoticed by me.

At intervals my eyes rested upon the walls of the distant dwelling; it
was not so distant but that a human form could have been distinguished
upon 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 to
speak 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 was
doing.

The presence of the Mexican at once aroused me from my unpleasant
reverie.  I recognised him as one of the vaqueros of Don Ramon de
Vargas--the same I had seen on the plain during my first interview with
Isolina.

There was something in his manner that betokened him a messenger.  A
folded note, which he drew from under his jerkin--after having glanced
around to see whether he was noticed--confirmed my observation.

I took the note.  There was no superscription, nor did I stay to look
for one.  My fingers trembled as I tore open the seal.  As my eye rested
on the writing and recognised it, my heart throbbed so as almost to
choke my utterance.  I muttered some directions to the messenger; and to
conceal my emotion from him, I turned away and proceeded to the farthest
corner of the azotea before reading the note.  I called back to the man
to 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 presume
that, 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 rendered
emphatic by underlining.  It was a letter to taunt me for my ill
behaviour.  I felt inclined to fling it down, but my eye wandering over
the paper, caught some words that induced me to read on.

"_Gallant_ capitan!  I had a favourite mare.  How fond I was of that
creature you may understand, who are afflicted by a similar affection
for the noble Moro.  In an evil hour, your aim, too true, alas! robbed
me 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 upon
earth_.  Indeed, were I the lady of your love, I should ill brook such a
divided affection!  Well, mio capitan, I understood the generous
sacrifice you would have made, and forbade it; but I know you are
desirous 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 any
deed, however wild, to have won that proud heart--to have inoculated it
with the pain that was wringing my own.  I read on:

"There is a horse, famed in these parts as the `white steed of the
prairies' (_el cavallo bianco de los llanos_).  He is a wild-horse, of
course; snow-white in colour, beautiful in form, swift as the swallow--
But why need I describe to you the `white steed of the prairies?'  You
are a Tejano, and must have heard of him ere this?  Well, mio capitan, I
have long had a desire--a frantic one, let me add--to possess this
horse.  I have offered rewards to hunters--to our own vaqueros, for he
sometimes appears upon our plains--but to no purpose.  Not one of them
can capture, though they have often seen and chased him.  Some say that
he _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_!  Surely
so beautiful a creature cannot be the devil?  Besides, I have always
heard--and, if I recollect aright, some one said so last night--that the
devil 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 affair
was thus treated in jest, instead of the anger and scorn I had
anticipated.  With pleasanter presentiments I read on:--

"To the point, mio capitan.  There are some incredulous people who
believe the white steed of the prairies to be a myth, and deny his
existence altogether.  _Carrambo_!  I know that he _does_ exist, and
what 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 vaqueros
saw him near the banks of a beautiful arroyo, which I know to be his
favourite ground.  For reasons known to me, the vaquero did not either
chase or molest him; but in breathless haste brought me the news.

"Now, capitan, gallant and grand! there is but one who can capture this
famed horse, and that is your puissant self.  Ah! _you have made captive
what 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 for
poor Lola.  I shall forgive you that _contratiempo_.  I shall forgive
all--even your rudeness to my double mask.  Ha, ha, ha!  Bring me the
white steed! the white steed!

"Isolina."

As I finished reading this singular epistle, a thrill of pleasure ran
through 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 or
trapper, trader or traveller, throughout all the wide borders of
prairie-land, has not?  Many a romantic story of him had I listened to
around the blazing campfire--many a tale of German-like _diablerie_, in
which the white horse played hero.  For nearly a century has he figured
in the legends of the prairie "mariner"--a counterpart of the Flying
Dutchman--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 to
the southward!

That there existed a white stallion of great speed and splendid
proportions--that there were twenty, perhaps a hundred such--among the
countless herds of wild-horses that roam over the great plains, I did
not for a moment doubt.  I myself had seen and chased more than one that
might have been termed "a magnificent animal," and that no ordinary
horse could overtake; but the one known as the "white steed of the
prairies" had a peculiar marking, that distinguished him from all the
rest--_his ears were black_!--only his ears, and these were of the deep
colour of ebony.  The rest of his body, mane, and tail, was white as
fresh-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 contents
of the note were specific and plain.

One expression alone puzzled me--

"_You have made captive what was once as wild and free_."  What?  I
asked myself.  I scarce dared to give credence to the answer that leaped
like 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 had
been seen, and stated that the bearer of the note--the vaquero who had
seen him--would act as my guide.

I pondered not long upon the strange request.  Its fulfilment promised
to recover me the position, which, but a moment before, I had looked
upon 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 out
of the rancheria.  A dozen rangers followed close behind; and, having
crossed the river at a ford nearly opposite the village, we struck off
into 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 had
confidence in their skill, and, aided by them, I had great hopes we
should find the game we were in search of.

My hopes, however, would not have been so sanguine but for another
circumstance.  It was this: Our guide had informed me, that when he saw
the white steed, the latter was in company with a large drove of mares--
a _manada_--doubtless his harem.  He would not be likely to separate
from them, and even if these had since left the ground, they could be
the more easily "trailed" in consequence of their numbers.  Indeed, but
for this prospect, our wild-horse hunt would have partaken largely of
the character of a "wild-goose chase."  The steed, by all accounts of
him, might have been seen upon one arroyo to-day, and by the banks of
some other stream, a hundred miles off, on the morrow.  The presence of
his manada offered some guarantee, that he might still be near the
ground where the vaquero had marked him.  Once found, I trusted to the
swiftness 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 the
expedition.  All of them knew the white steed by fame; one or two
averred they had seen him in their prairie wanderings.  The whole party
were delighted at the idea of such a "scout," and exhibited as much
excitement 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 part
of Mexico is so celebrated.  The greater proportion belonged to the
family of _leguminosae_--_robinias, gleditschias_, and the Texan acacias
of more than one species, there known as _mezquite_.  Aloes, too, formed
part of the under-growth, to the no small annoyance of the traveller--
the wild species known as the _lechuguilla_, or pita-plant, whose core
is cooked for food, whose fibrous leaves serve for the manufacture of
thread, cordage, or cloth--while its sap yields by distillation the
fiery _mezcal_.  Here and there, a tree yucca grew by the way, its
fascicles of rigid leaves reminding one of the plumed heads of Indian
warriors.  Some I saw with edible fruits growing in clusters, like
bunches of bananas.  Several species are there of these fruit-bearing
yuccas in the region of the Rio Grande, as yet unknown to the scientific
botanist.  I observed also the _palmilla_, or soap-plant, another yucca
whose roots yield an excellent substitute for soap; and various forms of
cactus--never out of sight on Mexican soil--grew thickly around, a
characteristic feature of the landscape.  Plants of humbler stature
covered the surface, among which the syngenesists predominated; while
the fetid _artemisia_, and the still more disagreeably odorous creosote
plant (_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 become
a favourite of the arboretums.

I was in no mood for botanising at the time, but I well remember how I
admired this elegant species--its tall culm-like stems, surmounted by
panicles of brilliant flowers, rising high above the level of the
surrounding thicket, like banners above a host.  Not that I possess the
refined taste of a lover of flowers, and much less then; but cold must
be the heart that could look upon the floral beauty of Mexico, without
remembering some portion of its charms.  Even the rudest of my followers
could not otherwise than admire; and once or twice, as we journeyed
along, I could hear them give utterance to that fine epithet of the
heart'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 timbered
surface diminished in extent, and now and then the glades joined each
other without interruption.

We had ridden nearly ten miles without drawing bridle, when our guide
struck 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 judgment
proved correct; for following the trail but a short distance farther, we
came full in sight of the drove, which the vaquero confidently
pronounced 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 two
things of very unequal difficulty.  This fact my anxiously beating heart
and quickly throbbing pulse revealed to me at the moment.  It would be
difficult to describe the mingled feelings of anxious doubt and joyous
hope that passed through my mind, as from afar off I gazed upon that shy
herd, still unconscious of our approach.

The prairie upon which the mares were browsing was more then a mile in
width, and, like those we had been passing through, it was surrounded by
the low chapparal forest--although there were avenues that communicated
with other openings of a similar kind.  Near its centre was the manada.
Some of the mares were quietly browsing upon the grass, while others
were frisking and playing about, now rearing up as if in combat, now
rushing in wild gallop, their tossed manes and full tails flung loosely
upon the wind.  Even in the distance we could trace the full rounded
development of their bodies; and their smooth coats glistening under the
sun denoted their fair condition.  They were of all colours known to the
horse, 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 and
tails, and some of a mole colour, and not a few of the kind known in
Mexico as _pintados_ (piebalds)--for spotted horses are not uncommon
among the mustangs--all of course with full manes and tails, since the
mutilating shears of the jockey had never curtailed their flowing
glories.

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 question
upon every tongue.

Our eyes wandered over the herd, now here, now there.  White horses
there 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 companions
felt that; but a far more bitter feeling was growing upon me as I gazed
upon the leaderless troop.  Could I have captured and carried back the
whole drove, the present would not have purchased one smile from
Isolina.  The steed was not among them!

He might still be in the neighbourhood; or had he forsaken the manada
altogether, and gone far away over the wide prairie in search of new
conquests?

The vaquero believed he was not far off.  I had faith in this man's
opinion, who, having passed his life in the observation of wild and
half-wild horses, had a perfect knowledge of their habits.  There was
hope then.  The steed might be near; perhaps lying down in the shade of
the thicket; perhaps with a portion of the manada or some favourite in
one of the adjacent glades.  If so, our guide assured us we should soon
have 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 from
afar.

The plan seemed feasible enough; but it was advisable that we should
surround the manada before attempting to disturb them, else they might
gallop 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-hour
we had deployed around the prairie.

The drove still browsed and played.  They had no suspicion that a cordon
of hunters was being formed around them, else they would have long since
galloped away.

Of all wild creatures, the shyest is the wild-horse; the deer, the
antelope, and buffalo, are far less fearful of the approach of man.  The
mustang seems to understand the doom that awaits him in captivity.  One
could almost fancy that the runaways from the settlements--occasionally
seen amongst them--had poured into their ears the tale of their
hardships and long endurance.

I had myself ridden to the opposite side of the prairie, in order to be
certain when the circle was complete.  I was now alone, having dropped
my companions at intervals along the margin of the timber.  I had
brought with me the bugle, with a note or two of which I intended to
give the alarm to the mares.

I had placed myself in a clump of mezquite trees, and was about raising
the horn to my lips, when a shrill scream from behind caused me to bring
down the instrument, and turn suddenly in my seat.  For a moment, I was
in doubt as to what could have produced such a singular utterance, when
a second time it fell on my ear, and then I recognised it.  It was the
neigh of the prairie stallion!

Near me was a break in the thicket, a sort of avenue leading out into
another prairie.  In this I could hear the hoof-stroke of a horse going
at a gallop.

As fast as the underwood would allow, I pressed forward and came out
upon the edge of the open ground; but the sun, low down, flashed in my
eyes, 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 my
eyes with my hand, and could perceive the form of a noble steed
stretching in full gallop down the avenue, and coming in the direction
of the manada.

Half-a-dozen springs brought him opposite; the beam was no longer in my
eyes; and as he galloped past, I saw before me "the white steed of the
prairies."

There was no mistaking the marks of that splendid creature: there was
the snow-white body, the ears of jetty blackness, the blue muzzle, the
red projected nostril, the broad oval quarters, the rounded and
symmetric 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; and
tossing up their heads, the whole manada was instantly in motion.  In a
few seconds, they stood at rest again, _formed in line_--as exact as
could have been done by a troop of cavalry--and fronting their leader as
he galloped up.  Indeed, standing as they were, with their heads high in
air, it was easy to fancy them mounted men in the array of battle; and
often 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 this
conviction, I gave Moro the spur, and bounded into the open plain.

The neighing of the steed had signalled my companions who shot almost
simultaneously out of the timber, and spurred towards the drove, yelling
as they came.

I had no eyes for aught but the white steed, and after him I directed
myself.

On nearing the line of mares, he halted in his wild gallop, twice reared
his body upward, as if to reconnoitre the ground; and then, uttering
another of his shrill screams, broke off in a direct line towards the
edge of the prairie.  A wide avenue leading out in that direction seemed
to 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 drove
were soon strung out upon the prairie.

Through the opening now swept the chase--the pursuers keenly plying the
spur--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 after
another of my companions was passed; and as we cleared the avenue and
entered a second prairie, I found myself mixing with the hindmost of the
_wild_ mares.  Pretty creatures some of them were; and upon any other
occasion, 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 out
of the way, as they were hindering my onward gallop.

Before we had quite crossed the second prairie, I had forged into the
front rank; and the mares, seeing I had headed them, broke to the right
and left, and scattered away.

All were now behind me, all but the white steed; he alone kept the
course, at intervals uttering that same shrill neigh, as if to tantalise
and lure me on.  He was yet far in advance, and apparently running _at
his ease_!

The horse I bestrode needed neither spur nor guidance; he saw before him
the object of the chase, and he divined the will of his rider.  I felt
him rising under me like a sea-wave.  His hoofs struck the turf without
impinging upon it.  At each fresh spring, he came up with elastic
rebound, while his flanks heaved with the conscious possession of power.

Before the second prairie was crossed, he had gained, considerably upon
the white steed; but to my chagrin, I now saw the latter dash right into
the thicket.

I found a path and followed.  My ear served to guide me, for the
branches crackled as the wild-horse broke through.  Now and then I
caught glimpses of his white body, glancing among the green leaves.

Apprehensive of losing him, I rode recklessly after, now breasting the
thicket--now tracing its labyrinthine aisles.  I heeded not the thorny
mimosas; my horse heeded them not; but large trees of the false acacia
(_robinia_) stood thickly in the way, and their horizontal branches
hindered me.  Often was I obliged to bend flat to the saddle, in order
to pass under them.  All this was in favour of the pursued, and against
the 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 these
the white steed was sailing off; but in passing through the thicket, he
had gained ground, and was now a long way in advance of me.  But he was
making for the open plain that lay beyond, and this showed that it was
his habit to trust to his heels for safety.  Perhaps with such a
pursuer, he would have been safer to have kept the chapparal; but that
remained to be seen.

In ten minutes' time, we had passed through the timber islands, and now
the prairie--the grand, limitless prairie--stretched bee us, far beyond
the reach of vision.

On goes the chase over its grassy level--on till the trees are no longer
behind us, and the eye sees nought but the green savannah, and the blue
canopy arching over it--on, across the centre of that vast circle which
has for its boundary the whole horizon!

The rangers, lost in the mazes of the chapparal, have long since fallen
off; the mustangs have gone back; on all that wide plain, but two
objects appear--the snow-white form of the flying steed, and the dark
horseman that follows!

It is a long wild ride, a cruel gallop for my matchless Moro.  Ten miles
of the prairie have we passed--more than that--and as yet I have neither
used 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 motive
is different: I think only of the smiles of a woman; but such motive ere
now 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.  The
plain, with its sward of short grass, is level and smooth as the
sleeping ocean; not an object intrudes upon the sight.  He cannot
conceal himself anywhere.  There is still an hour of sunlight; he cannot
hide from us in the darkness: ere that comes down, he shall be our
captive.  On, Moro! on!

On we glide in silence.  The steed has ceased to utter his taunting
neigh; he has lost confidence in his speed; he now runs in dread.  Never
before 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 galloping
hoofs--an impressive silence, that betokens the earnestness of the
chase.

Less than two hundred yards separate us; I feel certain of victory.  A
touch of the spur would now bring Moro within range: it is time to put
an end to this desperate ride.  Now, brave Moro, another stretch, and
you shall have rest!

I look to my lazo; it hangs coiled over the horn of my saddle: one end
is fast to a ring and staple firmly riveted in the tree-wood.  Is the
loop clear and free?  It is.  The coil--is it straight?  Yes; all as it
should be.

I lift the coil, and rest it lightly over my bridle arm; I separate the
noose, and hold it in my right hand.  I am ready--_God of heaven! the
steed_?

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 a
moment: when I looked out again, _the horse had disappeared_!

With a mechanical movement I drew bridle, almost wrenching my horse upon
his haunches; indeed, the animal had half halted of his own accord, and
with a low whimper seemed to express terror.  What could it mean?  Where
was 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 already
described, was level as a table; the horizon bounded the view: there was
neither rock nor tree, nor bush nor weed, nor even long grass.  The
sward was of the kind known upon the prairies as "buffalo-grass"
(_Sesleria dactyloides_), short when full grown, but then rising
scarcely two inches above the soil.  A serpent could hardly have found
concealment under it, but a horse--

Merciful heaven! _where was the steed_?

An indefinable feeling of awe crept over me: I trembled; I felt my horse
trembling between my thighs.  He was covered with foam and sweat; so was
I--the effects of the hard ride: but the cold perspiration of terror was
fast 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 perils
of 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 sinking
ship, and have fallen upon the battle-field.  I have looked at the
muzzles of a hundred muskets aimed at my person, at less than thirty
yards' distance, and felt the certainty of death though the volley was
fired, and I still live.

Well, you will no doubt acknowledge these to be perils.  Do not mistake
me; I am not boasting of having encountered them; I met them with more
or less courage--some of them with fear--but if the fears inspired by
all were combined into one emotion of terror, it would not equal in
intensity that which I experienced at the moment I pulled up my horse
upon the prairie.

I have never been given to superstition; perhaps my religion is not
strong enough for that; but at that moment I could not help yielding to
a full belief in the supernatural.  There was no _natural_ cause--I
could think of none--that would account for the mysterious disappearance
of the horse.  I had often sneered at the credulous sailor and his
phantom-ship; had I lived to look upon a phenomenon equally strange yet
true--a phantom-horse?

The hunters and trappers had indeed invested the white steed with this
character; their stories recurred to my memory at the moment.  I had
used to smile at the simple credulity of the narrators.  I was now
prepared to believe them.  They were true!

Or was I dreaming?  Was it not all a dream?  The search for the white
steed--the surround--the chase--the long, long gallop?

For some moments I actually fancied that such _might_ be the case; but
soon my consciousness became clear again: I was in the saddle, and my
panting, smoking steed was under me.  That was real and positive.  I
remembered all the incidents of the chase.  They, too, were real of a
certainty; the white steed had been there: he was gone.  The trappers
spoke the truth.  The horse was a phantom!

Oppressed with this thought--which had almost become a conviction--I sat
in my saddle, bent and silent, my eyes turned upon the earth, but their
gaze fixed on vacuity.  The lazo had dropped from my fingers, and the
bridle-reins trailed untouched over the withers of my horse.

My belief in the supernatural was of short duration, how long I know
not, for during its continuance I remained in a state of bewilderment.

My senses at length returned.  My eyes had fallen upon a fresh
hoof-print on the turf, directly in front of me.  I knew it was that
made 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 had
never heard of the track of a ghost; though a _horse-ghost_ might be
different from the common kind!

My reflections on this head ended in the determination to follow the
trail as far as it should lead; of course to the point where the steed
must have mounted into the air, or evaporated--the scene of his
apotheosis.

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 my
horse came to a sudden stop.  I looked out forward to discover the cause
of his halting; with that glance vanished my new-born superstitions.

At the distance of some thirty paces, a dark line was seen upon the
prairie, running transversely to the course I was following.  It
appeared to be a narrow crack in the plain; but on spurring nearer, it
proved to be a fissure of considerable width--one of those formations
known throughout Spanish America as _barrancas_.  The earth yawned, as
though rent by an earthquake; but water had evidently something to do
with the formation of the chasm.  It was of nearly equal width at top
and bottom, and its bed was covered with a _debris_ of rocks rounded by
attrition.  Its sides were perfectly vertical, and the stratification,
even to the surface-turf, exactly corresponded--thus rendering it
invisible at the distance of but a few paces from its brink.  It
appeared to shallow to the right, and no doubt ended not far off in that
direction.  Towards the left, on the contrary, I could see that it
became deeper and wider.  At the point where I had reached it, its
bottom 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 the
torn turf on the brink of the chasm, and the displacement of the loose
stones, where he had bounded into its bed.  He had gone to the left--
down the barranca.  The abrasion of his hoofs was visible upon the
rocks.

I looked down the defile: he was not to be seen.  The barranca turned
off by an angle at no great distance.  He had already passed round the
angle, 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 the
chase farther.

After giving way to a pang or two of disappointment, I began to think of
the position in which I had placed myself.  It is true I was now
relieved from the feeling of awe that, but a moment before, had
oppressed me; but my situation was far from being a pleasant one.  I was
at least thirty miles from the rancheria, and I could not tell in what
direction it lay.  The sun was setting, and therefore I had the points
of the compass; but I had not the slightest idea whether we had ridden
eastward or westward after leaving the settlements.  I might ride back
on my own trail; _perhaps_ I might: it was a doubtful point.  Neither
through the timber, nor on the open prairie, had the chase gone in a
direct line.  Moreover, I noticed in many places, as we glided swiftly
along, that the turf was cut up by numerous hoof-tracks: droves of
mustangs had passed over the ground.  It would be no easy matter for me
to retrace the windings of that long gallop.

One thing was evident: it would be useless for me to make the attempt
before morning.  There was not half-an-hour of sun left, and at night
the trail could not be followed.  I had no alternative but to remain
where 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.  The
long hot ride had made me thirsty to an unusual degree, and my poor
horse was in a similar condition.  The knowledge that no water was near
added, as it always does, to the agony, and rendered the physical want
more difficult to be endured.

I scanned the bottom of the barranca, and tracked it with my eye as far
as I could see: it was waterless as the lain itself.  The rocks rested
upon dry sand and gravel; not a drop of the wished-for element appeared
within its bed, although it was evident that at some time a torrent must
have 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 likely
direction 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 mile
from where I first struck it, the gulf yawned full fifty feet into the
plain, the sides still preserving their vertical steepness!

The sun had now gone down; the twilight promised to be a short one.  I
dared not traverse that plain in the darkness; I might ride over the
precipitous edge of the barranca.  Besides, it was not the only one: I
saw there were others--smaller ones--the beds of tributary streams in
seasons of rain.  These branched off diagonally or at right angles, and
were more or less deep and steep.

Night was fast closing over the prairie; I dared not ride farther amid
these perilous abysms.  I must soon come to a halt, without finding
water.  I should have to spend the long hours without relief.  The
prospect of such a night was fearful.

I was still riding slowly onward, mechanically conducting my horse, when
a bright object fell under my eyes, causing me to start in my saddle
with an exclamation of joy.  It was the gleam of water.  I saw it in a
westerly direction, the direction in which I was going.

It proved to be a small lake, or--in the phraseology of the country--a
pond.  It was not in the bottom of the ravine, where I had hitherto been
looking for water, but up on the high prairie.  There was no timber
around it, no sedge; its shores were without vegetation of any kind, and
its surface appeared to correspond with the level of the plain itself.

I rode towards it with joyful anticipation, yet not without some
anxiety.  Was it a _mirage_?  It might be--often had I been deceived by
such appearances.  But no: it had not the filmy, gauze-like halo that
hangs over the mirage.  Its outlines were sharply defined by the prairie
turf, 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 keeping
my eyes fixed upon the glistening water--when all at once my horse
started, and drew back!  I looked ahead to discover the cause.  The
twilight had nearly passed, but in the obscurity I could still
distinguish the surface of the prairie.  The barranca again frowned
before me, running transversely across my path.  To my chagrin, I
perceived that the chasm had made a sudden turn, and that the pond was
on its _opposite side_!



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A PRAIRIE DREAM.

There was no hope of crossing in the darkness.  The barranca was here
deeper than at any point above; so deep that I could but indistinctly
see the rocky boulders at its bottom.  Perhaps with the daylight I might
be able to find a crossing-place; but from that doubtful hypothesis I
derived little consolation.

It had now grown quite dark, and I had no choice but to pass the night
where I was, though I anticipated a night of torture.

I dropped to the ground, and having led my horse a few rods into the
prairie--so as to keep him clear of the precipice--I relieved him of his
saddle and bridle, and left him to browse to the full length of the
lazo.

For myself, I had but few preparations to make: there was no supper to
be cooked, but eating was a matter of secondary importance on that
occasion.  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 my
rifle and hunting-knife, with horn and pouch, and the double-headed
gourd, which served as water-canteen, and which, alas! had been emptied
at an early hour of the day.  Fortunately, my Mexican blanket was
buckled to the croupe.  This I unstrapped, and having enveloped myself
in its ample folds, and placed my head in the hollow of my saddle, I
composed 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 will
rob one of sleep as effectually as the stinging pain of toothache.  I
turned and turned again, glaring at the moon: she was visible only at
intervals, as black clouds were coursing across the canopy; but when she
shone out, her light caused the little lake to glisten like a sheet of
silver.  Oh! how that bright water mocked me with its wavy ripple!  I
could comprehend the sufferings of Tantalus.  I thought at the time that
the gods could not have devised a more exquisite torture for the royal
Lydian.

After some time, the pain of thirst was less intensely felt.  Perhaps
the cold damp air of night had the effect of relieving it; but it is
more likely that fatigue and long endurance had rendered the sense less
acute.  Whatever may have been the cause, I suffered less, and felt
myself yielding to sleep.  There was no sound to keep me awake: perfect
stillness reigned around; even the usual howling bark of the
prairie-wolf did not reach my ear.  The place seemed too lonely for this
almost ubiquitous night-prowler.  The only sign of life that told me I
was not alone was the occasional stroke of my steed's hoof upon the hard
turf, and the "crop crop" that told me he was busy with the short
buffalo-grass.  But these were soothing sounds--as they admonished me
that 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 troubled
dreams.  I have a sort of half belief that the _role_ we play in these
dream-scenes wears the body as much as if we enacted it in reality.  I
have often awaked from such visions feeble from fatigue.  If such be the
fact, during that night upon the prairie I went through the toils of the
preceding day with considerable additions.

First of all, I was in the presence of a lovely woman: she was
dark-eyed, dark-haired--a brunette--a beauty.  I traced the features of
Isolina.  I gazed into her eyes; I was happy in her smiles; I fancied I
was beloved.  Bright objects were around me.  The whole scene was
rose-colour.

This was a short episode: it was interrupted.  I heard shouts and savage
yells.  I looked out: the house was surrounded by Indians!  They were
already within the enclosure; and the moment after, crowds of them
entered the house.  There was much struggling and confusion, battled
with 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 my
mistress, and carried her away out of my sight.

I remember not how I got mounted; but I was upon horseback, and
galloping over the wide prairie in pursuit of the ravisher.  I could see
the savage ahead upon a snow-white steed, with Isolina in his arms.  I
urged my horse with voice and spur, but, as I thought, for long, long
hours in vain.  The white steed still kept far in advance; and I could
get no nearer to him.  I thought the savage had changed his form.  He
was no longer an Indian chief, but the fiend himself: I saw the horns
upon his head; his feet were cloven hoofs!  I thought he was luring me
to the brink of some fell precipice, and I had no longer the power to
stay my horse.  Ha!  The demon and his phantom-horse have gone over the
cliff!  They have carried her along with them!  I must follow--I cannot
remain behind.  I am on the brink.  My steed springs over the chasm.  I
am falling--falling--falling!--

I reach the rocks at length.  I am not killed: how strange it is I have
not been crushed!  But no; I still live.  And yet I suffer.  Thirst
chokes and tortures me: my heart and brain are aching, and my tongue is
on fire.  The sound of water is in my ears: a torrent rushes by, near
me.  If I could only reach it, I might drink and live: but I cannot
move; I am chained to the rocks.  I grasp one after another, and
endeavour to drag myself along: I partially succeed; but oh, what
efforts I make!  The labour exhausts my strength.  I renew my exertions.
I am gaining ground: rock after rock is passed.  I have neared the
rushing 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 which
awoke me.  I found myself in the act of being sprinkled, not by the
spray of a torrent, but by a plashing shower from the clouds!

Under other circumstances, this might have been less welcome, but now I
hailed it with a shout of joy.  The thunder was rolling almost
continuously; lightning blazed at short intervals; and I could hear the
roar of a torrent passing down the barranca.

To assuage thirst was my first thought; and for this purpose, I
stretched out my concave palms, and held my mouth wide open, thus
drinking from the very fountains of the sky.

Though the drops fell thick and heavy, the process was too slow, and a
better 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 hundred
silver dollars.  This I spread to its full extent, pressing the central
parts into a hollow of the prairie.  In five minutes' time, I had
forgotten what thirst was, and wondered how such a thing should have
caused me so much torture!

Moro drank from the same "trough," and betook himself to the grass
again.

The under side of the blanket was still dry, and the patch of ground
which it had sheltered.  Along this I stretched myself, drew the serape
over 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 were
light, and forgotten with the return of consciousness.

It was late when I awoke.  A bright sun was mounting into the blue and
cloudless sky.  This orb was already many degrees above the horizon.

Hunger was the father of my first thought.  I had eaten nothing since an
early hour of the preceding day, and then only the light _desayuna_ of
sweet-cake and chocolate.  To one not accustomed to long fasting, a
single day without food will give some idea of the pain of hunger; that
pain will increase upon a second day, and by the third will have reached
its maximum.  Upon the fourth and fifth, the body grows weaker, and the
brain becomes deranged; the nerve, however, is less acute, and though
the suffering is still intense, hunger is never harder to endure than
upon the second or third days.

Of course, these remarks apply only to those not habituated to long
fasts.  I have known men who could endure hunger for six days, and feel
less pain than others under a fast of twenty-four hours.  Indians or
prairie-hunters were those men, and fortunately for them that they are
endowed with such powers of endurance, often driven as they are into
circumstances of the most dire necessity.  Truly, "the Lord tempers the
wind 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 was
none; 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.  I
thought of the bounty of the Creator in thus providing for his less
intelligent creatures--giving them the power to live where man would
starve.  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 a
grim abyss, over a hundred feet in depth, and about the same in width.
Its sides were less precipitous at this point.  The escarpment rocks had
fallen in, and formed a sort of shelving bank, by which a man on foot
might have descended into its bed, and climbed out on the opposite side;
but it was not passable for a horse.  Its cliffs were furrowed and
uneven; rocks jutted out and hung over; and in the seams grew cactus
plants, bramble, and small trees of dwarf cedar (_Juniperus prostrata_).

I looked into its channel.  I had heard the torrent rolling down in the
night.  I saw traces of the water among the rocks.  A large body must
have passed, and yet not a cupful could now have been lifted from its
bed!  What remained was fast filtering into the sand, or rising back to
the heavens upon the heated atmosphere.

I had brought with me my rifle, in hopes of espying some living
creature; 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 few
minutes; this done, I began to bethink me of _where I was going_.  Back
to the rancheria, of course!

That was the natural reply to such a question; but there was another far
less easily answered: How was I to find the way?

My design of the previous night--to follow back my own trail--was no
longer practicable.  _The rain had effaced the tracks_!  I remembered
that I had passed over wide stretches of light dusty soil, where the
hoof scarcely impressed itself.  I remembered that the rain had been of
that character known as "planet showers," with large heavy drops, that,
in such places, must have blotted out every trace of the trail.  To
follow the "back-track" was no longer possible.

I had not before thought of this difficulty; and now, that it presented
itself to my mind, it was accompanied by a new feeling of dread.  I felt
that _I was lost_!

As you sit in your easy-chair, you may fancy that this is a mere
bagatelle--a little bewilderment that one may easily escape from who has
a good horse between his thighs.  It is only to strike boldly out, and
by 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 the
success of such a course depends very much upon circumstances.  It would
indeed be trusting to blind chance.  You might arrive "somewhere," and
that 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 may
take 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 know
you 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-men
are free.  Your senses lose half their power, your energy is diminished,
and your resolves become weak and vacillating.  You feel doubtful at
each step, as to whether you be following the right path, and are ready
at every moment to turn into another.  Believe me, it is a fearful thing
to be alone when lost upon the prairies!

I felt this keenly enough.  I had been on the great plains before, but
it was the first time I had the misfortune to wander astray on them, and
I was the more terrified that I already hungered to no common degree.

There was something singular, too, in the circumstances that had brought
me into my present situation.  The disappearance of the white steed--
although accounted for by perfectly natural causes--had left upon my
mind a strange impression.  That he should have lured me so far, and
then 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 higher
intelligence--in fact, to some supernatural cause!

I was again on the edge of superstition.  My mind began to give way and
yield itself to hideous fancies.

I struggled against such thoughts, and succeeded in rousing myself to
reflect upon some active measures for my safety.

I saw that it was of no use to remain where I was.  I knew that I could
make a straight path for a couple of hours at least--the sun was in the
sky, and that would guide me--until near the meridian hours.  Then I
should 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 zenith
that a practised astronomer could not tell north from south.

I reflected that before noon I might reach the timber, though that would
not insure my safety.  Even the naked plain is not more bewildering than
the openings of the mezquite groves and the chapparal that border it.
Among these you may travel for days without getting twenty miles from
your starting-point, and they are often as destitute of the means of
life as the desert itself!

Such were my reflections as I had saddled and bridled my horse, and
stood scanning the plain in order to make up my mind as to the direction
I 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 prairies
when form and size present the most illusory aspects: a wolf seems as
large as a horse; and a raven sitting upon a swell of the plain, has
been mistaken for a buffalo.  A peculiar state of the atmosphere is the
magnifying cause, and it is only the experienced eye of the trapper that
can reduce the magnified proportions and distorted form to their proper
size and shape.

The objects I had noticed were full two miles off; they were in the
direction of the lake, and of course on the other side of the barranca.
There were several forms--five I counted--moving phantom-like against
the rim of the horizon.

Something drew my attention from them for a short while--a period of
perhaps three or four minutes' duration.

When I looked out again they were no longer to be seen; but by the edge
of the pond, at less than five hundred yards' distance, five beautiful
creatures were standing, which I knew to be antelopes.  They were so
close 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 moment
before far out upon the prairie.  I was convinced they were the same.
The distance was nothing: these creatures travel with the speed of a
swallow.

The sight of the prong-horns stimulated my hunger.  My first thought was
how to get near them.  Curiosity had brought them to the pond; they had
espied my horse and myself afar off; and had galloped up to reconnoitre
us.  But they still appeared shy and timid, and were evidently not
inclined to approach nearer.

The barranca lay between them and me, but I saw that if I could entice
them 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.  I
laid myself along the grass, upon my back, and kicked my heels in the
air, 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 me
of another plan which, when adroitly practised, rarely fails of success.

Taking the blanket, I lashed one edge to the ramrod of my rifle, having
first passed the latter through the upper swivel of the piece.  With the
thumb of my left hand I was thus enabled to hold the rammer steady and
transverse to the barrel.  I now dropped upon my knees--holding the gun
shoulder-high--and the gay-coloured serape, spread out almost to its
full extent, hung to the ground, and formed a complete cover for my
person.

Before making these arrangements, I had crept to the very edge of the
barranca--in order to be as near as possible should the antelopes
approach upon the opposite side.

Of course every manoeuvre was executed with all the silence and caution
I 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 my
decoy was likely to prove attractive.  The prong-horned antelope, like
most animals of its kind, has one strongly developed propensity--that of
_curiosity_.  Although to a known enemy it is the most timid of
creatures, yet in the presence of an object that is new to it, it
appears to throw aside its timidity, or rather its curiosity overcomes
its sense of fear; and, impelled by the former, it will approach very
near 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 of
it.  The wolf is less fleet than the antelope, and his pursuit of it in
a direct manner would be vain; but with the astute creature, stratagem
makes up for the absence of speed.  Should a "band" of antelopes chance
to be passing, the prairie-wolf lays himself flat upon the grass, clews
his body into a round ball, and thus rolls himself over the ground, or
goes through a series of contortions, all the while approaching nearer
to his victims, until he has them within springing distance!  Usually he
is assisted in these manoeuvres by several companions--for the
prairie-wolf is social, and hunts in packs.

The square of bright colours soon produced its effect.  The five
prong-horns came trotting around the edge of the lake, halted, gazed
upon it a moment, and then dashed off again to a greater distance.
Soon, however, they turned and came running back--this time apparently
with greater confidence, and a stronger feeling of curiosity.  I could
hear them uttering their quick "snorts" as they tossed up their tiny
muzzles and snuffed the air.  Fortunately, the wind was in my favour,
blowing directly from the game, and towards me; otherwise, they would
have "winded" me, and discovered the cheat--for they both know and fear
the scent of the human hunter.

The band consisted of a young buck and four females--his wives; the
nucleus, no doubt, of a much larger establishment in prospect--for the
antelope is polygamous, and some of the older males have an extensive
following.  I knew the buck by his greater size and forking horns, which
the does want.  He appeared to direct the actions of the others, as they
all stood in a line behind him, following and imitating his motions.

At the second approach, they came within a hundred yards of me.  My
rifle was equal to this range, and I prepared to fire.  The leader was
nearest, 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 the
buck down upon the prairie, in the act of giving his last kick.  To my
surprise, none of the others had been frightened off by the report, but
stood 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 an
effect which neither the crack of the rifle nor the fall of their
comrade had done; and the now terrified animals wheeled about and sped
away like the wind.  In less than two minutes, they were beyond the
reach 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 about
examining the chasm in order to find a practicable crossing.

This I fortunately discovered.  On both sides, the cliff was somewhat
broken down, and might be scaled, though not without considerable
difficulty.

After once more looking to the security of my horse's trail-rope, I
placed 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 would
hinder me in scaling the cliffs.

I succeeded in reaching to the bottom of the ravine, and commenced
ascending on the opposite side where it was steeper; but I was assisted
by the branches of the trailing cedar that grew among the rocks.  I
noticed, and with some surprise, that the path must have been used
before, either by men or animals.  The soil that laid upon the ledges
was "paddled" as by feet, and the rock in some places scratched and
discoloured.

These indications only caused me a momentary reflection.  I was too
hungry to dwell upon any thought but that of eating.

At length I reached the scarp of the cliff, and having climbed out upon
the prairie, soon stood over the carcass of the prong-horn.  My knife
was out in a trice, and next moment I was playing the part of the
butcher.

You will no doubt fancy that the next thing I did was to go in search of
something to make a fire for the purpose of cooking my breakfast.  I did
nothing 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 done
the same.

It is true that, after I had satisfied the first cravings of appetite
with the tongue of the antelope, and a few morsels of steak, I became
more fastidious and thought a little roasting might improve the venison.

For this purpose, I was about to return to the barranca, in order to
gather some sticks of cedar-wood, when my eyes fell upon an object that
drove all thoughts of cookery out of my head, and sent a thrill of
terror to my heart.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

CHASED BY A "GRIZZLY."

The object that inspired me with such alarm was an animal--the most
dreaded of all that inhabit the prairies--the _grizzly bear_.

This bear was one of the largest; but it was not his size that impressed
me with fear, so much as the knowledge of his fierce nature.  It was not
the first time I had encountered the grizzly bear; and I knew his habits
well.

I was familiar with the form and aspect, and could not be mistaken as to
the species; the long shaggy pelage, the straight front, and broad
facial disk--which distinguishes this species from the _Ursus
Americanus_--the yellowish eyes, the large teeth, but half concealed by
the lips, and, above all, the long curving claws--the most prominent
marks of the grizzly bear, as they are his most formidable means of
attack--were all easily identified.

When my eyes first rested upon the brute, he was just emerging out of
the 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, and
then halting, reared himself erect, and stood upon his hind-legs; at the
same time he uttered a snorting sound, which resembled the "blowing" of
hogs when suddenly startled in the forest.  For some moments he remained
in this upright attitude, rubbing his head with his fore-paws, and
playing his huge arms about after the manner of monkeys.  In fact, as he
stood fronting me, he looked not unlike a gigantic ape; and his
yellowish-red colour favoured a resemblance to the great ourang.

When I say that I was terrified by the presence of this unwelcome
intruder, I speak no more than truth.  Had I been on horseback, I should
have regarded the creature no more than the snail that crawled upon the
grass.  The grizzly bear is too slow to overtake a horse; but I was
afoot, and knew that the animal could outrun me, however swift I might
deem myself.

To suppose that he would not attack me would have been to suppose an
improbability.  I did not reckon upon such a chance; I knew too well the
disposition of the enemy that was approaching.  I knew that in nine
cases out of ten the grizzly bear is the assailant--that no animal in
America will willingly risk a contest with him; and I am not certain
that the lion of Africa would wear his laurels after an encounter with
this fierce quadruped.

Man himself shuns such an encounter, unless mounted upon the friendly
horse; and even then, where the ground is not clear and open, the
prudent trapper always gives "old Ephraim"--the prairie sobriquet of the
grizzly--a wide berth, and rides on without molesting him.  The white
hunter reckons a grizzly bear equal in prowess to two Indians; while the
Indian himself accounts the destruction of one of these animals a great
feat in his life's history.  Among Indian braves, a necklace of bear's
claws is a badge of honour--since these adornments can be worn only by
the man who has himself killed the animals from which they have been
taken.

On the other hand, the grizzly bear fears no adversary; he assails the
largest 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 open
the flesh, as if it had been gashed with an axe; and he can drag the
body of a full-grown buffalo to any distance.  He rushes upon man,
whether mounted or on foot; and a dozen hunters have retreated before
his furious assault.  A dozen bullets--ay, nearly twice that number--
have been fired into the body of a grizzly bear without killing him; and
only a shot through the brain or the heart will prove instantaneously
mortal.

Gifted with such tenacity of life and sanguinary fierceness of
disposition, no wonder the grizzly bear is a dreaded creature.  Were he
possessed of the fleetness of the lion or tiger, he would be a more
terrible assailant than either; and it is not too much to say that his
haunts would be unapproachable by man.  Compared with the horse,
however, he is slow of foot; and there is another circumstance scarcely
less favourable to those who pass through his district--he is not a
tree-climber.  Indeed, he does not inhabit the forest; but there is
usually some timber in the neighbourhood of his haunts; and many a life
has been saved by his intended victim having taken refuge in a tree.

I was well acquainted with these points in the natural history of the
grizzly bear; and you may fancy the feelings I experienced at finding
myself in the presence of one of the largest and fiercest upon the naked
plain, alone, dismounted, almost unarmed!

There was not a bush where I could hide myself, not a tree into which I
might 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 upon
the 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 would
have been madness to attempt crossing there; for although not a
tree-climber, the grizzly bear, by means of his great claws, could have
scaled the cliff more expeditiously than I.  Had I made the attempt, I
should have been caught before I could have reached the bottom of the
ravine.

The bear was directly in the path.  It would have been literally
flinging 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 utter
helplessness of my situation; I saw there was no alternative but a
desperate conflict--a conflict with the knife!

Despair, that for a moment had unnerved, now had the effect of bracing
me; and, fronting my fierce foe, I stood ready to receive him.

I had heard of hunters having conquered and killed the grizzly bear with
no other weapon than a knife--but; after a terrible and protracted
struggle--after many wounds; and sore loss of blood.  I had read in the
book of a naturalist, that "a man might end a struggle with a bear in a
few instants, if one hand be sufficiently at liberty to grasp the throat
of the animal with the thumb and fingers externally, _just at the root
of the tongue_, as flight degree of compression there will generally
suffice to produce a spasm of the glottis, that will soon suffocate the
bear beyond the power of offering resistance or doing injury."

Beautiful theory!  Sagacious naturalist!  How wouldst thou like to make
the experiment?  Hast thou ever heard of birds being caught by the
application 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 antagonist
soon finished his reconnaissance of me, and, dropping upon all-fours and
uttering a loud scream, rushed towards me with open mouth.

I had resolved to await his onset; but as he came nearer, and I beheld
his great gaunt form, his gleaming teeth, and his senna-coloured eyes
flashing like fire, changed my design; a new thought came suddenly into
my mind; I turned and fled.

The thought that prompted me to adopt this course was, that just then I
remembered the antelope I had shot; the bear might be attracted by the
carcass, and pause over it--maybe long enough to give me a start, or
enable me to escape altogether.  If not, my situation could be no worse
than it then was.

Alas! my hope was short-lived.  On reaching the antelope, the fierce
monster 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 can
I remember; but what was my speed against such a competitor!  I was only
running myself out of breath.  I should be less prepared for the
desperate conflict that must, after all, take place; better for me to
turn, and at once face the foe!

I had half resolved--was about to turn, in fact--when an object flashed
before my eyes that dazzled them.  Inadvertently I had run in the
direction of the pond; I was now upon its edge.  It was the sun gleaming
from the water that had dazzled me--for the surface was calm as a
mirror.

A new idea--a sort of half-hope--rushed into my mind.  It was the straw
to the drowning man.  The fierce brute was close behind me; another
instant, and we must have grappled.

"Not yet, not yet," thought I.  "I shall fight him in the water--in the
deep water: that may give me an advantage.  Perhaps, then, the contest
will 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; the
spray rose round me; the pond deepened as I advanced; I was soon up to
the waist.

I glanced around with anxious heart; the bear was standing upon the
shore.  To my surprise and joy, I saw that he had halted, and seemed
disinclined to follow me.

I say, to my surprise I saw this, for I knew that water has no terrors
for the grizzly bear; I knew that he could swim; I had seen many of his
kind crossing deep lakes and rapid rivers.  What, then, hindered him
from following me?

I could not guess, nor, indeed, did I try to guess, at the moment; I
thought of nothing but getting farther from the shore, and waded on till
I had arrived near the centre of the lake and stood neck-deep in the
water.  I could go no farther without swimming, and therefore came to a
stand, with my face turned towards my pursuer.

I watched his every movement.  He had risen once more upon his
hind-quarters, and in this attitude stood looking after me, but still
apparently without any intention of taking to the water.

After regarding me for some moments, he fell back upon all-fours, and
commenced running round the border of the pond, as if searching for a
place to enter.

There were still not over two hundred paces between us, for the pond was
only twice that in diameter.  He could easily have reached me, had he
felt so disposed; but for some reason or other, he seemed disinclined to
a "swim," though for nearly half-an-hour he kept running backwards and
forwards along the shore.

Now and then he made short excursions out into the prairie; but always
returned again, and regarded me afresh, as though determined not to lose
sight of me for any length of time.  I was in hopes that he might stray
round to the other side of the pond, and give me the chance of making a
rush for the ravine; but no; he continued on that side where he had
first appeared, as though he suspected my design.

I knew not how long the siege was to last; but as I well understood the
implacable disposition of the grizzly bear, I could not hope that the
scene would be otherwise than protracted.

It lasted a long while--more than an hour I should think.  I began to
despair.  I shivered.  The pond must have been a spring, so chill were
its 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 might
excite my fierce enemy, and tempt his onset.  I shivered, but stood
still.

My patience was at length rewarded.  The bear, making one of his short
tours into the prairie, espied the carcass of the antelope.  I saw that
he had halted over something, though I could not tell what, for my eyes
were below the level of the plain.

Presently his head was raised again, and in his jaws were the remains of
the prong-horn.  To my joy I perceived that he was dragging it towards
the barranca, and in another minute he had disappeared with it behind
the cliff.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE TOUGHEST STRUGGLE OF MY LIFE.

I swam a few strokes, and then wading gently and without noise, I stood
upon the sandy shore.

With shivering frame and dripping garments, I stood, uncertain what
course to pursue.  I was upon the opposite side of the lake--I mean
opposite to where I had entered it.  I had chosen that side
intentionally, lest the bear should suddenly return.  He might deposit
the carcass in his lair, and come back to look after me.  It is a habit
of these animals, when not pressed by immediate hunger, to bury their
food or store it in their caves.  Even the devouring of the little
antelope would have been an affair of only a few minutes' time, and the
bear might still return, more ravenous that he had tasted blood.

I was filled with irresolution.  Should I run off across the plain
beyond the reach of pursuit?  I should have to return again for my horse
and rifle.  To take to the prairie on foot would be like going to sea
without a boat.  Even had I been sure of reaching the settlements in
safety without my horse, I could not think of leaving him behind.  I
loved my Moro too well for that: I would have risked life itself rather
than part with the noble creature.  No; the idea of deserting him was
not entertained for a moment.

But how was I to join him?  The only path by which I could cross the
barranca had just been taken by the bear.  The latter was no doubt still
upon it, in the bottom of the ravine.  To attempt passing over would be
to bring myself once more under the eyes of the fierce brute; and I
should certainly become his victim.

Another idea suggested itself--to go up the barranca, and find a
crossing, or else head the chasm altogether, and come down upon the
opposite side.  That was possibly the best plan to pursue.

I was about starting forward to execute it, when, to my dismay, I again
beheld the bear; this time, not upon the same side with myself, but upon
the opposite one, where Moro was picketed!

He was just climbing out of the ravine when I first saw him--slowly
dragging his huge body over the escarpment of the cliff.  In a moment he
stood erect upon the open plain.

I was filled with a new consternation; I perceived too surely that he
was about to attack the horse!

The latter had already observed the bear's approach, and seemed to be
fully aware of his danger.  I had staked him at the distance of about
four hundred yards from the barranca, and upon a lazo of about twenty in
length.  At sight of the bear he had run out to the end of his
trail-rope, and was snorting and plunging with affright.

This new dilemma arrested me, and I stood with anxious feelings to watch
the result.  I had no hope of being able to yield the slightest aid to
my poor horse--at least none occurred to me at the moment.

The bear made directly towards him, and my heart throbbed wildly as I
saw the brute approach almost within clawing distance.  The horse sprang
round, however, and galloped upon a circle of which the lazo was the
radius.  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 a
raw-hide lazo of the toughest thong.  I knew its power, and I remembered
how 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 the
blade 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 the
circumference of the circle, while the boar made his attacks by crossing
its chords, or running in circles of lesser diameter.  The whole scene
bore 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 the
legs of the bear, and, after carrying him along with it for some
distance, flung him over upon his back.  This seemed to add to his rage,
since, after recovering his legs again, he ran after the horse with
redoubled fury.  I could have been amused at the singular spectacle, but
that my mind was too painfully agitated about the result.

The scene continued for some minutes without much change in the relative
position of the actors.  I began to hope that the bear might be baffled
after all, and finding the horse too nimble for him, might desist from
his attacks, particularly as the horse had already administered to him
several 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 about
the _denouement_.  The rope had once more pressed against the bear; but
this time, instead of trying to avoid it, he seized it in his teeth and
paws.  I thought at first he was going to cut it, and this was exactly
what I wished for; but no--to my consternation I saw that he was
crawling along it by constantly renewing his hold, and thus gradually
and surely drawing nearer to his victim!  The horse now screamed with
terror!

I could bear the sight no longer.  I remembered that I had left my rifle
near the edge of the barranca, and some distance from the horse; I
remembered, too, that after shooting the antelope, I had carefully
reloaded it.

I ran forward to the cliff, and dashed madly down its face; I climbed
the opposite steep, and clutching the gun, rushed towards the scene of
strife.

I was still in time; the bear had not yet reached his victim, though now
within less than six feet of him.

I advanced within ten paces, and fired.  As though my shot had cut the
thong, it gave way at the moment, and the horse with a wild neigh sprang
off into the prairie!

I had hit the bear, as I afterwards ascertained, but not in a vital
part, and my bullet had no more effect upon him than if it had been a
drop of snipe-shot.  It was the strength of despair that had broken the
rope, and set free the steed.

It was my turn now--for the bear, as soon as he perceived that the horse
had escaped him, turned and sprang upon me, uttering, as he did so, a
loud scream.

I had no choice but fight.  I had no time to reload.  I struck the brute
once with my clubbed rifle, and flinging the gun away, grasped the
readier knife.  With the strong keen blade--the knife was a bowie--I
struck out before me; but the next moment I felt myself grappled and
held 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 my
eyes.  My knife-arm was free: I had watched this when grappling, and
with all the energy of despair I plunged the keen blade between the ribs
of my antagonist.  Again and again I plunged it, seeking for the heart
at every stab.

We rolled together upon the ground, over and over again.  The red blood
covered 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--I
was mad--I was burning with a fierce vengeance--with anger, such as one
might 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 blade
up to the hilt.

Gracious heaven! how many lives has he?  Will he never yield to the red
steel?  See the blood!--rivers of blood--the prairie is red--we roll in
blood.  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; but
the tender expression of his eye tells me that his heart is kind.  Who
is he?  Whence came he?

I am still upon the wide prairie; I see that clearly enough.  Where is
my terrible antagonist?  I remember our fierce fight--everything that
occurred; 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 are
forms--the forms of men, and yonder are horses too!

Into whose hands have I fallen?  Whoever they be they are friends; they
must have rescued me from the gripe of the monster?

But how?  No one was in sight: how could they have arrived in time?  I
would ask, but have not strength.

The men are still bending over me.  I observe one with large beard and
brown bushy workers.  There is another face, old and thin, and tanned to
a copper colour.  My eyes wander from one to the other; some distant
recollections stir within me.  Those faces--

Now I see them but dimly--I see them no longer I fainted, and was again
insensible.

Once more I became conscious, and this time felt stronger: I could
better understand what was passing around me.  I observed that the sun
was going down; a buffalo robe, suspended upon two upright saplings,
guarded his slanting rays from the spot where I lay.  My seraph was
under me, and my head rested in my saddle, over which another robe had
been laid.  I lay upon my side, and the position gave me a view of all
that 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 was
the type of a "mountain man," a trapper.  He was full six feet in his
moccasins, and of a build that suggested the idea of strength and Saxon
ancestry.  His arms were like young oaks; and his hand grasping the
muzzle of his gun, appeared large, fleshless, and muscular.  His cheek
was broad and firm, and was partially covered with a bushy whisker, that
met over the chin; while a beard of the same colour--dull brown--fringed
his lips.  The eye was grey, or bluish grey, small, well-set, and rarely
wandering.  The hair was light brown; and the complexion of the face,
which had evidently once been blonde, was now nearly as dark as that of
a half-breed.  Sun-tan had produced this metamorphosis.  The countenance
was prepossessing: it might have been once handsome.  Its expression was
bold, but good-humoured, and bespoke a kind and generous nature.

The dress of this individual was the well-known costume of his class--a
hunting-shirt of dressed deer-skin, smoked to the softness of a glove;
leggings reaching to the hips, and fringed down the seams; moccasins of
true Indian make, soled with buffalo hide (_parfleche_).  The
hunting-shirt was belted around the waist, but open above, so as to
leave the throat and part of the breast uncovered; but over the breast
could be seen the under-shirt, of finer material--the dressed skin of
the young antelope, or the fawn of the fallow-deer.  A short cape, part
of the hunting-shirt, hung gracefully over the shoulders, ending in a
deep fringe cut out of the buckskin itself.  A similar fringe
embellished 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 a
plume, fell drooping over the left shoulder.

The accoutrements were a bullet-pouch, made from the undressed skin of a
tiger-cat, ornamented with the head of the beautiful summer-duck.  This
hung under the right arm, suspended by a shoulder-strap; and attached,
in a similar manner, was a huge crescent-shaped horn, upon which was
carved many a strange souvenir.  His arms consisted of a knife and
pistol--both stuck in the waist-belt--and a long rifle, so straight that
the 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 his
tunic-like shirt, a stylishness about the fringing and bead-embroidery,
and an air of jauntiness in the set of the 'coon-skin cap, that showed
the wearer was not altogether unmindful of his personal appearance.  A
small pouch or case, ornamented with stained porcupine quills, hung down
upon 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 the
wilderness.

His companion was very different in appearance; unlike him, in almost
every respect, unlike anybody in the world.

The whole appearance of this individual was odd and striking.  He was
seated on the opposite side of the fire, with his face partially turned
towards 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-coloured
buckskin than a human being; and had his arms not been in motion, he
might have been mistaken for such an object.  Both his arms and jaws
were moving; the latter engaged in polishing a rib of meat which he had
half roasted over the coals.

His dress--if dress it could be called--was simple as it was savage.  It
consisted of what might have once been a hunting-shirt, but which now
looked more like a leathern bag with the bottom ripped open, and sleeves
sewed into the sides.  It was of a dirty-brown colour, wrinkled at the
hollow of the arms, patched round the armpits, and greasy all over; it
was fairly "caked" with dirt.  There was no attempt at either ornament
or fringe.  There had been a cape, but this had evidently been drawn
upon from time to time for patches and other uses, until scarcely a
vestige of it remained.  The leggings and moccasins were on a par with
the shirt, and seemed to have been manufactured out of the same hide.
They, too, were dirt-brown, patched, wrinkled, and greasy.  They did not
meet each other, but left bare a piece of the ankle, and that also was
dirt-brown like the buckskin.  There was no undershirt, waistcoat, or
other 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 a
greasy, leathery-looking surface, that corresponded well with the other
parts of the dress.  Cap, shirt, leggings, and moccasins, looked as if
they 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 to
the hue of rusty copper.  The whole man, clothes and all, looked as if
he 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, and
piercing.  His hair was black, and cut short; his complexion had been
naturally brunette, though there was nothing of the Frenchman or
Spaniard in his physiognomy.  He was more likely of the black-Saxon
breed.

As I looked at this man, I saw that there was a strangeness about him,
independently of the oddness of his attire.  There was something
peculiar 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 some
horrid drama--some terrible scene of cruel vengeance: it suggests the
idea of crime committed and punishment inflicted.

I might have had such unpleasant imaginings, but that I chanced to know
why those ears were wanting.  I remembered the man who was sitting
before me!

It seemed a dream, or rather the re-enactment of an old scene.  Years
before, I had seen that individual, and for the first time, in a
situation very similar.  My eyes first rested upon him, seated as he was
now, over a fire, roasting and eating.  The attitude was the same; the
_tout ensemble_ in no respect different.  There was the same greasy
catskin cap, the same scant leggings, the same brown buckskin covering
over the lanky frame.  Perhaps neither shirt nor leggings had been taken
off since I last saw them.  They appeared no dirtier, however; that was
not 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 celebrated
of trappers.

The younger man was "Bill Garey," another celebrity of the same
profession, and old Rube's partner and constant companion.

My heart gladdened at the sight of these old acquaintances.  I knew I
was with friends.

I was about to call out to them, when my eye wandering beyond rested
upon the group of horses, and what I saw startled me from my recumbent
position.

There was Rube's old, blind, bare-ribbed, high-boned, long-eared
mare-mustang.  Her lank grizzled body, naked tail, and mulish look, I
remembered well.  There, too, was the large powerful horse of Garey, and
there was my own steed Moro picketed beside them!  This was a joyful
surprise 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 with
astonishment; it was at seeing another well-remembered animal--another
horse.  Was I mistaken?  Was it an illusion?  Were my eyes or my fancy
again mocking me?

No!  It was a reality.  There was the noble form, the graceful and
symmetrical outlines, the smooth coat of silver white, the flowing tail,
the upright jetty ears--all were before my eyes.  It was he--_the white
steed of the prairies_!



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A QUEER CONVERSATION.

The surprise, with the exertion I had made in raising myself, overcame
me, and I fell back in a swoon.

It was but a momentary dizziness, and in a short while I was again
conscious.

Meanwhile, the two men had approached, and having applied something cold
to my temples, stood near me conversing: I heard every word.

"Durn the weemen!"  (I recognised Rube's voice); "thur allers a gittin a
fellur into some scrape.  Hyur's a putty pickle to be in, an all through
a gurl.  Durn the weemen! sez I."

"We-ell," drawlingly responded Garey, "pre-haps he loves the gal.  They
sez she's mighty hansum.  Love's a strong feelin, Rube."

Although I had my eyes partially open, I could not see Rube, as he was
standing 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't
as 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 sich
dodrotted fools o' reezunable men.  As yit, it hain't afooled this
child, 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 wur
in 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 a
white, 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 maybe
more--but this I _kin_ say, an no boastin neyther, thet I never sold a
squaw yet for a plug o' bacca less than I gin for her; an on most o' 'em
I made a clur profit.  Thurfur, Billee, I don't object to a Injun fur a
wife: but _wives_ is one thing, an _sweethearts_ is diff'rent, when it
comes 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' a
huffier; 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 big
as 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 wur
Holmes--Char'ty Holmes.  Ye-es, thet wur the name.

"'Twur upon Big-duck crick in the Tennessee bottom, the place whur this
child chawed his fust hoe-cake.  Let me see--it ur now more'n thirty
yeer ago.  I fust met the gurl at a candy-pullin; an I reccollex well we
wur put to eat taffy agin one another.  We ate till our lips met; an
then the kissin--thet wur kissin, boyee.  Char'ty's lips wur sweeter
than the treakle itself!

"We met oncest agin at a corn-shuckin, an arterwards at a
blanket-trampin, an thur's whur the bisness wur done.  I seed Char'ty's
ankles as she wur a-trampin out the blankets, as white an smooth as
peeled poplar.  Arter thet 'twur all up wi' Reuben Rawlins.  I
approached the gurl 'ithout more ado; an sez I: `Char'ty,' sez I, `I
freeze to you;' an sez she: `Reuben, I cottons to you.'  So I
immeediantly made up to the ole squire--thet ur Squire Holmes--an axed
him 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' fine
broadcloth.  He made love to Char'ty; an wud yur b'lieve it, Bill? the
gurl married him!  Cuss the weemen! thur all alike.

"I met the pedlar shortly arter, and gin _him_ sech a larrupin as laid
him up for a month; but I hed to clur out for it, an I then tuk to the
plains.

"I never seed Char'ty arterward, but I heerd o' her oncest from a fellur
I kim acrosst on the Massoury.  She wur a splendid critter; an if she ur
still livin, she must hev a good grist o' young uns by this, for the
fellur said she'd hed a kupple o' twins very shortly arter she wur
married, with _har an eyes jest like herself_!  Wal, thur's no kalklatin
on weemen, any how.  Jest see what this young fellur's got by tryin to
sarve 'em.  Wagh!"

Up to this moment I took no part in the conversation, nor had I
indicated to either of the trappers that I was aware of their presence.
Everything was enveloped in mystery.  The presence of the white steed
had sufficiently astonished me, and not less that of my old
acquaintances, Rube and Garey.  The whole scene was a puzzle.

I was equally at a loss to account for their being acquainted with the
cause that had brought _me_ there.  That they were so, was evident from
their conversation.  Where could they have procured their information on
this head?  Neither of them had been at the rancheria, nor in the army
anywhere; certainly not, else I should have heard of them.  Indeed,
either of them would have made himself known to me, as a strong
friendship had formerly existed between us.

But they alone could give me an explanation, and, without further
conjecture, 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--lay
still 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, at
the same time holding out a small gourd, which I applied to my lips.  It
was _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 at
the recognition.

"Well, old comrades--well do I remember you."

"We ain't forgot you neyther.  Rube an I often talked about ye.  We many
a time wondered what hed becomed o' you.  We heerd, of coorse, that you
hed 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 plug
o' Jeemes River bacca; thet wud I sartint."

"No, capt'n," continued the young trapper, without heeding Rube's
interruption, "we hedn't forgot you, neyther of us."

"That we hedn't!" added Rube emphatically: "forgot ye--forgot the young
fellur as tuk ole Rube for a grizzly!  He, he, he!--ho, ho, hoo!  How
Bill hyur did larf when I gin him the account o' that bissnes in the
cave.  Bill, boy, I niver seed you larf so in all my life.  Ole Rube tuk
for a grizzly!  He, he, he!--Ho, ho, hoo!"

And the old trapper went off into a fit of laughing that occupied nearly
a minute.  At the end of it, he continued:--

"Thet wur a kewrious bit o' dodgin--wa'nt it, young fellur?  You saved
my ole karkidge thet time, an I ain't a-gwine to forgit it; no, this
child 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 rescooed
yurself; an', young fellur, you must a fit a putty consid'able bout
afore the vamint knocked under.  The way you hev gin him the bowie ur a
caution 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, the
carcasses of _two_ bears lay upon the ground, both skinned, and
partially cut up!

"I fought with only one."

"An thet wur enuf at a time, an a leetle more, I reck'n.  'Tain't many
as 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 the
groun, the bar wur as dead as pickled pork.  We thort yur case wa'nt any
better.  Thur you lay a-huggin the bar, an the bar a-huggin you, as ef
both on yur hed gone to sleep in a sort o' friendly way, like the
babbies in the wood, exceptin thet you wa'nt kivered wi' leaves.  But
thur wur yur claret a kiverin the paraira for yurds round.  Thur wa'nt
as 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 arter
the white hoss.  I wur sittin aside you, jest hyur, when I seed the
vamint's snout pokin up.  I knowd it wur the she-bar a-comin to see
where ole Eph had strayed to.  So I tuk up Targuts, an plummed the
critter in the eye, an thet wur the eend o' _her_ trampin.

"Now, lookee hyur, young fellur!  I ain't no doctur, neyther's Bill, but
I knows enough about wownds to be sartint thet you must lay still, an
stop talkin.  Yur mighty bad scratched, I tell ye, but yur not
dangerous, only you've got no blood in yur body, an you must wait till
it 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 the
fire, followed by his younger companion.

Although I was anxious to have a further explanation about the other
points that puzzled me--about the steed, the trappers' own presence,
their knowledge of my wild hunt, and its antecedents--I knew it would be
useless to question Old Rube any further after what he had said; I was
compelled, 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 air
had grown chilly, but I found I had not been neglected; my serape was
wrapped closely around me, and with a buffalo-robe, had sufficiently
protected me from the cold while I slept.

On awaking, I felt much better and stronger.  I looked around for my
companions.  The fire had gone out--no doubt intentionally extinguished,
lest its glare amid the darkness might attract the eye of some roving
Indian.  The night was a clear one, though moonless; but the heaven was
spangled with its sparkling worlds, and the starlight enabled me to make
out the forms of the two trappers and the group of browsing horses.  Of
the former, one only was asleep; the other sat upright, keeping guard
over the camp.  He was motionless as a statue: but the small spark
gleaming like a glowworm from the bowl of his tobacco pipe, gave token
of his wakefulness.  Dim as the light was, I could distinguish the
upright form to be that of the earless trapper.  It was Garey who was
sleeping.

I could have wished it otherwise.  I was anxious to have some
conversation with the younger of my companions; I was longing for an
explanation, and I should have preferred addressing myself to Garey.

My anxiety would not allow me to wait, and I turned towards Rube.  He
sat 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 a
gallupin arter the white hoss, as ef all the devils out o' hell wur
arter you.  I knowd yur at a glimp; so did Bill.  Sez I: `Bill, thet
ur'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 ole
ribs ached.  `It ur the same,' sez Bill; an jest then, we met a Mexikin
who hed been yur guide, gallupin about in sarch o' you.  He gin us a
story 'bout some gurl thet hed sent you to catch the white hoss; some
saynyora 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, gave
an assenting grunt.

"Wal," continued Rube, "seem thur wur a pettycoat in the case, I sez to
Bill, sez I: `Thet young fellur ain't a-gwine to pull up till eyther he
grups the hoss, or the hoss gits clur off.'

"Now, I know'd you wur well mounted, but I knowd you wur arter the
fastest 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't
the biggest paraira in creashun, but it ur one of the wust to git
strayed on.  Yur greenhorns wur all gone back, so Bill and me catched up
our critters, an as soon as we kud saddle 'em, put arter you.  When we
kumd 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 leadin
down the bank.'  Wal, we wur jest turn in to go down, when we seed yur
own hoss a good ways off on the paraira, 'ithout saddle or bridle.  We
rid straight for him, an when we got closter, we seed somethin on the
groun, right under the hoss's nose.  Thet somethin turned out to be
yurself 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 fust
Bill an me thort you hed gone under.  But upon a closter view, we seed
you wur only a faintin, while the bar wur as dead as a buck.  Of coorse
we 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 stopped
up 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 an
foun him, on a ledge whur he hed clomb out o' reech o' the flood; an
then 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's
yourn, capt'n.  Ef you hadn't rid him down, I couldn't a roped him so
easy.  He's yourn, ef yu'll accept o' him."

"Thanks, thanks! not for the gift alone, but I may thank you for my
life.  But for you, I might never have left this spot.  Thanks! old
comrades, 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 with
him in private.

On further inquiry, I learned that the trappers were on their way to
take part in the campaign.  Some barbarous treatment they had
experienced from Mexican soldiers at a frontier post, had rendered both
of them inveterate foes to Mexico; and Rube declared he would never be
contented until he had "plugged a score of the yellur-hided vamints."
The breaking out of the war gave them the opportunity they desired, and
they were now on their way, from a distant part of prairie-land, to take
a hand in it.

The vehemence of their hostility towards the Mexicans somewhat surprised
me--as I knew it was a recent feeling with them--and I inquired more
particularly into the nature of the ill-treatment they had received.
They answered me by giving a detailed account of the affair.  It had
occurred at one of the Mexican frontier towns, where, upon a slight
pretext, the trappers had been arrested and flogged, by order of the
commanding 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'er
a mind! ne'er a mind!  By the 'tarnal God!--an when I say thet, I swar
it--this niggur don't leave Mexiko till he hes rubbed out a soger for
every lash they gin him--an that's twenty!"

"Hyur's another, old hoss!" cried Garey, with equal earnestness of
manner--"hyur's another that swars the same oath!"

"Yes, Billee, boy!  I guess we'll count some in a skrimmage.  Thur's two
a'ready! lookee thur, young fellur!"

As Rube said this, he held his rifle close to my eyes, pointing with his
finger to a particular part of the stock.  I saw two small notches
freshly 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 by
the hand or bullet of the trapper.  They had not been the only victims
of that unerring and deadly weapon.  On the same piece of wood-work I
could see long rows of similar _souvenirs_, apart from each other, only
differing a little in shape.  I knew something of the signification of
these horrible hieroglyphics; I knew they were the history of a life
fearfully spent--a life of red realities.

The sight was far from pleasant.  I turned my eyes away, and remained
silent.

"Mark me, young fellur!" continued Rube, who noticed that I was not
gratified by the inspection; "don't mistake Bill Garey an me for wild
beests; we ain't thet quite; we've been mighty riled, I reck'n; but f'r
all thet, we ain't a-gwine to take revenge on weemen an childer, as
Injuns do.  No--weemen an childer don't count, nor men neyther, unless
thur 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' the
Yutaws, down to the Del Nort settlements.  Thur's whur I made them two
nicks; 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 from
thur.  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 his
reckless indifference to ordinary emotions--I knew there was still a
touch of humanity in his breast.  Indeed, on more than one occasion, I
had 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 civilised
life.

"Your intention, then, is to join some corps of rangers, is it not?"  I
asked 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.  This
niggur fights on his own hook.  Yur see, young fellur, I hev been all my
life a free mountaineeman, an don't understan sogerin, nohow.  I mout
make some mistake, or I moutn't like some o' the reg'lashuns; thurfor I
prefers 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, I
think it would be better to go at it in a reglar way--particlarly as the
capt'n hyur would make the sogerin part as easy as possible.  Wudn't
yur, capt'n?"

"The discipline of my corps is not very severe.  We are _Rangers_, and
our duties are different from those of regular soldiers--"

"It ur no use," interrupted Rube; "I must fight as I've allers fit, free
to kum an free to go whur I please.  I won't bind myself to nuthin.  I
moutn'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 of
his rifle upon the prairie.  "Durn pay an rashuns!  Young fellur, _I
fights for revenge_!"

This was said in an energetic and conclusive manner, and I urged my
advice no further.

"Look hyur, cap!" continued the speaker in a more subdued tone.  "Though
I ain't a-gwine to jine yur fellurs, yet thur ur a favour I wud axe from
yur; an thet is, to let me an Bill keep by you, or foller whuriver you
lead.  I don't want to spunge for rashuns; we'll git thet ef thur's a
head 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; adding
at the same time, that he would prefer eating any other "sort o' a
vamint."

"Ne'er a mind!" continued Rube: "we ain't a-gwine to starve.  So, young
fellur, 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 have
you near me, without binding you to any term of service."

"Hooray!--thet's the sort for us!  Kum, Billee!--gie's another suck out
o' yur gourd.  Hyur's success to the Stars and Stripes!  Hooray for
Texas!"



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

A "Weed"-Prairie on Fire.

My recovery was rapid.  My wounds, though deep, were not dangerous; they
were only flesh-wounds, and closed rapidly under the cauterising
influence of the _lechuguilla_.  Rude as my doctors were, in the matter
of such a malady, I could not have fallen into better hands.  Both,
during their lives of accident and exposure, had ample practice in the
healing art; and I would have trusted either, in the curing of a
rattle-snake's bite, or the tear of a grizzly bear's claw, in preference
to the most accomplished surgeon.  Old Rube, in particular, thoroughly
understood the simple pharmacopoeia of the prairies; and his application
to my wounds of the sap of the _pita_ plant, obtained among the rocks of
the ravine, bespoke his skill.  This plant, a bromelia, is of the same
genus as the _Agave Americana_, and by travellers often confounded with
the latter, though quite a distinct plant from the _maguey_ of
cultivation.  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 true
desert plant; and even on the naked rock, its curved and thorny blades
may be seen radiating on all sides from the tall flower-stalk, that
shoots upward like a signal-staff, to the height of twenty feet.  As
already observed, its uses are manifold: the fibre of its leaves can be
manufactured into thread, cordage, and cloth; fences are constructed of
the growing plant, and thatch of the blades when cut; its sap,
distilled, furnishes the fiery but not unwholesome mezcal; and the large
egg-shaped core or stem is eaten for food.  Tribes of Indians--Lipans,
Comanches, and Apaches--use it extensively as an article of diet.  One
branch of the great Apache nation are distinguished--"_Mezcaleros_"
(eaters of the mezcal-plant).  They bake it in ground-ovens of heated
stones, along with the flesh of the wild-horse.  It is firm when cooked,
with a translucent appearance like candied fruits.  I have eaten it; it
is palatable--I might say delicious.  The mastication of it is
accompanied by a prinkling sensation upon the tongue, singular to one
unaccustomed to it.  It is a gift of nature to the desert regions--where
it grows in greatest luxuriance, and where it serves the same purpose in
the 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 cauterising
property of its juice--well known to the natives of the Mexican
table-land, and to the Peruvians, where several species are found of
like virtues.  It will cause ordinary wounds to cicatrise in a few
hours, and even "ugly gashes" will yield to it in time.

My companions had full knowledge of its effects; and, having extracted
the sap from its large succulent leaves, and boiled it to the
consistency of honey, they applied it to my wounds.  This operation they
from time to time repeated, and the scratches were healed in a period
marvellously short.  My strength, too, was soon restored.  Garey with
his gun catered for the cuisine, and the ruffed grouse, the prairie
partridge, and roasted ribs of fresh venison, were dainties even to an
invalid.

In three days I was strong enough to mount; and bidding adieu to our
camping-ground, we all three set forth, taking with us our beautiful
captive.  He was still as wild as a deer; but we had adopted precautions
to prevent him from getting away from us.  The trappers led him between
them, secured to the saddles of both by a lazo.

We did not return in the direction of our old trail; my companions knew
a shorter route--at least one upon which we should sooner reach water--
and that is the most important consideration on a prairie-journey.  We
headed in a more westerly direction; by which, keeping in a straight
line, we expected to strike the Rio Grande some distance above the
rancheria.

The sky was leaden-grey--the sun not being visible--and with no guide in
the heavens, we knew that we might easily diverge from a direct course.
To provide against this, my companions had recourse to a compass of
their 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 a
mile or more.  The direction having been determined upon, another wand,
similarly garnished with a tuft of the bear's-skin, was set up several
hundred yards distant from the first.

Turning our backs upon these signal-posts, we rode off with perfect
confidence, glancing back at intervals to make sure we were keeping the
line.  So long as they remained in sight, and _aligned_ with each other,
we could not otherwise than travel in a straight path.  It was an
ingenious contrivance, but it was not the first time I had been witness
to the ingenuity of my trapper-friends, and therefore I was not
astonished.

When the black tufts were well-nigh hidden from view, a similar pair--
the materials for which had been brought along--were erected; and these
insured our direction for another stretch of a mile; then fresh saplings
were 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 about
five miles distant.  Towards this we directed our course.

We reached the timber about noon, and found it to consist of black-jack
and post-oak groves, with mezquite and wild china-trees interspersed,
and here and there some taller trees of the honey-locust (_Gleditschia
triacanthos_).  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 fain
have chosen one of them for a resting-place; but there was no water, and
without water we could not halt.  A short distance farther, and we
should 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 on
the edge of a prairie of considerable extent.  It was full three miles
in diameter, and differed altogether from the plain we had left behind
us.  It was of the kind known in hunter phraseology as a
"weed-prairie"--that is, instead of having a grassy turf, its surface
was covered in a thick growth of flowering-plants, as _helianthus,
malvas, altheas, hibiscus_, and other tall annuals standing side by
side, and frequently laced together by wild-pea vines and various
species of convolvulus.  Such a flower-prairie was the one now before
us, but not a flower was in sight; they had all bloomed, faded, and
fallen--perhaps unseen by human eye--and the withered stalks, burned by
a hot sun, looked brown and forbidding.  They tracked and broke at the
slightest touch, their seed-pods shelling their contents like rain upon
the loose earth.

Instead of striking across this prairie, we skirted around its edge; and
at no great distance arrived on the banks of the arroyo.

We had made but a short march; but my companions, fearful that a longer
ride might bring on fever, proposed to encamp there for the night, and
finish our journey on the following day.  Though I felt strong enough to
have gone farther, I made no objection to the proposal; and our horses
were at once unsaddled and picketed near the banks of the arroyo.

The stream ran through a little bottom-valley covered with a sward of
grass, and upon this we staked our steeds; but a better place offered
for our camp upon the higher ground; and we chose a spot under the shade
of a large locust-tree, upon the edge of the great wilderness of weeds.
To this place we carried our saddles, bridles, and blankets, and having
collected a quantity of dead branches, kindled our camp-fire.

We had already quenched our thirst at the stream, but, although we were
all three hungry enough, the dried flesh of the grizzly bear proved but
a poor repast.  The rivulet looked promising for fish.  Garey had both
hooks and line in his "possible sack," and I proposed the angle.

The young trapper soon baited his hooks; and he and I, repairing to the
stream, cast our lines, sat down, and waited for a nibble.

Fishing was not to Rube's taste.  For a few minutes he stood watching
us, but evidently with little interest, either in the sport, or what it
might 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 up
somethin; the place looks likely for deer--it do."

So saying, the old trapper shouldered his long rifle, and stalking off
up 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 most
palatable of the finny tribe, when the crack of Rube's rifle sounded in
our ears.  It seemed to come from the weed-prairie, and we both ran up
on the high bank to ascertain what success had attended the shot.

Sure enough, Rube was out in the prairie, nearly half a mile distant
from the camp.  His head and shoulders were just visible above the tall
stalks of the helianthus; and we could see, by his stooping at
intervals, that he was bending over some game he had killed, skinning or
cutting it up.  The game we could not see, on account of the interposed
culms of the weeds.

"A deer, I reck'n," remarked Garey.  "Buffler don't often o' late years
stray 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, and
recommenced our fishing.  We took it for granted that Rube did not
require any aid, or he would have signalled to us.  He would soon return
with his game to the camp.

We had just discovered that silver-fish (a species of _hyodori_) were
plentiful in the stream, and this kept our attention fixed.  We were
desirous of taking some of them for our dinner, knowing them to be
excellent eating, and far superior to the despised "cat."

Having changed our bait for some small pieces of gold-lace, which my
uniform furnished, we succeeded in pulling several of these beautiful
creatures out of the water; and were congratulating one another upon the
delicious broil we should have, when our conversation was suddenly
interrupted by a crackling noise, that caused both of us to turn our
faces towards the prairie.

The sight that met our eyes prompted us to spring simultaneously to our
feet.  Our horses already reared upon their lazoes--neighing with
affright--and the wild screams of Rube's mustang-mare were loud and
continuous.  There was no mystery about the cause; that was obvious at a
glance.  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 ourselves
we had nothing to fear.  The bottom on which we stood was a sward of
short buffalo-grass; it was not likely to catch fire, and even if it
did, we could easily escape from it.  There is not much danger in a
burning prairie where the grass is light and short; one can dash through
the 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 with
rank and thick vegetation, the case is very different.  We therefore
felt 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 we
asked one another.  If so, then his peril was great indeed; his escape
would be almost hopeless!

We had observed him a full half-mile out among the weeds, and on foot
too.  To have attempted a retreat towards the opposite side of the
prairie, would have been folly: it was three miles off.  Even on
horseback, the flames would have overtaken him!  Mounted, or on foot, he
could not have got out of the way through those tall stalks--laced as
they were by pea-vines and other trailing plants--whose tough tangle
would have hindered the progress even of the strongest horse!

To have returned to the near side would be his only chance; but that
would be in the very face of the fire, and, unless he had started long
before the flames broke out, it was evident that his retreat in that
direction would be cut off.  As already stated, the weeds were as dry as
tinder; and the flames, impelled by gusts of wind, at intervals shot out
their red tongues, licking up the withered stalks, coiling like serpents
around them, and consuming them almost instantaneously.

Filled with forebodings, my companion and I ran in the direction of the
prairie.

When first noticed by us, the fire had extended but a few yards on each
side of the locust-tree we had chosen for our camp.  We were not
opposite this point at the moment, having gone a little way down the
arroyo; we ran, therefore, not towards the camp, but for the nearest
point of high ground, in order to discover the situation of our friend.

On reaching the high ground, about two hundred yards from the locust, we
saw to our astonishment that the fire had already spread, and was now
burning forward to the spot where we had climbed up!

We had only a moment to glance outward, when the conflagration, hissing
and crackling as it passed, rolled in front of us, and with its wall of
flame shut off our view of the prairie.

But that glance had shown us all, and filled our hearts with sorrow and
dismay; it revealed the situation of the trapper--no longer a situation
of peril, but, as we supposed, of certain death!

He was still in the place where we had last seen him; he had evidently
made no attempt to escape from it.  Perhaps the knowledge that such an
attempt must have failed, and hindered him from making it.  The
reflection that he might as well die where he stood, as be licked up by
the 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 he
was about to be snatched into eternity!

I remember his wild look, as the red flame, roiling between us, shut him
from our sight!  We saw him but for a single instant: his head and
shoulders were alone visible above the tall weeds.  He made no sign
either with voice or arm; but I fancied that even at that distance I
could read his glance of despair!

Was there no hope?  Could no exertion be made to rescue him?  Could he
do nothing for himself?  Was there no chance of his being able to clear
a circle round him, and burn off a space before the line of fire could
come up?  Such a ruse has often availed, but no--never in such a ground
as that!  The weeds were too thick and tall--it could not be done--Garey
said 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 the
earless trapper.  In five minutes more he must perish.  The wall of
flame, moving faster than charging cavalry, would soon envelope him, and
surer than the carbine's volley or the keen sabre-cut was the death
borne forward upon the wings of that hissing, crackling cohort of fire.

Here and there, tall jets, shooting suddenly upward, stalked far in
advance of the main line--fiery giants, with red arms stretched forth,
as if eager to grasp their victim.  Already their hot breath was upon
him; another minute, and he must perish!

In a sort of stupor we stood, Garey and I, watching the advance of the
flames.  Neither of us uttered a word: painful emotions prevented
speech.  Both our hearts were beating audibly.  Mine was bitterly wrung;
but I knew that the heart of my companion was enduring the very acme of
anguish.  I glanced upward to his face: his eye was fixed, and looked
steadfastly in one direction--as though it would pierce the sheet of
flame that rolled farther and farther from where we stood, and nearer to
the fatal spot.  The expression of Garey's eye was fearful to behold; it
was a look of concentrated agony.  A single tear had escaped from it,
and was rolling down the rude weather-bronzed cheek, little used to such
bedewing.  The broad chest was heaving in short quick spasms, and it was
evident the man was struggling with his breath.  He was listening
through all this intensity of gaze--listening for the death-shriek of
his old comrade--his bosom-friend!

Not long was the suspense; though there was no shriek, no cry of human
voice, 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 the
flames, and the crackling of the hollow culms, whose pent-up gases, set
free by the fire, sounded like the continuous rolling of musketry.  No
death-cry fell upon our ears; but, for all that, we were satisfied that
the drama had reached its _denouement_: the unfortunate trapper had been
roasted 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.  Though
the smoke hindered our _view_ of the plain, we knew that the climax had
passed: the hapless victim had succumbed; and it remained only to look
for his bones among the smouldering ashes.

Up to this moment Garey had stood in a fixed attitude, silent and rigid
as a statue.  It was not hope that had held him thus spell-bound; he had
entertained no such feeling from the first: it was rather a paralysis
produced by despair.

Now that the crisis was over, and he felt certain that his comrade had
perished, his muscles, so long held in tension, suddenly relaxed--his
arms fell loosely to his sides--the tears chased each other over his
cheeks--his head reclined forward, and in a hoarse husky voice he
exclaimed:

"O God! he's rubbed out, rubbed out!  We've seed the last o' poor Old
Rube!"

My sorrow, though perhaps not so keen as that of my companion, was
nevertheless sufficiently painful.  I knew the earless trapper well--had
been his associate under strange circumstances--amid scenes of danger
that draw men's hearts more closely together than any phrases of
flattery or compliment.  More than once had I seen him tried in the hour
of peril; and I knew that, notwithstanding the wildness and eccentricity
of his character--of his crimes, I might add--his heart, ill directed by
early education, ill guided by after-association, was still rife with
many virtues.  Many proofs of this could I recall; and I confess that a
feeling akin to friendship had sprung up between myself and this
singular man.

Between him and Garey the ties were still stronger.  Long and
inseparable companionship--years of participation in a life of hardships
and perils--like thoughts and habitudes--though perhaps dispositions,
age, and characters a good deal unlike--all had combined to unite the
two in a firm bond of friendship.  To use their own expressive phrase,
they "_froze_" to each other.  No wonder then that the look, with which
the young trapper regarded that black plain, was one of indescribable
anguish.

To his mournful speech I made no reply.  What could I have said?  I
could not offer consolation.  I was grieving as well as he: my silence
was 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 having
shed them.

"It are all over now," he continued.  "Let's look arter his bones--that
is, 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 well
as we could towards the point where we had last seen the trapper, and
where we expected to find his remains.

On nearing the spot, our eyes fell upon a dark mass that lay upon the
plain: but it appeared much larger than the body of a man.  We could not
make out what it was, until within a few feet of it, and even then it
was difficult to recognise it as the carcass of a buffalo--though truly
in reality it was.  It was no doubt the game which the hunter had
killed.  It rested as it had fallen--as these animals usually fall--upon
the breast, with legs widely spread, and humped shoulders upward.

We could perceive that the unfortunate man had nearly finished skinning
it--for the hide, parted along the spine, had been removed from the back
and sides, and with the fleshy side turned outward, was hanging to the
ground, so as to conceal the lower half of the carcass.  The whole
surface was burnt to the colour of charcoal.

But where were the remains of the hunter?  They were nowhere to be seen
near the spot.  The smoke had now cleared away sufficiently to enable us
to observe the ground for several hundred yards around us.  An object of
small dimensions could have been distinguished upon the now bare
surface; but none was seen.  Yes! a mass lay close to the carcass, which
drew our attention for a moment; but on riding up to it we perceived
that it was the stomach and intestines of the buffalo, black and half
broiled.

But where were the bones of Rube?  Had he got away from the spot, and
perished 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 had
obtained 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 swept
over 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 such
a supposition; and we began seriously to entertain it--for in no other
way could we account for the total absence of all remains!

For some moments we sat in our saddles under the influence of strange
emotions, but without exchanging a word.  We scanned the black plain
round and round.  The smoke no longer hindered our view of the ground.
In the weed-prairies there is no grassy turf; and the dry herbaceous
stems 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 in
an 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 classed
thing has burned him to ashes--bones an all!  Thur ain't as much o' 'im
left as 'ud fill a tabacca-pipe!"

"The hell, thur ain't!" replied a voice that caused both of us to start
in our saddles, as if it had been Rube's ghost that addressed us--"the
hell, thur ain't!" repeated the voice, as though it came out of the
ground beneath our feet.  "Thur's enough o' Ole Rube left to fill the
stummuk o' this hyur buffler; an by the jumpin Geehosophat, a tight fit
it ur!  Wagh!  I'm well-nigh sufflocated!  Gie's yur claws, Bill, an
pull me out o' this hyur trap!"

To our astonishment the pendent hide of the buffalo was raised by an
invisible hand; and underneath appeared, protruding through a hole in
the side of the carcass, the unmistakable physiognomy of the earless
trapper!

There was something so ludicrous in the apparition, that the sight of
it, combined with the joyful reaction of our feelings, sent both Garey
and myself into convulsions of laughter.  The young trapper lay back in
the saddle to give freer play to his lungs; and his loud cachinnations,
varied at intervals by savage yells, caused our horses to dance about as
if they anticipated an onslaught of Indians!

At first I could detect a significant smile at the angles formed by
Rube's thin lips; but this disappeared as the laughter continued too
long for his patience.

"Cuss yur larfin!" cried he at length.  "Kum, Billee, boy!  Lay holt
hyur, an gi' me a help, or I must wriggle out o' meself.  The durned
hole 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 appearance
of the old trapper, as he stood erect--red, reeking, and greasy--was so
supremely ludicrous, that both Garey and I were driven off into a fresh
fit of laughter, which lasted for several minutes.

Rube, once released from his uncomfortable situation, paid not the
slightest attention to our mirth; but stooping down, drew out his long
rifle--from where he had secured it under the hanging skin--and after
having examined the piece, to see that no harm had come to it, he laid
it gently across the horns of the bull.  Then taking the bowie from his
belt, he quietly proceeded with the skinning of the buffalo, as if
nothing had happened to interrupt the operation!

Meanwhile Garey and I had laughed ourselves hoarse, and, moreover, were
brimful of curiosity to know the particulars of Rube's adventure; but
for 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, having
thrust into his comrade's hand the gourd, still containing a small drop
of _aguardiente_, soon conciliated him; and after a little more coaxing,
the old trapper condescended to give us the details of his curious
escapade.  Thus ran his narration:--

"Ee wur both o' yur mighty green to think thet arter fightin grizzly bar
an Injun for nigh forty yeern on these hyur parairas, I wur a-gwine to
be rubbed out by a spunk o' fire like thet.  Preehaps 'twur nat'ral
enough for the young fellur hyur to take me for a greenhorn--seein as he
oncest 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 knowd
better--_you_, Bill Garey, seein as ee oughter knowd _me_.

"Wal!" continued Rube, after another "suck" at the gourd, "when I seed
the weeds afire, I knowd it wa'nt no use makin tracks.  Preehaps if I'd
a 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 head
clost down to the karkidge, an thurfor didn't see nuthin till I heern
the cracklin, an in coorse thur wa'nt the ghost o' a chance to git clur
then.  I seed thet at the fust glimp.

"I ain't a-gwine to say I wa'nt skeeart; I wur skeeart an bad skeeart
too.  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 'bout
half-skinned, as ee see; an the idee kim inter my head, I mout crawl
somehow under, an pull the hide over me.  I tried thet plan fust; but I
kudnt git kivered to my saterfaction, an I gin it up.

"A better idee then kim uppermost, an thet wur to clur out the anymal's
inside, 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 in
squezzin 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 kim
swizzin 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 Old
Rube's favourite jokes; but Rube himself chuckled so long, that we
became 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 a
caution to snakes.  It roared an screeched, an yowlted, an hissed, an
the weeds crackled like a million o' wagon-whups!  I wur like to be
spinicated 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 got
the thing fixed.  So thur I lay till I heern you fellurs palaverin about
a 'bacca-pipe, and thurfor I knowd the hul thing wur over.  Wagh!"

And with this exclamation Rube ended his narration, and once more betook
himself to the butchering of the already half-roasted buffalo.

Garey and I lent a hand; and having cut out the hump-ribs and other
titbits, we returned to the camp.  What with broiled hyodons, roast
ribs, tongue, and marrow-bones, we had no reason for that night to be
dissatisfied 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.  We
should pass near its base, and a ride of ten miles farther would bring
us to the end of our journey; indeed, the eminence was within sight of
the rancheria.  From the roof of the alcalde's house I had frequently
noticed it outlined against the horizon, in a north-westerly direction
from the village.  In clear weather only was it visible.

Struck with the singularity of this prairie-mound, I had longed to
examine it, and had even projected a visit to it; but circumstances had
prevented me from carrying out my intention.  I was at length to have
the 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 usual
configuration--hence its singularity.  It presented the appearance of a
huge box set upon the prairie, not unlike that rare formation, the
"cofre," which crowns the summit of the mountain Perote.  Its sides in
the distance appeared perfectly vertical, and its top horizontal as the
plain on which it rested.

As we drew nearer, I could perceive by the dark parapet-like band along
its crest that it was covered with a growth of timber.  This was the
more readily observed from contrast with the perpendicular sides, which
were almost of a snowy whiteness, on account of the gypsum, chalk, or
milky quartz of which the rock was composed.

The most peculiar feature of the mound was perhaps its apparently
regular form--a perfect parallelopipedon.  But it was striking in other
respects.  Its sides glistened fantastically under the rays of the sun,
as though it were studded with settings of glass.  This, however, was
easily accounted for; and I knew that the sparkling effect was produced
by plates of mica or selenite that entered into the composition of the
rock.  I had seen large mountains that presented a similar appearance.
More than one such exist in the great American Saara, in whose
glittering cliffs, viewed from afar, may be found the origin of that
wild chimera, the _mountain of gold_.

Although neither a mountain of gold nor silver, the mound in question
was an object of rare interest.  A very enchanted castle it did appear,
and it was difficult to assign its formation to nature alone.  Human
agency, one could not help fancying, must have had something to do in
piling up a structure so regular and compact.

But he who has travelled over much of the earth's surface will have met
with many "freaks" of nature, exhibiting like appearance of design, in
her world of inorganic matter.  It was, in fact, one of those
formations, of which many are met with in the plateaux-lands of America,
known in Spanish phraseology as _mesas_.  This name is given to them in
allusion to the flat table-like tops, which distinguish them from other
elevated summits.

Sometimes one of these mesas is found hundreds of miles from any similar
eminence; more frequently a number of them stand near each other, like
truncated cones--the summits of all being on the same level, and often
covered with a vegetation differing materially from that of the
surrounding plains.

Geologists have affirmed that these table-tops are the ancient level of
the plains themselves; and that all around, and intervening between
them, 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 it
with a degree of curiosity.  I had seen mesa heights before--in the
"mauvaise terre," upon the Missouri, in the Navajo country west of the
Rocky Mountains, and along the edges of the "Llano Estacado," which of
itself is a vast mesa.

The mound before us was peculiar, from its very regular form, and the
sparkling sheen of its cliffs.  Its complete isolation, moreover, added
to the effect--for no other eminence appeared in sight.  The low hills
that bordered the Rio Grande could barely be distinguished in the
distance.

On getting nearer to it, its character became somewhat altered; the
square box-like form appeared less regular, and it was then perceived
that the parallelopipedon was not perfect.  Slight ledges could be
traced traversing the face of its cliffs, and here and there the
rectangular lines were broken to the eye.  Nature, after all, had not
been so exact in her architecture.

Yet, with every deduction, it was a singular structure to look upon, not
the less so that its summit was inaccessible to human foot.  A precipice
fifty yards sheer fronted outward on all sides.  No one had ever scaled
this precipice--so alleged my companions, who were well acquainted with
the locality.

We had approached within less than a mile of its base; our conversation
had dropped--at least so far as I was concerned; my thoughts were
occupied with the mound, and my eyes wandering over its outlines.

I was endeavouring to make out the character of the vegetation which
seemed to flourish luxuriantly on its summit.  The dark foliage was
evidently that of some species of acicular trees, perhaps the common red
cedar (_Juniperus Virginiana_), but there were others of lighter hue--in
all likelihood _pinons_, the pines with edible cones, peculiar to this
region.  I noticed, also, growing upon the very edge of the cliff,
yuccas and aloes, whose radiating blades, stretching out, curved
gracefully 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 subject
had no reference to the scene, and I paid little attention to what they
were saying.

All at once I was startled by the voice of Garey, giving utterance to
the emphatic announcement--

"Injuns, by God!"

"Indians!--where?"

The interrogation as it escaped my lips, was half involuntary, and
needed 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 their
example; and all three of us sat in our saddles, scanning this sudden
apparition of mounted men.  A dozen had now cleared themselves from
behind the mesa, and were riding towards us.

We were yet nearly a mile from them; and at that distance it is
difficult to distinguish a white man from an Indian--I should rather say
impossible.  Even at half the distance, the oldest prairie-men are
sometimes puzzled.  The garments are often not very dissimilar, and
sun-bronze and dust confound the complexions.

Although Garey, at first sight of them, had pronounced the horsemen to
be Indians--the most probable supposition under the circumstances--it
was 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 to
fight.  If thur Kimanch, thur on the war-trail, an thur'll be mischief
in 'em.  Wagh!  Look to yur flints an primin!"

Rube's counsel was instantly followed.  Necessity quickened our
precautions.  All of us well knew, that, should the approaching horsemen
turn out to be Comanches, we had no alternative but fight.

This warlike nation occupies the whole western area of Texas, ranging
from the Rio Grande on the south, to the Arkansas on the north.  They
are to-day, with their kindred tribes, the most powerful Indian alliance
on the continent.  They affect the ownership of all prairie-land,
styling themselves its "lords," though their sovereignty towards the
north is successfully disputed by the Pawnees, Sioux, Blackfeet, and
others as warlike as they.  From the earliest times, they have been the
_fiend_ of the Texan settler; and a detailed account of their forays and
pillaging expeditions would fill a score of volumes.  But from these
they have not gone back unscathed.  The reprisals have outnumbered the
assaults, and the rifle of the border-ranger has done its work of
vengeance.

In Mexico they have found less puissant defenders of the hearth and
home; and into the north-eastern provinces of that unhappy country, the
Comanches have been for the last half-century in the habit of making an
annual expedition of war and plunder.  In fact, plunder has become the
better part of their subsistence, as they usually return from these
rieving incursions laden with spoil, and carrying with them vast droves
of horses, mules, horned cattle, and _captive women_!

For a short time, these dusky freebooters were at peace with the
Anglo-American colonists of Texas.  It was but a temporary armistice,
brought about by Houston; but Lamar's administration, of a less pacific
character, succeeded, and the settlers were again embroiled with the
Indians.  War to the knife was declared and carried on; red and white
killed each other on sight.  When two men met upon the prairie, the
colour of the skin determined the relations between them!  If they
differed in this, the were enemies without parley, and to kill the other
was the first thought of each.  The _lex talionis_ was the custom of the
hour.

If the rancour could possibly have been augmented, an incident had just
transpired calculated to produce that effect.  A band of Comanche
warriors had offered their services to the commander-in-chief of the
American army.  They held the following language:--

"Let us fight on your side.  We have no quarrel with you.  You are
warriors: we know it, and respect you.  We fight against the cowardly
Mexicans, who robbed us of our country.  _We fight for Moctezuma_!"

These words, uttered along the whole northern frontier of Mexico, are
full of strange import.

The American commander prudently declined the Comanche alliance; and the
result was the bitter _triangular_ war in which, as already noticed, we
were 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 an
attitude of defence.

Hastily dismounting, and sheltering our bodies behind those of our
horses, we awaited the approach of the band.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

GUERRILLEROS.

The manoeuvre had occupied only a few seconds of time, and the horsemen
were 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 be
Indians.  Who, then?

A sudden hope crossed my mind, that it might be a party of my own
people, out in search of me.  "By twos" was our favourite and habitual
order of march.  But no; the long lances and streaming pennons at once
dissipated the hope: there was not a lance in the American army.  They
could not be "rangers."

Comanches on the _war-trail_ would have been armed with the lance, but
clearly 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 thet
ain't Injun sign nohow.  No!" he added, raising his voice, "thur a gang
o' yellur-bellied Mexikins! thet's what they ur."

All three of us had arrived simultaneously at the same conviction.  The
horsemen were Mexicans.

It was no great source of rejoicing to know this; and the knowledge
produced no change in our defensive attitude.  We well knew that a band
of Mexicans, armed as these were, could not be other than a hostile
party, and bitter too in their hostility.  For several weeks past, the
_petite guerre_ had been waged with dire vengeance.  The neutral ground
had been the scene of reprisals and terrible retaliations.  On one side,
wagon-trains had been attacked and captured, harmless teamsters
murdered, or mutilated whilst still alive.  I saw one with his arms cut
off by the elbow-joints, his heart taken out, and thrust between his
teeth!  He was dead; but another whom I saw still lived, with the cross
deeply 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 given
to the flames, and men on mere suspicion shot down upon the spot or
hanged upon the nearest tree.

Such a character had the war assumed; and under these circumstances, we
knew 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 were
nearly synonymous, and the first not unfrequently partook of the
character of both.

One thing that puzzled us--what could any of the three be doing in that
quarter?

The neutral ground--the scene of _guerrilla_ operations--lay between the
two armies; and we were now far remote from it; in fact, altogether away
from the settlements.  What could have brought lancers, guerrilleros, or
robbers out upon the plains?  There was no _game_ in that quarter for
any of these gentry--neither an American force to be attacked, nor a
traveller to be plundered!  My own troop was the extreme out-picket in
this direction, and it was full ten miles off.  The only thing likely to
be met with near the mesa would be a war-party of Comanches, and we knew
the Mexicans well enough to be convinced that, whether soldiers or
freebooters, they were _not_ in search of that.

Such reflections, made in double-quick time, occurred to us as we
scanned the advancing troop.

Up to this moment, they had ridden directly towards us, and were now
nearly in a line between us and the mesa.

On getting within about half-a-mile of our position, they turned sharply
towards the west, and rode as if to make round to our rear!

This manoeuvre of course placed us upon their flank; and now outlined
against the sky, we could distinctly trace their forms and note their
habiliments and armour.  Nearly all wore broad-brimmed sombreros, with
jacket, sash, and calzoneros.  They carried lances, lazoes, and carbines
or _escopettes_.  We could distinguish sabres and _machetes_--the
universal weapon of the Mexican ranchero.  They could not be drilled
troops.  Their costumes, as well as a certain irregularity in their
manoeuvring, forbade this supposition.  Their lances, moreover, were
borne in all sorts of ways--some couched, some resting in the stirrup
and held correctly, while others were carried over the shoulder like a
firelock!  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 same
distance--the troop suddenly made front towards as, and halted.

We had been puzzled by their going round; we could not divine their
object in so doing.  It could not be to cut off our retreat.  The timber
in the back direction was miles off.  Had it been near enough, we should
certainly have retreated to it long before; but we knew it was too
distant.  Rube and his old mare would have been overtaken by our
well-mounted enemies long ere we could have gained the woods; we knew
this, and therefore did not think of making the attempt.  On the other
side was the _mesa_, which, by their late movement, had been left open
to us.  It was but a half-mile off, and perhaps, by making a dash, we
might have reached it; but not a tree grew near it--except those on its
summit--and its rocky wall apparently offered no advantage to us, any
more than the open plain.  The enemy seemed to be aware of this, else
they would not have ridden round, and by so doing left the way clear.

Until the moment of their halt, therefore, we remained ignorant of their
motive in moving to our rear.  _Then_ it was explained.  Their object
was 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 told
us we had no common enemy to deal with.  By approaching us from that
direction, they would have a decided advantage: our aim would be spoiled
by the sun--now low down upon the horizon, and gleaming right in our
eyes.

My companions were wroth at the trick that had been thus played so
adroitly; though we could not have hindered it even if forewarned of
their intention.

We were allowed but little time to reflect upon the matter; we saw by
the movements of the horsemen that they were preparing to charge.  One
who appeared to be the leader, mounted upon a larger horse than any of
the rest was addressing them.  He rode along the line speaking in a loud
tone, and gesticulating violently; he was answered with _vivas_, which
we could plainly hear.  Every moment, we looked to see them gallop
forward.

We knew there was no alternative but fight or surrender--though not one
of us entertained an idea of the latter.  For myself, I should as soon
have thought of turning my pistol to my own head.  My uniform, tattered
as it was, would easily reveal my character to the enemy; and, if
captured, I knew that I should be hung, or perhaps, in the absence of
trees, shot down upon the spot.  My comrades had reasons for knowing
that _their_ shrift would be equally short: neither thought for a moment
of tamely yielding.

"No!" emphatically pronounced Rube, "this child don't guv in, till he's
rubbed out, _he_ don't!  Tarnation odd too!" he added, looking toward
the 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'd
better not come too near 'ithout telling thar bisness.  I see one saddle
that I'll empy the minnit they pass yon weed."  And the speaker
indicated a bunch of the _artemisia_ plant that grew some two hundred
paces off in the direction of the horsemen.

The reckless talk of the old trapper, with the contrasted cool bearing
of his younger companion, had fixed my nerves fully.  At the first sight
of so many adversaries, I was not without some misgivings--in truth, I
felt fear.  Such odds against us--four to one--was fair cause for
apprehension.  But it was not my first fight against large odds, both
Indian and Mexican; and on that account, I regarded it the less
seriously.

Notwithstanding the superiority of our enemy in numbers, I knew we were
not so unequal.  Unless shot down by the first volley of their carbines
and escopettes, each of our three rifles was sure of its man.  I had
confidence in my own weapon, and a still more perfect reliance on those
of my comrades.  They were men that never missed--men who never fired a
random shot--never drew trigger till their aim was sure.  I felt
certain, therefore, that should the horsemen charge upon us, only _nine_
of the twelve would ever get within pistol-shot of us, and for that
distance we were well prepared.  I carried in my belt a six-chambered
revolver, one of Colt's best; Garey had another--a present I had made
him many years before--and Rube was armed with a pair of stout
single-barrels, likely enough to do good service.

"Sev'nteen shots! wid our bowies to fall back upon!" cried Garey
triumphantly, as we finished a hasty survey of our arms.

As yet the enemy did not advance.  Notwithstanding their _vivas_ and
ejaculations, they appeared to hesitate about charging.  Their leader,
and another--a lieutenant, perhaps--were still seen riding along their
line, as if animating them by further speech, giving them orders how to
act.

Meanwhile, _we_ had not been idle; we had _formed square_ to receive the
charge!

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 counted
one.  Garey, who _rode_ like a Comanche, had broken him at our last
camp, and he was now perfectly tractable.  The shake of a lazo rendered
him docile as a lamb.

The four were tied head to head, and croup to croup, and each formed one
side of the square.  They could not have broken it even under a charge
of cavalry; bridles must be untied or cut, and lazoes set loose, before
that _formation_ could be destroyed!

Within stood we, fronting our foes--the large horse of Garey forming our
barricade 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 had
finished his oration, and that the attack was about to be made.  We saw
the 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 waste
shots, d'yur hear?  Lead counts hyur--_it_ do.  See!  By the jumpin
Geehosophat, thur a gwine to ride right down!  Let 'em kum on, and be
damned!  Thur's one o' 'em won't git thie fur--I mout say two--I mout
say three i'deed.  Durn the glint o' thet sun!  Billee!" he continued,
addressing Garey, "ee 'll shoot fust; yur gun's furrest carry.  Plug the
big un on the clay-bank hoss.  This child's for Number 2 on the grey
mustang.  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 yur
narves steady, d'yur hear?"

"Yes, yes!"  I hurriedly answered, though at the time steadiness of
nerves was easier promised than practised.  My heart was heaving in
quick pulsations at the near prospect of the terrible drama about to be
enacted.

At this moment the "Forward" fell upon our ears, and with the wild notes
of 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 the
others.

"The three 'most!" cried Rube, in the same sharp tone--"the three
fo'most!  Thet'll fotch 'em up wi' a roun turn, or this child's
mistaken.  Now, boyees! mind yur eyes!  Steady!  Stea-dy--stea-d-y--"

All at once, Rube's muttered cautions, slowly drawled out, were changed
to an exclamation that betokened surprise, followed by a long low
whistle of the same import!

The cause was clear!  The guerrilleros had got within three hundred
yards of us, still going at a gallop, but we could perceive that their
pace slackened as they advanced; already it was more of an amble than
the forward dash of an earnest charge.  It was evident they had no
stomach for the business--now that they were near enough to see the
shining barrels and black hollow tubes of our levelled rifles.

Garey was waiting till the foremost should pass the artemisia-bush; for
by that he had calculated the point-blank range of his rifle.  Another
moment, and its crack would have been heard; but the horseman, as if
warned by instinct, seemed to divine the exact limit of danger.  Before
reaching the bush, his heart failed him, and in a wavering, irresolute
manner, he drew bridle, and halted!

The others, nothing loath, followed his example, until the whole troop
had pulled up within less than three hundred yards of the muzzles of our
guns!

"Cowed, by God!" shouted Rube, with a derisive laugh, "Hulloo!"
continued he, raising his voice still louder, and addressing the halted
line: "what do ee want anyhow?  Why the hell don't ee come on?"

Whether Rube's comical interrogatory was understood or not, it elicited
a reply:--

"_Amigos! somos amigos_!"  (We are friends!) shouted back the leader of
the band.

"Friends, be damned!" exclaimed the trapper, who knew enough of Spanish
to understand the signification of _amigos_.  "Nice friends, you,
i'deed!  Wagh!  D'yur think to bamfoozle us thet-away?  Keep yur
distance 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 rides
within reach.  Damn sich friends as you!"

The leader now conversed in a low tone with his lieutenant, and some new
design seemed to be discussed between them.  A change of tactics was
evidently devised during this pause in the action.

After a while the chief again addressed us, speaking as before in
Spanish.

"We are friends!" said he: "we mean you no harm.  To prove it, I shall
order my men to fall back upon the prairie, while my lieutenant,
unarmed, will meet one of you on the neutral ground.  Surely, you can
have no objection to that?"

"And why such an arrangement?" inquired Garey, who spoke Spanish
fluently.  "We want nothing of _you_.  What do you want from _us_, with
all this infernal fuss?"

"I have business with you," replied the Mexican; "and _you_, sir, in
particular.  I have something to say to you I don't wish others to
hear."

As he said this, the speaker turned his head, and nodded significantly
towards his own following.  He was candid with them at least.

This unexpected dialogue took all three of us by surprise.  What could
the man want with Garey?  The latter knew nothing of him--had never, as
he declared, "sot eyes on the niggur afore;" although at such a
distance--with the sun in his face, and the Mexican's sombrero slouched
as it was--Garey might be mistaken.  It might be some one whom he had
met, though he could not recall him to mind.

After a short consultation, we agreed that Garey should accept the
proposal.  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.  If
they meditated treachery, we could not perceive the advantage they were
to gain from the proceeding.

The "parley" therefore was accepted, and the conditions arranged with
due caution on our part.

The horsemen--with the exception of the leader and his lieutenant--were
to ride back to the distance of half-a-mile; the leader was to remain
where he was; and halfway between him and us, Garey and the lieutenant
were to meet, both of them on foot and unarmed.

At an order from their chief, the guerrilleros fell back.  The
lieutenant dismounted, laid his lance along the ground, unbuckled his
sabre, drew the pistols from his belt, and placing them beside the
lance, advanced towards the appointed spot.

Garey had likewise disarmed himself; and leaving his weapons in charge
of 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 be
principally done by the Mexican, was carried on in a low tone; and Rube
and I saw that he pointed frequently in our direction, as if we were the
subject of his discourse!  We observed that his harangue was suddenly
interrupted by Garey, who, turning round at the same instant, cried out
to 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 wants
us to give up the _ranger-captain_; an sez, if we do, you an me can go
free.  Ha, ha, ha!" and the young trapper ended his announcement with a
scornful 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 his
voice, he called out--

"An what answer hev you gin him, Billee?"

"I hain't answered him yet," was the prompt reply: "but hyar's the
answer!"

I saw Garey's arm raised, with his huge fist clenched; I saw it descend
like a trip-hammer upon the face of the Mexican, who under the blow fell
heavily to the earth.



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A DEAD SHOT.

The unexpected closing of the conference elicited an angry shout from
the Mexican horsemen; and, without waiting for orders, they galloped up
to their chief.

Halting at long-range, they fired their carbines and escopettes; but
their bullets cut the grass far in front of us, and one or two that
hurtled past were wide of the mark.

The lieutenant, who had been only stunned, soon recovered his legs, but
not his temper.  His wrath overbalanced his prudence, else the moment he
found his feet he would have made the best of his way to his horse and
comrades.

Instead of doing so, he turned full front towards us, raised his arm in
the air, shook his clenched fist in a menacing manner, accompanying the
action with a torrent of defiant speech.

Of what he said, we understood but the concluding phrase, and that was
the bitter and blasphemous _carajo_! that hissed through his teeth with
the energetic aspiration of rage and revenge.

That oath was the last word he ever uttered; his parting breath scarcely
carried it from his lips ere he ceased to live.  I heard the fierce
word, and almost simultaneously the crack of a rifle, fired close to my
ear.  I saw the dust puff out from the embroidered spencer of the
Mexican, and directly over his heart; I saw his hand pass rapidly to the
spot, 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 an
explanation.  Of course, it was Rube who spoke.  His rifle was smoking
at the muzzle, and he was proceeding to reload it.

"Wa-hoo--woop!" continued he, uttering his wild war-cry; "thet shortens
thur count, I reck'n.  Another nick for Targuts!  Gi' me _her_ for a
gun.  Wagh! a long pull it wur for the ole weepun; an the glint in my
eyes too!  The niggur riled me, or I wudn't a risked it.  Hold yur
hosses, boys!" he continued in a more earnest tone: "don't fire till I'm
loaded--for yur lives, don't!"

"All right, Rube!" cried Garey, who hastily passing under the belly of
his 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 our
three barrels once more protruded over the shoulders of Garey's horse.
Our animals still held their respective positions.  Three of them were
too well used to such scenes, to be startled by the detonation of a
rifle; and the fourth, fastened as he was, kept his place perforce.

I say, to our surprise we were allowed time to get into our old
vantage-ground; for we had expected an immediate charge from the
guerrilla.

Vengeance for the death of their comrade would give them courage enough
for that; so thought we; but we were mistaken, as their ire only vented
itself 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.  Some
appeared to be urging him to lead them on!  Others came galloping
nearer, and fired their carbines or shook their lances in a threatening
manner; but one and all were careful to keep outside that perilous
circle, whose circumference marked the range of our rifles.  They
seemed, even less inclined for close quarters than ever; the fate of
their comrade had awed them.

The dead man lay about half-way between them and us, glittering in his
picturesque habiliments.  They were weaker by his loss--for not only had
he been one of their leaders, but one of their best men.  They saw he
was dead, though none had dared to approach him.  They knew the Texan
rifle of old--these spangled heroes; they knew, moreover, that we were
armed with revolvers, and the fame of this terrible weapon had been
already 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 theirs
three 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 beheld
your degenerate descendants!

And yet not all of them were cowards; some, I dare say, were brave
enough, for there _are_ brave men among the Mexicans.  A few were
evidently willing to make the attack, but they wanted combination--they
wanted a leader: he who acted as such appeared to be endowed with more
prudence than valour.

Meanwhile we kept our eyes fixed upon them, listening to their varied
cries, and closely watching their movements.

In perfect coolness, we regarded them--at least so much can I say for my
comrades.  Though life or death rested upon the issue, both were as cool
at that moment as if they had been only observing the movements of a
gang of buffaloes!  There was no sign of trepidation--hardly a symptom
of excitement visible in the countenance of either.  Now and then, a
half-muttered ejaculation, a rapid exchange of thought--relating to some
fresh movement of the enemy--alone told that both were alive to the
peril of the situation.

I cannot affirm that I shared with them this extreme and perfect _sang
froid_; though upon my nerves, less indifferent to danger, their example
had its effect, and inspired me with courage sufficient for the
occasion.  Besides, I drew confidence from another source.  In case of
defeat, I had a resource unshared by my companions--perhaps unthought of
by 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 without
fear of being overtaken, but the craven thought was not entertained for
an instant.  By my honour, no!  I should have accepted death upon the
spot rather than desert the brave men who stood by my side.  To _them_ I
was 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 before
me, it would then be time enough to think of flight.

Even this contingency had the effect of strengthening my courage, and at
that moment I viewed the vengeful foe with a coolness and freedom from
fear that now, in the retrospect, surprises me.

During the interval of inaction that followed, I was cool enough to
reflect upon the demand which the guerrilla leader had made--the
surrender of my person.  Why was I singled out?  We were all enemies
alike--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 knew
they this?--how knew they I was a "ranger-captain"?  Ha! they must have
known it before; they must have come out specially in search of me!

A light flashed suddenly into my mind--a suspicion strong almost as
certainty.  But for the sun glancing in my eyes, I might have earlier
obtained an explanation of the mystery.

I drew down the visor of my forage-cap, stretching it to its full
extent; I increased the shade with my flattened palms, and from under
them strained my eyes upon the leader of the band.  Already his voice,
while in conversation with Garey, had aroused a faint recollection
within me.  I had heard that voice only once, but I thought I remembered
it.  Guided by my suspicion, I now scrutinised more closely the
countenance of the man.  Fortunately the face was turned towards me,
and, despite the dazzling of the sunbeams, despite the slouched
sombrero, I recognised the dark features of Rafael Ijurra!  In that
glance I comprehended the situation.  He it was who wanted the
"ranger-captain!"

There was doubt no longer.  My suspicion was a certainty; but with the
next throb of my heart rose another, a thousand times more painful--a
suspicion of--

With an effort, I stifled my emotions; a movement was perceptible among
the 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 a
direct attack; the time for that had passed.  The fate of their comrade
had evidently checked their ardour, and too much shouting and bravado
had cooled, rather than heightened, their enthusiasm.

We could tell by their manoeuvring that some new mode of assault had
been 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 some
trick," 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 for
some time fixed on the movements of the guerrilla--"I'm thinkin' thar
a-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, some
standing still, others in motion.

As Rube uttered the last words, one of them was seen to shoot out from
the main body, spurring his steed into a gallop as he parted from the
crowd.

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 stretches
over the plain, he guided his horse into a curve, evidently with the
design of riding around us.

As soon as he had gained some score of yards from the troop, a second
horseman followed, repeating the manoeuvre; and then another and
another, until five of the band, thus deployed, galloped round us in
circles.  The remaining six kept their ground.

We observed that the five had left their lances behind them, and carried
only 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 the
horse-Indians--with which all three of us were familiar.

We might have been more apprehensive about the result had it been really
Indians who were going to practise the manoeuvre--since in an attack of
this kind, the bow, with its many missiles in a minute, is far more
dangerous than either carbine or rifle.  But the fact that our
assailants understood the stratagem, told us we were opposed to men who
had seen Indian fight--no doubt, the picked men of the frontier--and to
defend ourselves would require all the courage and cunning we possessed.

It did not surprise us that only a portion of the band galloped out to
effect the surround; there was design in that, and we knew it.  The five
who had been detached were to wheel round us in circles, dash at
intervals 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 near
as was safe for them--would charge forward, empty their guns, and then
use their lazoes with effect.

Of this last _weapon_ my companions had more dread than of all the
others carried by our foes.  They had reason.  They knew that our rifles
once 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, and
conjectures, or to communicate them to one another.  They passed before
us like the lightning's flash: the quicker that they were old thoughts--
things familiar from experience.  We were conscious that the stratagem
of our enemy had increased the peril of our situation; but we thought
not yet of yielding to despair.

In an instant we had altered our relative positions.  The three of us no
longer fronted in one direction, but stood back to back--each to guard
the 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 then
following a spiral curve, drew nearer and nearer.

When within carbine-range, each fired his piece; and, retreating outward
upon the main body, hastily exchanged his empty gun for one that was
loaded, and galloped back as before.

In the first volley, most of their bullets, discharged at random, had
passed 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 little
damage, though it was an earnest of what we might expect; and it was
with increased apprehension that we saw the horsemen come back on their
circling career.

You will wonder why we did not return their fire?  Our guns carried as
far as theirs.  Why did we not use them, while the horsemen were within
range?  Not one of the three of us thought of drawing a trigger!  You
will wonder at this?  It requires explanation.

Know, then, that the five men who galloped round us were five of the
best horsemen in the world--no doubt the picked riders of the band.  Not
in Arabia, not in the hippodromes of Paris or London, could they have
found their superiors--perhaps not their equals--for these men literally
live in the saddle.  Each, as he approached the dangerous circle covered
by our rifles, disappeared _behind the body of his horse_.  A boot and
spur over the hollow of the deep saddle-tree, perhaps a hand grasping
the 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 smoke
from the carbine, and then ducked instantly out of sight.  Perhaps the
barrel of the piece might be noticed glancing along the horse's counter,
while the stream of fire pouring forth, told that the rider had taken
aim under the throat of his steed, the latter all the while going at
full gallop!

During these manoeuvres, sharp shots as my comrades were, and fair
marksman as I was myself, there was no instant when we could have hit
any one of the five horsemen.  It would have been easier to have brought
down a bird upon the wing.  Their horses we might have killed or
crippled, but that would not have repaid us for the risk of an empty
rifle.  We dared not waste a bullet on the horses.  That was our reason
for reserving our fire.

Do not fancy from this my prolixity of explanation, that _we_ were so
slow in comprehending all these points.  No, we understood our situation
well enough; we knew that to discharge our pieces--even though a horse
should fall to every shot--was just what the enemy desired.  That was
the main object of their _ruse_; but we were too well used to the wiles
of Indian warfare to be beguiled by so shallow an artifice.  Words of
caution passed between us, and we stood to our guns with as much
patience as we could command.

It was tempting enough--provoking, I should rather say--thus to be fired
at, without the chance of returning it; and my companions,
notwithstanding their habitual coolness, chafed angrily under the
infliction.

Once more the five horsemen came galloping around us, and discharged
their pieces as before; but this time with more effect.  A bullet struck
Garey in the shoulder, tearing away a patch of his hunting-shirt, and
drawing the blood; while another went whizzing past the cheek of Old
Rube, creasing his catskin cap!

"Hooray!" shouted the latter, clapping his hand over the place where the
lead had wounded him.  "Clost enough thet wur!  Cuss me, eft hain't
carried 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 fell
under 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.  I
don't feel it."

"Yur sure?"

"Sartin sure."

"By the livin catamount!" exclaimed Rube, in a serious tone, "we can't
stan 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 young
fellur mout git clur; but for you 'n me thur's not the shaddy o' a
chance.  They'd catch up wi' the ole mar in the flappin' o' a beaver's
tail, an yur hoss ain't none o' the sooplest.  Tur no use."

"I tell you it are, Rube," replied Garey impatiently.  "You mount the
white hoss--he's fast enough--an let the mar slide; or you take mine, an
I'll back whitey.  We mayent get clar altogether; but we'll string the
niggers out on the parairy, an take them one arter another.  It's better
than 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?"  I
inquired, looking toward the mesa: "they can't surround us there?  With
our backs to the rock, and our horses in front of us, we may defy the
rabble.  We might easily reach it by a dash--"

"Scalp me! ef the young fellur ain't right," cried Rube, interrupting my
speech.  "It's the very idee, plum centre!"

"It are!" echoed Garey--"it are!  We hain't a second to lose; they'll be
round us again in a squ'll's jump.  Look yonder!"

This conversation had occupied but a few seconds of time.  It occurred
just after the five horsemen had the second time emptied their guns, and
galloped back to exchange them.

Before they could return to deliver a third fire, our determination was
taken, and we had hastily undone the fastenings of our horses, and were
ready to mount.

This we accomplished so quietly, that it was evident the enemy had not
perceived us, and therefore entertained no suspicion of our design;
hence the road towards the mesa was still perfectly open to us.  In
another minute, however, the five riders would have been circling around
us, 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 of
Garey'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 simultaneously
on horseback; and, plying the spur deeply, shot off in a direct line of
the mesa.

A glance behind showed us the guerrilleros--the whole band coming in
full tilt after us, while their cries sounded in our ears.  To our
satisfaction, we saw we had gained ground upon them--our sudden start
having taken them by surprise, and produced in their ranks a momentary
hesitation.  We had no fear of being able to reach the mesa before they
could overtake us.

For my own part, I could soon have ridden out of sight altogether; so
could Garey, mounted on the white steed, that, with only a raw-hide
halter, was behaving splendidly.  It was Garey's own horse, a strong but
slow brute, that delayed us; he was ridden by Rube; and it was well the
chase was not to be a long one, else our pursuers would have easily
overhauled _him_.  Garey and I kept by his side.

"Don't be afeerd, Rube!" shouted Garey, in a tone of encouragement; "we
ain't a-goin to leave you--we'll stick thegither!"

"Yes," added I, in the excitement of the moment, "we live or die
together!"

"Hooray, young fellur!" cried Rube, in a burst of wild
gratitude--"hooray for you!  I know yur the stuff, an won't leave me
ahint, though I gin you the slip oncest--when you mistuk me for the
grizzly.  He, he, hoo!  But then, you ses twur no use o' my stickin' to
you--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 a
vast wall, rose up from the level plain.  We headed for its central
part, as though we expected some gate to open in the rock and give us
shelter!

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 placing
ourselves in a position from which retreat appeared impossible.

They had been apprehensive, on our first galloping off, that we might be
mounted on swift horses, and meditated escaping by speed; but on
discovering that this was not our intention, cries of joyful import were
heard; 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 had
anticipated, 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 the
cliff, drew our horses in front of us, and holding the bridles in our
teeth, raised our rifles towards the foe.

Once more the three shining tubes were levelled, promising certain death
to the first who should approach within range.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

RUBE'S CHARGER.

Our attitude of defence, thus suddenly assumed, produced a quick effect
upon our pursuers, who pulled up simultaneously on the prairie.  Some
who had been foremost, and who fancied they had ridden too near, wheeled
round and galloped back.

"Wagh!" ejaculated Rube; "jest look at 'em! they've tuk care to put
plenty o' paraira atween our guns an thur cowardly karkidges.  Wagh!"

We at once perceived the advantage of our new position.  We could all
three show front wherever the enemy threatened.  There was no longer any
danger of their practising the surround.  The half-circle behind us was
covered by the mesa, and that could not be scaled.  We had only to guard
the semicircle in front--in fact, less than a semicircle, for we now
perceived that the place was _embayed_, a sort of re-entering angle
formed by two oblique faces of the cliff.  The walls that flanked it
extended three hundred yards on either side, so that no cover commanded
our position.  For defence, we could not have chosen a better situation;
gallop round as they might, the guerrilleros would always find us with
our teeth towards them!  We saw our advantage at a glance.

Neither were our enemies slow to perceive it, and their exulting shouts
changed to exclamations that betokened their disappointment.

Almost as suddenly, their tone again changed, and cries of triumph were
once more heard along their line.

We looked forth to discover the cause.  To our dismay, we perceived a
reinforcement 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 of
the 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 not
appear to gain by it, as no charge was attempted.

Almost on the instant that their new allies arrived upon the ground, the
troop filed off by twos, and deployed across the mouth of the little bay
in which we had taken shelter.  The movement was soon completed, and six
pair of them were now ranged before us at equal distances from each
other.  The remaining three men--Ijurra and two others--kept their
places directly in front of us.

In one of the new-comers I recognised a ruffian whom I had frequently
noticed at the rancheria.  He was a man of large size, and, what is rare
among Mexicans, red-haired; but I believe he was a _Vizcaino_, among
whom red-haired men are not uncommon.  He was familiarly known by the
sobriquet of _El Zorro_ (the Fox), probably on account of the hue of his
hair; and I had heard from good authority--that of the _alcalde
himself_!--that the fellow was neither more nor less than a _salteador_.
Indeed, El Zorro made little secret of his calling.  The brigand of
Mexico is usually well known to his countrymen.  During his intervals of
leisure he appears in the populous town, walks boldly through the
streets, and freely mingles in society.  Such was El Zorro, one of the
right-hand men of Ijurra.

The design of our enemy was now manifest: they had no intention of
making an immediate attack upon us; they saw that our retreat was
impossible, and had resolved to hold us in siege, perhaps till thirst
and 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 we
had 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 we
gits weak wi' hunger.  Wagh!  I kud eat a griskin now, an a good chunk
o' a one.  Ay, smoke away!"  (some of the Mexicans had lighted their
cigars, and were coolly puffing at them)--"smoke away, durn yur! yur
yeller-skinned skunks!  I'll make some o' ye smoke afore mornin, or my
name ain't Rube Rawlins.  Gi's a bit o' bacca, Bill; maybe it'll take
the edge off o' my stummuk.  Wagh!  I feel as holler about the kidneys
as my ole mar--Geehosophat!  See the mar!"

The emphatic utterance of the last words caused Garey and myself to look
towards the speaker, and then in the direction in which he pointed.  A
spectacle came before our eyes, that, spite the depression of our
spirits, caused both of us to break into loud laughter.

The "ole mar," that for many long years had carried Rube over the
mountains and prairies, was a creature that scarce yielded to himself in
peculiarity.

She was a lank, bare-ribbed, high-boned animal, long-eared like all of
her race--for she belonged to the race of Rosinante.  The long ears
caused her to look mulish, and at a distance she might have been
mistaken 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 to
have been, at an earlier period of her life, of that dun yellowish
colour known as "clay-bank"--a common hue among Mexican horses--but time
and scars had metamorphosed her, and grey hairs predominated,
particularly about the head and neck.  These parts were covered with a
dirty grizzle of mixed colour.  She was badly wind-broken, and at stated
intervals, of several minutes each, her back, from the spasmodic action
of 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 habitually
carried below the level of her shoulders; but there was something in the
twinkle of her solitary eye--for she had but one--that told you she had
no intention of giving up for a long time to come.  As Rube often
alleged, "she was game to the backbone."

Such was the "ole mar," and it was to her that our attention was now so
suddenly 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 and
myself--what became of her.

Rube, however, was far from sharing our indifference as to her fate.  He
would almost as soon have parted with one of his "claws" as that same
faithful companion; and we had heard him expressing his hopes that no
harm would come to her.

Or course, we had concluded that she would either be shot or lazoed by
one 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 galloped
after us.  Being slow, she soon fell behind, and for a while was mixed
up with the horses of the guerrilleros.  Of course the men had noticed
her, but seeing that she was a worthless brute, had not deigned to make
a capture of her.

In due time she fell into the rear of the whole troop; but even that did
not turn her from her original intention, and at the moment of Rube's
exclamation, she was just breaking through the line of deployment on her
way to join her master.  From the manner in which her nose was held as
she 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 traps
buckled upon it.

Mare, saddle, and all, were scarcely worth the fling of lazo, and so the
man appeared to think; for instead of using his lazo, he rode forward
with the intention of seizing the mare by the bridle.

The feat proved not so easy of accomplishment.  As the fellow bent down
to grasp the rein, the old mare uttered one of her wild squeals, slewed
her hind-quarters about, and raising her heels high in air, delivered
them right upon the ribs of the Mexican.

The heavy "thud" was heard by all of us; and the man swayed from his
saddle, and fell to the ground--to all appearance badly hurt, and most
probably with a pair of broken ribs.

The squeal of the mare was echoed by a shrill laugh from the throat of
her delighted master; and not until she had galloped up to him, did he
cease to make the locks ring with his wild cachinnations.

"Wa-hoo--woop! yur thur, ole gal!" he shouted as the animal halted
before him.  "You gin 'im a sockdolloger--_you_ did.  Yeeup! ole
blue-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 the
animal closer up to the cliff, placing her body as an additional
barricade in front of his own.

Our involuntary mirth was of short duration; it was interrupted by an
object 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 the
ground by one of those lately arrived.  In all probability, it belonged
to El Zorro, as it was in his hands we first observed it.  It appeared
to be a long musket, or elephant-gun, such as the "roers" in use among
South African hunters.

Whatever sort of weapon it was, we soon found to our annoyance that it
pitched an ounce of lead nearly twice as far as any of our rifles, and
with sufficient precision to make it probable that, before the sun had
set, El Zorro would be able to pick off our horses, and perhaps
ourselves, in detail.

It would be half-an-hour before darkness should screen us with its
friendly shelter, and he had already commenced practice.  His first shot
had 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; and
an ejaculation from Rube, as he saw the effect of the shot, followed by
his usual ominous whistle, told that the old trapper was not disposed to
make light of this new piece of ordnance.  Neither was Garey.  His look
testified to what all three of us were thinking--which was, that this
mode of attack was likely to put us in a more awkward dilemma than we
had 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.  Our
peril was obvious.

The salteador had delivered his first shot "off hand," for we had seen
him level the piece.  Perhaps it was fortunate for us he had not taken
aim over a "lean;" but fortune from that source was not going to favour
us any farther; for we now observed Ijurra stick two lances obliquely in
the ground, so that they crossed each other at a proper height, thus
forming 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, the
direction of the long dark tube would have told me so; but I saw Ijurra
directing him, and that made me sure of it.

I had little fear for myself.  I was sheltered sufficiently, but I
trembled for the brave horse that shielded me.

I waited with anxious heart.  I saw the blaze of the priming as it
puffed upward; the red flame projected from the muzzle, and
simultaneously I felt the shock of the heavy bullet striking upon my
horse.

Splinters of wood flew about my face; they were fragments of the
saddle-tree.  The ball had passed through the pommel, but my noble steed
was untouched!  It was a close shot, however--too close to allow of
rejoicing, so long as others of the like were to follow.

I was getting as "riled" as Rube himself, when, all at once, a
significant shout from the old trapper drew my attention from El Zorro
and his gun.

Rube was on my right, and I saw that he was pointing along the bottom of
the 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 him
hurrying them along the cliff, at the same time calling to Garey and
myself to follow.

I lost no time in putting my horse in motion, and Garey as hastily
trotted after.

We had not advanced many paces, before we comprehended the strange
behaviour of our companion.

Scarcely twenty yards from where we had first halted, a large rock
rested upon the plain.  It was a fragment that had fallen from the
cliff, and was now lying several feet from its base; it was of such
size, and in such a position, that, there was ample space behind it to
shelter both men and horses--room for us all!

We were only astonished we had not observed it sooner; but this was not
to be wondered at, for its colour corresponded exactly with that of the
cliff, and it was difficult, even at twenty yards' distance, to
distinguish it from the latter.  Besides, our eyes, from the moment of
our halting, had been turned in another direction.

We did not stay to give words to our surprise; but hurrying our horses
along with us, with joyful exclamations glided behind the rock.

It was not an echo of our joy, but a cry of disappointed rage, that
pealed along the line of the guerrilla.  They saw at once that their
long gun would no longer avail them, and both Ijurra and his marksman
were 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 all
prairie-land.  As Garey alleged, it "beat tree-timber all hollow!"  A
little fortress, in fact, in which we might defy even twice the number
of 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 with
feelings of wonder--perhaps with emotions of a still stronger kind.  We
could hear the exclamations "_Carrai!"  "Carrambo_!" with the phrase
"_los demonios_!" passing from mouth to mouth.  Indeed, from the
position which they occupied, it must have appeared to them that we had
gone into the cliff--for the separation of the rock from the wall behind
it was not perceptible from the plain, else _we_ should have perceived
it as we rode forward.

If our enemies knew of this outlying boulder, it was strange they had
left the way open to so safe a retreat--strange, since it did not
correspond with the cunning they had otherwise given proofs of--and yet
stranger they should be ignorant of its existence.  Most of them were
natives 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 no
people who take less interest in the rare features of their beautiful
country than the Mexicans.  Nature charms them not.  A Mexican dwelling
with a garden around it is a rarity--a lawn or a shrubbery is never
seen; but indeed nature has bounteously supplied them with all these.
They dwell amidst scenes of picturesque beauty; they gaze over green
savannas--down into deep barrancas--up to the snow-crowned summits of
mighty mountains--without experiencing one emotion of the sublime.  A
tortured bull, a steel-galved cock, Roman candles, and the Chinese
wheel, are to them the sights of superior interest, and furnish them
with all their petty emotions.  So is it with nations, as with men who
have passed the age of their strength, and reached the period of
senility and second childhood.

But there was another, and perhaps a better, reason why none of our
adversaries should be intimate with the locality.  As my companions
alleged, the spot was a favourite halting-place of the Comanches--_they_
have an eye for the picturesque--but perhaps the existence of a spring
that was near had more to do in guiding the preference of these "lords
of the prairies."  The mesa, therefore, had for years been dangerous
ground, and little trodden by the idle curious.  Possibly not one of the
heroes we saw before us had for years ventured so far out upon the
plains.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

A PLAN OF ESCAPE.

If our enemies were awed by our sudden disappearance, it was soon robbed
of its mysterious character.  Our faces, and the dark barrels of our
rifles, visible around the edges of the white rock, must have dispelled
all ideas of the supernatural.  Having hastily disposed of our horses,
we had placed ourselves thus--in case of a charge being made--though of
this we had no longer any great apprehension; and still less as we
watched the movements of our adversaries.

El Zorro continued for some time to fire his big gun--the bullets of
which we could dodge as easily as if they had been turnips hurled at
us--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 some
errand 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 over
some 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 till
thirst 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 to
yield.  Hunger we dreaded not.  We had our knives, and before us a
plentiful stock of that food on which the prairie wanderer often
sustains life.  "Horse-beef" we had all eaten, and could do so again;
but for the sister-appetite--thirst--we had made no provision.  Our
gourd-canteens were empty--had been empty for hours--we were actually
pushing for the _mesa spring_ when the enemy first came in sight.  We
were then athirst; but the excitement of the skirmish, with the play of
passion incident thereto, had augmented the appetite, and already were
we a prey to its keenest pangs.  We mumbled as we talked, for each of us
was chewing the leaden bullet.  Thirst we dreaded even more than our
armed 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 had
no other signification than to fight the whole party hand to hand; and
we regretted that we had not done so when only eleven were opposed to
us.

A little reflection, however, convinced us that we were in a yet better
position.  We might make the attempt in the darkness.  Night would
favour us to some extent.  Could we succeed by a bold dash in breaking
through their deployed line, we might escape under the friendly cover of
the night, and the confusion consequent upon the melee.

There was probability in this.  The boldest was clearly the wisest
course we could pursue.  Desperate it appeared.  One or other of us
might fall, but it offered the only hope that _any_ of us might get
free, for we knew that to surrender was to be shot--perhaps
worse--_tortured_.

We had but faint hopes of a rescue; so faint, we scarcely entertained
them.  I knew that my friends, the rangers, would be in search of me.
Wheatley and Holingsworth would not give me up without making an effort
for my recovery; but then the search would be made in a different
direction--that in which I had gone, and which lay many miles from the
route by the mesa.  Even had they thought of sending to the mound, the
search must have been already made, and the party returned from it.  Too
long 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 details
of the plan that had offered.  After a while, we stood apart, and each
pursued the train of his own reflections.

I declare that in that hour I had more painful thoughts than those that
arose from the peril of my situation; this I solemnly declare.

I have already said, that when I first recognised the leader of the
guerrilla, I experienced an unpleasant suspicion.  Since then, I had not
time to dwell upon it--self-preservation engrossing all my thoughts.

Now that I found more leisure for reflection, the dire doubt returned in
full strength, and I bitterly pondered upon it.  Need I name the subject
of 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 of
it!  Who set him on our trail?  Oh, bitter thought! was the hunt of the
wild horse a _ruse_--a scheme--to separate me from my command, and thus
render it an easy prey to the Mexican guerrilleros?  Perhaps my
straggling followers were by this cut off?  Perhaps the post had been
attacked by a large body of the enemy--captured?  I was not only to lose
life, but had already lost my honour.  I, the proud captain of a boasted
troop, 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 the
probability of my suspicions.  What motive could she have to plot my
destruction?  Surely not from any feeling of love for her country, and
hatred towards its enemies?  From all I had learned, no such sentiment
existed in her mind, but rather an opposite one--a truer patriotism.
She was a woman of sufficient aim and intellect to have a feeling one
way or the other; but had I not good grounds for believing her a friend
to our cause; a foe to the tyrants we would conquer?  If otherwise, I
was the victim of profound deception and unparalleled hypocrisy!

Perhaps, however, her feeling was personal, not national.  Was _I_ alone
the object of her hatred?  Had I done aught by word or deed to call
forth her antagonism--to deserve such cruel vengeance?  If so, I was
sadly 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 not
think 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 instrumental
in the accomplishment of my ruin.  It was explicable only on the
presumption that she was attached to Ijurra--that Rafael Ijurra was the
lord of her heart.  If so, he could easily bend it to his will--for this
is but the sequence of the other--could influence her to whatever act.

As for Ijurra, there was motive enough for his hostility, even to the
seeking of my life.  The insult put upon him at our first meeting--the
knowledge that I loved _her_--for I was certain he knew it--with the
additional fact that I was an enemy--one of the invaders of his country.
These were sufficient motives, though, doubtless, the two first far
outweighed the other: with Rafael Ijurra, revenge and jealousy were
stronger passions than patriotism.

Then came consolation--thoughts of brighter hue.  In the face of all was
the fact, that _the white steed had been found_, and captured!  There
stood the beautiful creature before my eyes.  There was no deception in
that--there could be none--no scheme could have contrived a contingency
so remarkable.

Ijurra might easily have known of the expedition without _her_ agency.
Its result he would have learned from the returned vaqueros.  He had
time enough then to collect his band, and set after me.  Perhaps she
even knew not that he was a leader of guerrilleros?  I had heard that
his movements were shrouded in mystery--that mystery which covers the
designs of the adventurer.  He had served in the school of Antonio Lopez
de Santa Anna--a fit master of deception.  Isolina might be innocent
even of the knowledge of his acts.

I re-read Isolina's letter, weighing every word.  Strange epistle, but
natural to the spirit that had dictated it.  In its pages I could trace
no 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, or
rather leaning, with my back against the boulder, and my face towards
the wall of the mesa.  Directly in front of me was a recess or
indentation in the cliff, carried groove-like upward, and deepening as
it approached the summit.  It was a slight gorge or furrow, evidently
formed by the attrition of water, and probably the conduit of the rain
that fell upon the table surface of the mound.

Though the cliffs on each side were perfectly vertical, the gorge had a
considerable inclination; and the instant my eyes rested upon it, it
occurred 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 been
under the impression--from what my companions had told me--that the
summit of the mesa was inaccessible.

Housing myself to more energetic observation, I scrutinised the cliff
from base to summit; and the more I regarded it, the stronger grew my
conviction that, without great difficulty, an active climber might reach
the top.  There were knob-like protuberances on the rock that would
serve as foot-holds, and here and there small bushes of the trailing
cedar hung out from the seams, that would materially assist any one
making the ascent.

While scanning these peculiarities, I was startled by observing several
abrasions 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 made
by 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; but
I forbore for a while--in order to satisfy myself that the person who
had made this daring attempt had actually succeeded in reaching the
summit.

Twilight was on, and I could get only an indistinct view of the gorge at
its upper part; but I saw enough to convince me that the attempt had
been successful.

What bold fellow had ventured this? and with what object? were the
questions I naturally asked myself.

Vague recollections were stirring within me; presently they grew more
distinct, and all at once I was able to answer both the interrogatories
I had put.  I knew the man who had climbed that cliff.  I only wondered
I had not thought of him before!

Among the many odd characters in the piebald band, of which I had the
honour to be chief, not the least odd was one who answered to the
euphonious name of "Elijah Quackenboss."  He was a mixture of Yankee and
German, originating somewhere in the mountains of Pennsylvania.  He had
been a schoolmaster among his native hills--had picked up some little
book-learning; but what rendered him more interesting to me was the fact
that he was a botanist.  Not a very scientific one, it is true; but in
whatever way obtained, he possessed a respectable knowledge of _flora_
and _sylva_, and evinced an aptitude for the study not inferior to
Linneus himself.  The more surprising was this, that such inclinations
are somewhat rare among Americans--but Quackenboss no doubt drew his
instinct 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 that
should have been counterparts of each other seemed exactly to match.
His arms were odd ones--his limbs were unlike; and all four looked as if
they had met by accident, and could not agree upon anything.  His eyes
were no better mated, and never consented to look in the same direction;
but with the right one, Elijah Quackenboss could "sight" a rifle, and
drive 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 in
his botanical researches--an occupation that to them appeared simply
absurd.  They knew, however, that "Dutch Lige"--such was his sobriquet--
could shoot "plum centre;" and notwithstanding his quiet demeanour, had
proved himself "good stuff at the bottom;" and this shielded him from
the ridicule he would otherwise have experienced at their hands.

Than Quackenboss, a more ardent student of botany I never saw.  No
labour retarded him in the pursuit.  No matter how wearied with drill or
other duties, the moment the hours became his own, he would be off in
search of rare plants, wandering far from camp, and at times placing
himself in situations of extreme danger.  Since his arrival on Texan
ground, he had devoted much attention to the study of the _cactaceae_;
and now having reached Mexico, the home of these singular endogens, he
might be said to have gone cactus-mad.  Every day his researches
disclosed to him new forms of cactus or cereus, and it was in connexion
with one of these that he was now recalled to my memory.  I remembered
his having told me--for a similarity of tastes frequently brought us
into conversation--of his having discovered, but a few days before, a
new and singular species of _mamillaria_.  He had found it growing upon
a _prairie mound_--which he had climbed for the purpose of exploring his
botany--adding at the same time that he had observed the species only
upon 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 advantage
we should derive from such a proceeding.  I communicated the discovery
to my companions.

Both appeared delighted; and after a short scrutiny declared the path
practicable.  Garey believed he could easily go up; and Rube in his
terse way said, that his "jeints wa'nt so stiff yit;" only a month ago
he had "clomd a wuss-lukin bluff than it."

But now the reflection occurred, to what purpose should we make the
ascent?  We could not escape in that way!  There was no chance of our
being able to descend upon the other side, for there the cliff was
impracticable.  The behaviour of the guerrilleros had given proof of
this.  Some time before, Ijurra, with another, had gone to the rear of
the mound, evidently to reconnoitre it, in hopes of being able to assail
us from behind.  But they had returned and their gestures betokened
their disappointment.

Why, then, should we ascend, if we could not also descend on the
opposite side?

True, upon the summit we should be perfectly safe from an attack of the
guerrilla, 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 better
our 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 eat
when that became necessary, and the others to aid us in our attempt to
escape.  Should we climb the cliff, these must be left behind.  From the
top was less than fifty yards, and our rifles would still cover them
from 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 our
present position; we could hold that so long as thirst would allow us.
We could not do more within the granite walls of an impregnable
fortress.

This was the conclusion at which Garey and I had simultaneously arrived.

Rube had not yet expressed himself.  The old man was standing with both
hands clutching his long rifle, the butt of which rested upon the
ground.  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 I
knowing this peculiarity on the part of the old trapper, remained
silent--leaving him to the free development of his "instincts."



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

RUBE'S PLAN.

For several minutes, Rube preserved his meditative attitude, without
uttering a word or making the slightest motion.  At length, a low but
cheerful whistle escaped his lips, and at the same time his body became
erect.

"Eh? what is't, old boy?" inquired Garey, who understood the signal, and
knew 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 fool
them niggurs yit--_we_ will!"

"Hooraw for you, old boy! you've hit on some plan, hain't you?"  This
was Garey's interrogatory.

"Sartintly, I hez."

"Let's have it then, kummarade," said Garey, seeing that Rube had
relapsed into silence; "thar ain't much time to think o' things--"

"Plenty o' time, Billee!  Don't be so durned impatient, boy.  Thur's
gobs 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 'll
cuss when they finds the trap empty.  He, he, he!--ho, ho, hoo!"

And the old sinner continued to laugh for some seconds, as coolly and
cheerfully as if no enemy was within a thousand miles of the spot.

Garey and I were chafing with impatience, but we knew that our comrade
was in one of his queer moods, and it was no use attempting to push him
faster than he was disposed to go.

When his chuckling fit was ended, he assumed a more serious air, and
once 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, an
enough over, to string up half a score o' them yeller-bellies, ef iver I
gits holt on 'em.  An _won't_ I!  Wagh!"

During this arithmetical process, Rube, instead of gazing any longer
into the barrel of his rifle, had kept his eyes wandering up and down
the cliff.  Before he had ceased talking, both Garey and myself had
divined his plan, but we refrained from telling him so.  To have
anticipated the old trapper in his disclosure would have been a mortal
offence.

We waited for him to make it known.

"Now, boyees!" said he at length, "hyur's how we'll git clur.  Fust an
fo'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 the
three thegither, an ef thet ain't long enough, a kupple o' bridles 'll
help out.  Fo'th, we'll tie the eend o' the rope to a saplin up thur on
top, 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 young
fellur's rangers, take a bee-line back to the mound, an gie these hyur
niggurs 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 had
already approved of it, and we promptly signified our approval.

It really promised well.  Should we succeed in carrying out the details
without being detected, it was probable enough that within a few hours
we might be safe in the piazza of the rancheria, and quenching our
thirst at its crystal well.

The anticipated pleasure filled us with fresh energy; and we instantly
set about putting everything in readiness.  One watched, while the other
two worked.

Our lazoes were knotted together, and the four horses fastened head to
head with their bridles, and secured so as to keep them behind the
boulder.  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 gave
promise of favouring us: a layer of lead-coloured clouds covered the
sky, 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 be
dark, eh?"

"Black as a bar!" muttered Rube in reply; and then, as if not satisfied
with the simile, he added, "Black as the inside o' a buffler bull's
belly on a burnt paraira!"

The old trapper laughed heartily at the ludicrous conceit, and Garey and
I could not refrain from joining in the laugh.  The guerrilleros must
have heard us; they must have deemed us mad!

Rube's prognostication proved correct: the night came down dark and
lowering.  The leaden layer broke up into black cumulus clouds, that
slowly careered across the canopy of the sky.  A storm portended; and
already some big drops, that shot vertically downward, could be heard
plashing heavily upon our saddles.  All this was to our satisfaction;
but at that moment a flash of lightning illumined the whole arch of the
heavens, lighting the prairie as with a thousand torches.  It was none
of the pale lavender-coloured light, seen in northern climes, but a
brilliant blaze, that appeared to pervade all space, and almost rivalled
the brightness of day.

Its sudden and unexpected appearance filled us with dismay: we
recognised in it an obstacle to our designs.

"Durn the tarnal thing!" exclaimed Rube peevishly.  "It ur wuss than a
moon, 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 southern
prairies, the electric fluid exhibits itself.

In the former the flashes are quick and short-lived, and the intervals
of darkness also of short duration.  Bolts pierce the clouds in
straight, lance-like shafts, or forking and zig-zag, followed by thunder
in loud unequal bursts, and dashes of intermittent rain.

The other is very distinct from this; there are no shafts or bolts, but
a steady blaze which fills the whole firmament with a white quivering
light, lasting many seconds of time, and followed by long intervals of
amorphous darkness.  Such lightning is rarely accompanied by thunder,
and rain is not always its concomitant, though it was this sort we now
witnessed, 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 no
thunder, don't 'ee see?  Wal! we must grope our way up atween the
glimps."

I understood why Rube preferred the "blazey;" the long intervals of
darkness between the flashes might enable us to carry out our plan.

He had scarcely finished speaking, when the lightning gleamed a second
time, and the prairie was lit up like a theatre during the grand scene
in a spectacle.  We could see the guerrilleros standing by their horses,
in cordon across the plain; we could distinguish their arms and
equipments--even the buttons upon their jackets!  With their faces
rendered ghastly under the glare, and their bodies magnified to gigantic
proportions, they presented to our eyes a wild and spectral appearance.

With the flash there was no thunder--neither the close quick clap, nor
the distant rumble.  There was perfect silence, which rendered the scene
more awfully impressive.

"All right!" muttered Rube, as he saw that the besiegers still kept
their places.  "We must jest grope our way up atween the glimps; but
fust let 'em see we're still hyur."

We protruded our faces and rifles around the rock, and in this position
awaited 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 take
up the rope.

He only waited for the termination of another blaze.  One end of the
lazo 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.  Rube
watched the guerrilleros, permitting his head to be seen by them.  My
eyes were bent upon the rocky wall, but through the thick darkness I
looked in vain for our comrade.  I listened to hear how he was
progressing; I could distinguish a slight scratching against the cliff,
each moment higher and farther away; but Garey climbed with a moccasined
foot, 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!  Garey
was still upon its face, as yet scarce midway up.  He was standing on a
ledge--his body flattened against the rock--and with his arms extended
horizontally, he presented the appearance of a man crucified upon the
cliff!

So long as the glare lasted, he remained in this attitude, motionless as
the 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 of
the cliff; their dark foliage mottled its white face, rendering the form
of 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: it
was 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 the
parting whisper to my brave steed, and pressed his velvet muzzle to my
cheek.

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 in
the strong grasp of Garey.

With its aid, the ascent was rendered easy.  I experienced no difficulty
in climbing from ledge to ledge, and before the light came again, I had
reached the crest of the cliff.

We lay flat among the bushes that grew by the very brink, scarcely
showing 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, and
then his thin dark form loomed over the edge of the cliff, and, dead
beat for breath, he staggered silently into the bushes beside us.  Even
in the darkness I noticed something peculiar in his appearance: his head
looked smaller, but I had no time to question him.

We waited only for another glance at the guerrilleros; they were still
at their posts, evidently unconscious of our movements.  Rube's cat-skin
cap, cunningly adjusted upon the boulder, satisfied them that we were
still at ours; and explained, moreover, the oddness I had observed about
the upper story of the trapper.

Rube had now recovered wind; and gathering up the rope, we stole away
over the table-summit to search for a place of descent.

On reaching the opposite side, we at once found what we wanted--a tree
near 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 the
descent.  We knew that the cliff was more than a hundred feet in
vertical height, and to glide down a rope of that length is a trying
feat, worthy the most expert of tars.  None of us might be able to
accomplish it: the first could be lowered down easily enough, and this
was our intention; so might the second; but the last would have to glide
down the rope without aid.

We were not long delayed by the contemplation of this obstacle: my
comrades were men of quick thought; and a plan to get over the
difficulty soon suggested itself.

Their knives were out in a trice: a sapling was procured, and cut into
short 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 prairie
turf.  The rope therefore reached to the ground.

It was again drawn up, the stone taken out, and the noose fastened
around the body of Rube, under his armpits.  He was the lightest, and
for this reason had been chosen to make the first descent, as he would
least try the strength of the rope--still a doubtful point.  The ascent
had not proved it--for in climbing up, but one-half of our weight had
been upon it, our feet resting either against the cliff, or upon its
ledges.  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 do
by adding a large stone to his own weight--making both at least equal to
that of Garey, who was by far the heaviest of the party.

All being arranged, the old trapper slid silently over the edge of the
cliff--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 the
weight of the descending body--now lost to our sight over the brow of
the cliff.

Still slowly, and with caution, we allowed the lazo to pass, taking care
that it should glide gradually, so as not to jerk, and cause the body of
our comrade to oscillate with too much violence against the rocks.

We were both seated close together, our faces turned to the plain.  More
than three-quarters of the rope had passed from us, and we were
congratulating ourselves that the trial would soon be over, when, to our
dismay, the strain ceased with a suddenness that caused both of us to
recoil upon our backs!  At the same instant, we heard the "twang" of the
snapping rope, followed by a sharp cry from below!

We sprang to our feet, and mechanically recommenced hauling upon the
rope.  The weight was no longer upon it, it was light as packthread, and
returned 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: the
rope had broken; our comrade had been hurled to the earth!

With a simultaneous impulse, we dropped upon our knees; and, crawling
forward to the brink of the precipice, looked over and downward.  We
could see nothing in the dark abysm that frowned below; and we waited
till 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 us
what it was--the howl of the prairie-wolf.  No human voice reached our
ears.  Alas, no!  Even a cry of pain would have been welcome, since it
would 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 heard
voices.  They came from the bottom of the cliff directly under us; but
there were two, and neither was the voice of the trapper.  It is easy to
distinguish the full intonation of the Saxon from the shrill treble of
the sons of Anahuac.  The voices were those of our foes.

Presently the light discovered them to us.  Two there were.  They were
on horseback, moving on the plain below, and close into the cliff.  We
saw them distinctly, but we saw not what we had expected--the mangled
body of our comrade!  The gleam, long continued, had given us full time
to scrutinise the ground.  We could have distinguished upon it any
object as large as a cat.  Rube, living or dead, was certainly not
there!

Had he fallen into the hands of the guerrilla?  The two we saw carried
lances, but no prisoner.  It was not likely they had captured him:
besides, we knew that Rube, unless badly crippled, would never have
surrendered without a struggle; and neither shot not shout had been
heard.

We were soon relieved from all uneasiness on this score.  The brigands
continued their conversation, and the light breeze wafted their voices
upwards, so that we could distinguish part of what was said.

"Carrambo!" exclaimed one impatiently; "you must have been mistaken?  It
was 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 of
the mesa--_vamos_!"

The hoof-strokes admonished us that they were passing onward to carry
out the design of the last speaker--who was no other than Ijurra
himself.

It was a relief to know that our comrade had not yet fallen into their
clutches.  How far he was injured, we could not have an idea.  The rope
had given way close to the top, and Rube had carried most of it down
with 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 that
he had sustained no serious injury.

But whither had he gone?  Had he but _crawled_ away, and was yet in the
neighbourhood 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 the
surrounding plain.

Garey and I were anxious about the result--the more so, that the
guerrilleros had heard his cry, and were in search of him.  He might
easily be found in such a naked spot.

We hastily formed the determination to cross the table summit to the
other side, and watch the movements of the two horsemen.

Guided by their voices, we once more knelt above them, at the rearmost
angle of the mound.  They had there halted to examine the ground, and
only waited for the flash; we, too, waited above them, and _within
range_.

"We kin fetch them out o' thar saddles?" whispered my companion.

I hesitated to give my assent; perhaps it was prudence that restrained
me, for I had now conceived hopes of a surer deliverance.

At that moment gleamed the lightning; the dark horsemen loomed large
under its yellow glare; they were less than fifty paces from the muzzles
of our guns: we could have sighted them with sure aim; and, bayed as we
had been, I was almost tempted to yield to the solicitations of my
companion.

Just then, an object came under our eyes that caused both of us to draw
back our half-levelled rifles--that object was the body of our comrade
Rube.

It was lying flat along the ground, the arms and legs stretched out to
their full extent, and the face buried deep in the grass.  From the
elevation at which we viewed it, it appeared like the hide of a young
buffalo, spread out to dry, and pinned tightly to the turf.  But we knew
it was not that; we knew it was the body of a man dressed in brown
buckskin--the body of the earless trapper!  It was not dead neither; no
dead body could have placed itself in such an attitude, for it lay
flattened along the turf like a gigantic newt.

The object of this attitude was evident to us, and our hearts beat with
a painful anxiety while the light flickered around.  The body was
scarcely five hundred yards out; but though perfectly visible from our
position, it must have been inconspicuous to the horsemen below; for as
soon as it darkened, we heard them, to our great relief, ride back
toward the front--Ijurra reiterating his doubts as they passed away.

Fortunate it was for both him and his companion they had not espied that
prostrate 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 form
flattened out as before; but the gloam of the prairie-grass rendered our
vision 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; and
it is needless to say that we recrossed the summit of the mesa with
lighter hearts and step more buoyant.

Of course we no longer speculated about making the descent; with the
fragment of rope left, that was impossible.  We were simply returning to
the front, to keep an eye upon the guerrilleros, and, if possible,
prevent them from approaching our horses--should they by any chance
discover that we had retreated from our position behind the rock.

We were the more anxious about our horses, now that we had less
apprehension for ourselves; at least I can answer for myself, and the
explanation is easy.  So long as I felt the probability that every
moment might be the last of my life, the fate of Moro and the white
steed was but a secondary consideration.  Now that I felt certain I
should survive this perilous escapade, the future once more urged its
claims; and I was anxious not only to preserve my own steed, but the
beautiful creature that had led me into all this peril, but whose
capture still promised its rich reward.

That all danger was past--that in a few hours we should be free--was the
full belief both of my companion and myself.  Perhaps you may not
comprehend from what _data_ we drew so confident and comfortable a
conclusion, though our reasoning was simple enough.  We knew that Rube
would reach the rancheria, and return with a rescue--that was all.

'Tis true we were not without some anxiety.  The rangers might no longer
be there?--the army might have marched?--perhaps the picket was
withdrawn?  Rube himself might be intercepted, or slain?

The last hypothesis gave us least concern.  We had full trust in the
trapper's ability to penetrate to the American camp--to the enemy's, if
necessary.  We had just been favoured with a specimen of his skill.
Whether the army had advanced or not, Rube would reach it before
morning, if he should have to steal a horse upon the way.  He would soon
find the rangers; and, even without orders, Holingsworth would _lend_
him a few--half-a-dozen of them would be enough.  In the worst view of
the case, there were stragglers enough about the camp--odd birds, that
could easily be enlisted for such a duty.  We had scarcely a doubt that
our comrade would come back with a rescue.

As to the time, we were left to conjectures.  It might be before
morning's light--it might not be before late in the following day, or
even the night after.  But that was a consideration that now weighed
lightly.  We could hold our aerial fortress for a week--a month--ay, far
longer, and against hundreds.  We could not be assailed.  With our
rifles to guard the cliff, no storming-party could approach--no forlorn
hope 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 in
showers.  Even on that lone summit, we found the means to assuage the
one and satisfy the other!

In crossing the table-top, we stumbled upon huge _echino-cacti_, that
grew over the ground like ant-hills or gigantic bee-hives.  They were
the _mamillaria_ of Quackenboss--dome-shaped, and some of them ten feet
in diameter.

Garey's knife was out in a trice; a portion of the spinous coat of the
largest was stripped off, its top truncated, and a bowl scooped in the
soft succulent mass.  In another minute we had assuaged our thirst from
this 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 of
light-green foliage were "pinons"--the "nut-pine" (_Pinus edulis_), of
which there are several species in Northern Mexico, whose cones contain
seeds edible and nutritious.  A few handfuls of these we gathered, and
hungered no more.  They would have been better roasted, but at that
moment we were contented to eat them raw.

No wonder, then, that with such a supply for the present, and such hopes
for 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 had
left them.  One of each file was mounted, while his companion, on foot,
paced to and fro in the intervals of the cordon.  Their measures were
cunningly taken; they were evidently determined we should not steal past
them in the darkness!

The lightning began to abate, and the intervals between the flashes
became longer and longer.

During one of these intervals, we were startled by the sound of
hoof-strokes at some distance off: it was the tramp of horses upon the
hard plain.

There is a difference between the hoof-stroke of a ridden horse and one
that is riderless, and the prairie-man is rarely puzzled to distinguish
them.  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 ascertained
only by _hearing_, for we could not distinguish an object six feet from
our faces--the darkness being almost palpable to the touch.

The sounds came from a considerable distance, but as they were
continually growing more distinct we could tell that the horsemen were
advancing _toward_ the mesa.

We drew no hope from this advent.  Rube could not yet have even reached
the rancheria.  The new-comers were El Zorro and his companion on their
return.

We were not kept long in doubt: the horsemen approached, and shouts and
salutations were exchanged between them and the guerrilleros, while the
horses of both parties neighed in response, as if they knew each other.

At this moment the lightning shone again, and to our surprise we
perceived 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 to
the enemy's strength.  Surely they would no longer hesitate to assail
our fortress behind the rock?  At least then our horses would be
captured?  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 our
astonishment, we perceived that no assault was to be made as yet.  We
saw them increase the strength of their cordon of sentries, and make
other dispositions to carry on the siege.

Evidently they regarded us as hunters do the grizzly bear, the lion, or
tiger--not to be attacked in our lair.  They dreaded the havoc which
they well knew would be made by our rifles and revolvers; and they
determined to reduce us by starvation.  On no other principle could we
account 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 had
appeared only at long intervals, now ceased altogether.  Its fitful
glare gave place to a softer, steadier light, for the moon had arisen,
and was climbing up the eastern sky.  Cumulus clouds still hung in the
heavens, slowly floating across the canopy; but their masses were
detached, and the azure firmament was visible through the spaces
between.  The beautiful planet Venus, and here and there a solitary
star, twinkled in these blue voids, or gleamed through the filmy
bordering of the clouds; but the chiefs of the constellations alone were
visible.  The moon's disc was clear and well defined, whiter from
contrast with the dark cumuli: and her beam frosted the prairie till the
grass looked hoar.  There was neither mist nor mirage; the electric
fluid had purged the atmosphere of its gases, and the air was cool,
limpid, and bracing.  Though the moon had passed the full, so brilliant
was her beam, that an object could have been distinguished far off upon
the 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, as
before, was shrouded in sombre darkness.

Up to this time, Garey and I had remained by the head of the little
gorge, through which we had ascended.  The moon was behind us, for the
guerrilla was on the western side of the mesa.  The shadow of the mound
was thrown far out upon the plain, and just beyond its well-defined edge
was the line of sentinels, thickly posted.  On our knees among the low
shrubbery, we were unseen by them, while we commanded a perfect view of
the whole troop, as they smoked, chattered, shouted, and sang--for they
gave such tokens of their jovial humour.

After quietly watching them for some time, Garey left me to take a turn
round the summit, and reconnoitre the opposite or eastern side.  In that
direction lay the rancheria; and if the picket was still stationed
there, we might soon expect the rescue.  My rangers were not the men to
tarry, called forth on such a duty; and, under Rube's guidance, they
would 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 out
upon the plain attracted my glance.  I fancied it was the figure of a
man; though it was prostrate and flattened against the ground, just as
old Rube had appeared when making his escape!

Surely it was not he?  I had but an indistinct view of it, for it was
full six hundred yards from the mesa, and directly beyond the line of
the guerrilleros.  Just then a cloud crossing the moon's disc, shrouded
the 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 first
noticed it; but nearer to the horsemen I perceived the same object, and
in the same attitude as before!

It was now within less than two hundred yards of the Mexican line, but a
bunch of tufted grass appeared to shelter it from the eyes of the
guerrilleros--since none of them gave any sign that it was perceived by
them.

From my elevated position, the grass did not conceal it.  I had a clear
view of the figure, and was certain it was the body of a man, and, still
more, of a _naked_ man--for it glistened under the sheen of the
moonlight, as only a naked body would have done.

Up to this time I had fancied, or rather _feared_, it might be Rube.  I
say feared--for I had no wish to see Rube, upon his return, present
himself in that fashion.

Surely he would not come back alone?  And why should he be thus playing
the 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 was
of 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 a
prairie-fire, had altered Rube's complexion to the true copper-tint; and
in point of colour, he had but little advantage over a full-blood
Indian.  But Rube would not have been naked; he never doffed his
buckskins.  Besides, the oily glitter of that body was not Rube's; his
"hide" would not have shone so under the moonlight.  No; the prostrate
form was not his.

Another cloud cast new shadows; and while these continued, I saw no more
of the skulking figure.

As the moon again shone forth, I perceived that it was gone from behind
the tuft of grass.

I scanned the ground in the immediate neighbourhood.  It was not to be
seen; but on looking farther out, I could just distinguish the figure of
a man, bent forward and rapidly gliding away.

I followed it with my eyes until it disappeared in the distance, as
though melting into the moonlight.

While gazing over the distant plain in the direction whence the figure
had retreated, I was startled at beholding, not one, but many forms
dimly 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 followed
another in single file, until a long line was traced against the sky
like the links of a gigantic chain.

Except in the narrow defile, or the forest-path, my rangers never rode
in that fashion.  It could not be they!

At this crisis a new thought came into my mind.  More than once in my
life had I witnessed a spectacle similar to that now under my eyes--more
than once had I looked upon it with dread.  That serried line was an old
acquaintance: 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.  The
party to whom he belonged was about to approach the mesa--perhaps with
the design of encamping there--he had been sent forward to reconnoitre
the ground.

What effect his tale would have, I could not guess.  I could see that
the horsemen were halted--perhaps awaiting the return of their
messenger.  They were too distant to be seen by the Mexicans; and the
minute after, they were also invisible to my eyes upon the
darkly-shadowed prairie.

Before communicating with Garey, I resolved to wait for another gleam of
moonlight, 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; and
then, to my surprise, I saw a clump of horses--not _horsemen_--upon the
prairie, and scarcely half-a-mile distant from the mesa!  Not one of
them was mounted, and, to all appearance, it was a drove of wild-horses
that had galloped up during the interval of darkness, and were now
standing silent and motionless.

I strained my eyes upon the distant prairie, but the dim horsemen were
no longer to be seen.  They must have ridden off beyond the range of
vision?

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 had
been all around the summit without seeing aught, and had returned to
satisfy himself that the guerrilla were still quiet.

"Hillow!" he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon the _caballada_.  "What
the darnation's yonder?  A drove o' wild hosses?  It's mighty strange
them niggers don't notice 'em!  By the etarnal--"

I know not what Garey meant to have said.  His words were drowned by the
wild yell that broke simultaneously from the Mexican line; and the next
moment the whole troop were seen springing to their saddles, and putting
themselves in motion.

We of course supposed that they had just discovered the caballada of
wild-horses, and it was that that was producing this sudden stampede.

What was our astonishment on perceiving that we ourselves were the cause
of the alarm; for the guerrilleros, instead of fronting to the plain,
rode closer up to the cliff, and screaming wildly, fired their carbines
at _us_!  Among the rest, we could distinguish the great gun of El
Zorro, and the hiss of its leaden bullet, as it passed close to our
ears!

We were puzzled at first to know how they had discovered us.  A glance
explained that the moon had risen higher in the heavens, and the shadow
cast by the mound had been gradually foreshortened.  While gazing out at
the caballada, we had incautiously kept our feet; and our figures,
magnified to gigantic proportions, were thrown forward upon the plain
directly under the eyes of our enemies.  They had but to look up to see
us where we stood.

Instantly we knelt down among the bushes, clutching our rifles.

The surprise occasioned by our appearance upon the cliff seemed to have
deprived our enemies, for the moment, of their habitual prudence, as
several of them rode boldly within range.  Perhaps they were some of the
late 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 that
guided the trapper's aim.  I saw him glancing along his barrel, and
heard the sharp crack.  I fancied I heard a stifled groan from below,
and the next moment the white horse was seen galloping out into the
moonlight, but the rider was no longer upon his back.

Another cloud passed over the moon, and the plain was again shrouded
from our sight.  Garey was proceeding to reload, when a cry arose amidst
the darkness, that caused him to pause and listen.  The cry was again
repeated, and then uttered continuously with that wild intonation which
can alone proceed from the throat of the savage.  It was not the
guerrilla that was uttering that cry; it was the yell of the Indian
warrior.

"Comanche war-hoop!" cried Garey, after listening a moment.  "Comanche
war-hoop! by the etarnal!  Hooraw! the Injuns are upon 'em!"

Amidst the cries, we could hear the rapid trampling of horses, and the
ground appeared to vibrate under the quick heavy tread.

Each moment the strokes sounded nearer.  The savages were charging the
guerrilla!

The moon shot forth from the cloud.  There was no longer a doubt.  The
wild-horses were mounted; each carried an Indian naked to the waist--his
painted body glaring red in the moonlight, and terrible to behold.

By this time the Mexicans had all mounted and faced, towards the
unexpected foe, but with evident signs of irresolution in their ranks.
They would never stand the charge--no, never.  So said Garey; and he was
right.

The savages had advanced within less than a hundred paces of the Mexican
line, when they were observed to pull suddenly up.  It was but a
momentary halt--just time enough to enable them to mark the formation of
their foes, and send a flight of arrows into their midst.  That done,
they dashed onward, uttering their wild yells, and brandishing their
long 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 the
retreat began.  The whole troop turned its back upon the enemy, and
spurring their horses to a gallop, came sweeping round the base of the
mesa in headlong flight.

The Indians, uttering their demoniac yells, followed as fast.  They were
rendered more furious, that their hated foe was likely to escape them.
The latter were indebted to us for having put them upon the alert.  But
for that circumstance, the Indians would have charged them while
dismounted, and far different might have been their fate.  Mounted and
ready for flight, most of them would probably get clear.

The moment we saw the direction the chase was about to take, Garey and I
rushed across the summit to the other side.

On arriving at the brow of the precipice, our view was perfect, and we
could see both parties as they passed along, its base directly below us.
Both were riding in straggling clumps, and scarcely two hundred paces
separated the rearmost of the pursued from the headmost of the pursuers.
The latter still uttered their war-cry, while the former now rode in
silence--their breath bound, and their voices hushed in the deathlike
stillness of terror.

All at once a cry arose from the guerrilla--short, quick, and
despairing--the voice of some new consternation; at the same moment the
whole troop were seen to pull up.

We looked for the cause of this extraordinary conduct; our eyes and ears
both 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 in
the 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 I
recognised the heavy tread of the American horse.  Still more certain
were we about that hoarse "hurrah."  Neither Indian nor Mexican could
have uttered that well-known shout.

"Hooraw!--the rangers!" cried Garey, as he echoed the cry at the full
pitch of his voice.

The guerrilleros, stupified by surprise at sight of this new enemy, had
paused for a moment--no doubt fancying it was another party of Indians.
Their halt was of short duration; the dim light favoured them; rifles
already 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 to
intercept them; but the rangers, already close, up, had just made a
similar movement, and savage and Saxon were now obliquing towards each
other!

The moon, that for some minutes had been yielding but a faint light,
became suddenly eclipsed by a cloud, and the darkness was now greater
than ever.  Garey and I saw no more of the strife; but we heard the
shock of the opposing bands; we heard the war-whoop of the savage
mingling with the ranger's vengeful shout: we heard the "crack, crack,
crack" of yager rifles, and the quick detonations of revolvers--the
clashing of sabre-blades upon spear-shafts--the ring of breaking steel--
the neighing of steeds--the victor's cry of triumph--and the deep
anguished groan of the victim.

With anxious hearts, and nerves excited to their utmost, we stood upon
the cliff, and listened to these sounds of dread import.

Not long did they last.  The fierce struggle was soon over.  When the
moon gleamed forth again, the battle was ended.  Prostrate forms, both
of man and horse, were lying upon the plain.

Far to the south, a dark clump was seen disappearing over the prairie's
edge: it was the cowardly guerrilla.  To the west, horsemen galloped
away, alone, or in straggling groups; but the cheer of triumph that
reached us from the scene of strife told us who were the masters of the
ground.  The rangers had triumphed.

"Whur ur ye, Bill?" cried a voice from the bottom of the cliff, which
both of us easily recognised.

"Hyar I be," answered Garey.

"Wal, we've gin them Injuns goss, I reck'n; but cuss the luck, the
yeller-bellies hev got clur off.  Wagh!"



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

A CHAPTER OF EXPLANATIONS.

The fight could not have lasted more than ten minutes.  The whole
skirmish had the semblance of a moonlight dream, interrupted by
interludes of darkness.  So rapid had been the movements of the forces
engaged, that after the first fire not a gun was reloaded.  As for the
guerrilleros, the Indian war-cry seemed to have shaken the pieces out of
their hands, for the ground where they had first broken off was
literally strewed with carbines, escopettes, and lances.  The great gun
of El Zorro was found among the spoils.

Notwithstanding the shortness of the affair, it proved sufficiently
tragical to both Mexicans and Indians; five of the guerrilleros had bit
the dust, and twice that number of savage warriors lay lifeless upon the
plain--their bodies glaring under the red war-paint, as if shrouded in
blood.  The Mexicans lay near the foot of the mesa, having fallen under
the first fire of the rangers, delivered as they galloped up.  The
Indians were farther out upon the plain, where they had dropped to the
thick rapid detonations of the revolvers, that, so long as the warriors
held their ground, played upon them with fearful effect.  They may have
heard of this weapon, and perhaps have seen a revolver in the hands of
some trapper or traveller, but, to my knowledge, it was the first time
they had ever encountered a band of men armed with so terrible a power
to destroy; for the rangers were indeed the first military organisation
that carried Colt's pistol into battle--the high cost of the arm having
deterred the government from extending it to other branches of the
service.

Nor did the rangers themselves come unscathed out of the fight; two had
dropped out of their saddles, pierced by the Comanche spear; while
nearly a dozen were more or less severely wounded by arrows.

While Quackenboss was climbing the cliff, Garey and I found time to talk
over the strange incidents to which we had been witness.  We were aided
by explanations from below, but without these we had no difficulty in
comprehending all.

The Indians were a band of Comanches, as their war-cry had already made
known to us.  Their arrival on the ground at that moment was purely
accidental, so far as we or the Mexicans were concerned: it was a
war-party, and upon the war-trail, with the intention of reiving a rich
Mexican town on the other side of the Rio Grande, some twenty leagues
from the rancheria.  Their spy had discovered the horsemen by the mesa,
and made them out to be Mexicans--a foe which the lordly Comanche holds
in supreme contempt.  Not so contemptible in his eyes are Mexican
horses, silver-studded saddles, speckled serapes, mangas of fine cloth,
bell-buttoned breeches, arms, and accoutrements: and it was to sweep
this paraphernalia that the attack had been made; though hereditary
hatred of the Spanish race--old as the conquest--and revenge for more
recent wrongs, were of themselves sufficient motives to have impelled
the Indians to their hostile attempt.

All this we learned from one of their braves, who remained wounded upon
the 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, abandoned
their design, and returned to their mountain fastnesses sadly humbled.

The rest of the affair was still of easier explanation to Garey and
myself.  Rube, as we conjectured, had arrived safe at the rancheria; and
in ten minutes after his story had been told, fifty rangers, with
Holingsworth at their head, rode rapidly for the mesa.

Rube had guided them with his usual craft.  Like the Indians, they had
been moving forward during the intervals of darkness; but, coming in the
opposite direction, they had kept the mound between them and their foe,
and, trusting to this advantage, were in hopes of taking the
guerrilleros by surprise.

They had approached almost within charging distance, when the war-whoop
of the savage sounded in their ears, and they were met by the retreating
band.

Knowing that all who came that way must be enemies, they delivered their
fire upon the approaching horsemen, and then galloping forward, found
themselves face to face with the painted warriors of the plains.

The mutual surprise of rangers and Indians, caused by the unexpected
rencontre, proved a happy circumstance for the cowardly guerrilla--who,
during the short halt of their double pursuers, and the confused fight
that followed, were enabled to gallop off beyond reach of pursuit.

It was a curious conjecture what would have been the result had the
rangers not arrived on the ground.  Certainly the Indians would have
rescued us from our not less savage foes.  My companion and I might have
remained undiscovered, but we should have lost our precious horses.  As
it was, we were soon once more upon their backs; and, free from all
thought of peril, now joyfully turned our faces towards the rancheria.

Wheatley rode by my side.  Holingsworth with a party remained upon the
ground to collect the "spoils" and bury our unfortunate comrades.  As we
moved away, I turned, and for a moment gazed back on the scene of
strife.  I saw Holingsworth dismounted on the plain.  He was moving
among the bodies of the five guerrilleros; one after another, he turned
them over, till the moon glared upon their ghastly features.  So odd
were his movements, and so earnest did he appear, that one might have
fancied him engaged in searching for a fallen friend, or more like some
prowling 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 seen
to turn away, and the unconcerned manner in which he moved from the spot
told 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 up
the wrong tree--at least so thinks President Polk.  They say we can't
reach Mexico on this line; so we're all going to be drawn off, and
shipped 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 is
rumoured that old `Rough and Ready' is to be recalled, and we're to be
commanded by that book martinet Scott.  It's shabby treatment of Taylor,
after what the old vet has accomplished.  They're afraid of him setting
up for President next go.  Hang their politics!  It's a confounded
shame, by thunder!"

I could partly understand Wheatley's reluctance to be ordered upon the
new line of operations.  The gay lieutenant was never troubled with
ennui; his leisure hours he contrived to pass pleasantly enough in
company with Conchita, the plump, dark-eyed daughter of the alcalde;
more than once, I had unwittingly interrupted them in their amorous
dalliance.  The rancheria with its mud huts and dusty lanes, in the eyes
of 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 us
desired a change of quarters.

As yet, no order had arrived to call the picket in, but my companion
affirmed that the camp-rumour was a substantial one, and believed that
we 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 simple
reason, 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 better
by keeping the thing dark--at all events, till we should be sure you
were dead lost.  We hadn't given up all hope.  The greaser who guided
you out, brought back word that two trappers had gone after you.  From
his description, I knew that queer old case Rube, and was satisfied that
if anything remained of you, he was the man to find it."

"Thanks, my friend! you have acted wisely; your discreet conduct will
save 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 those
hang-dog greasers that used to loaf about the village when we first
came?  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 may
walk through the whole settlement without seeing a Mexican, except the
old 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 `Quien
sabe?'  Of course they're off to join some band of guerrillas.  By
thunder! when I think of it, I wouldn't wonder if they were among that
lot we've just scattered.  Sure as shootin' they are!  I saw
Holingsworth examine the five dead ones as we rode off.  He'll know
them, I guess, and can tell us if any of our old acquaintances are among
them."

Knowing more of this matter than Wheatley himself, I enlightened him as
to the guerrilleros and their leader.

"Thought so, by thunder!  Rafael Ijurra!  No wonder Holingsworth was so
keen to start--in such a hurry to reach the mound, he forgot to tell me
who we were after.  Deuce take it! what fools we've been to let these
fellows slide.  We should have strung up every man of them when we first
reached the place--we should, by thunder!"

For some minutes, we rode on in silence.  Twenty times a question was
upon my lips but I refrained from putting it, in hopes that Wheatley
might have something more to tell me--something of more interest than
aught he had yet communicated.  He remained provokingly silent.

With the design of drawing him out, I assumed a careless air, and
inquired--

"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!" he
added, correcting himself, while I could perceive that he spoke in a
peculiar 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 of
badinage; "but there appears to be _somebody_ mighty uneasy about you.
A slip of a Mexican boy has been backward and forward something less
than a million of times.  It's plain somebody sends the boy; but he's a
close little shaver that same--he won't tell either who sends him, or
what's his business: he only inquires if you have returned, and looks
dead down in the mouth when he's told no.  I have noticed that he comes
and goes on the _road that leads to the hacienda_."

The last words were spoken with a distinct emphasis.  "We might have
arrested the little fallow as a spy," continued Wheatley, in a tone of
quiet irony, "but we fancied he might have been sent by some friend of
yours."

The speaker concluded with another marked emphasis, and under the
moonlight I could see a smile playing across his features.  More than
once I had "chaffed" my lieutenant about Conchita; he was having his
revenge.

I was not in a mood to take offence; my companion could have taken any
liberty with me at that moment--his communication had fallen like sweet
music upon my ears; and I rode forward with the proud consciousness that
I was not forgotten.  Isolina was true.

Soon after, my eyes rested upon a shining object; it was the gilded vane
of the little capilla, and beneath glistened the white vails of the
hacienda, bathed in the milky light of the moon.  My heart beat with
strange emotions as I gazed upon the well-known mansion, and thought of
the 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 eastern
horizon as we rode into the rancheria.  I no longer felt hunger.  Some
of the more provident of the rangers had brought with them well-filled
haversacks, and had made me welcome to the contents.  From their
canteens I had satisfied my thirst, and Wheatley as usual carried his
free flask.

Relieved of the protracted strain upon my nerves--of fear and vigil--I
felt deadly weary, and scarcely undressing, I flung myself upon my
leathern _catre_, and at once fell asleep.

A few hours' repose had the desired effect, and restored both the
strength of my body and the vigour of my mind.  I awoke full of health
and hope.  A world of sweet anticipations was before me.  The sky and
fortune 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 his
neck, as if conscious of the admiration he excited.  The rangers, the
poblanas, the hucksters of the piazza, even some sulky leperos, stood
near, 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 care
bestowed upon my toilette.  After more mature reflection, I abandoned
this design.

I was influenced by a variety of considerations--one among others, being
a delicate apprehension that a persona visit from me might compromise
the family at the hacienda.  The _patriotic_ sentiment was every day
growing more intense.  Even the acceptance of a present was a dangerous
matter; but the steed was not to be a gift--only a return for the
favourite that had fallen by my hand--and I was not to appear in the
character of a donor.

My sable groom, therefore, would convey the beautiful captive.  Already
the white lazo, formed into a halter, was adjusted around the animal's
head, and the negro only awaited orders to lead him away.

I confess that at that moment I felt somewhat annoyed at the publicity
of my affair.  My rough rangers were men of keen intelligence.  I could
tell from some whispers that had reached me, that one and all of them
knew _why_ I had gone upon the wild hunt, and I dreaded their
good-humoured satire.  I would have given something at that moment to
have rendered the steed invisible--to have been able to transport him to
his destination, Venus-like, under cover of a cloud.  I thought of
waiting for the friendly shelter of night.

Just then, however, an incident occurred which gave me the very
opportunity I wanted--a scene so ludicrous, that the steed was no longer
the 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 that
there was less money expended upon his outward man; but partly from his
ungainly form and loose untidy habits, and more, perhaps, from the wear
and tear caused by his botanising excursions, a suit of broadcloth did
not 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 true
aim that had brought down one of the live guerrilleros.  On his
asserting this, his comrades had laughed at it, as an idle vaunt; but
Quackenboss proved his assertion to be correct by picking his bullet out
of the man's body, and holding it up before their eyes.  The peculiar
"bore" of his rifle rendered the bullet easy of identification, and all
agreed that Lige had shot his man.

By the laws of ranger-war, the spoils of this particular individual
became the property of Quackenboss; and the result was, that he had
shaken off his tattered rags, and now appeared in the piazza in full
Mexican costume--comprising calzoneros, and calzoncillos, sash and
serape, jacket and glazed hat, botas with gigantic spurs--in short, a
complete set of ranchero habiliments!

Never was such a pair of legs encased in Mexican velveteens--never were
two such arms thrust into the sleeves of an embroidered _jaqueta_; and
so odd was the _tout ensemble_ of the ranger thus attired, that his
appearance in the piazza was hailed by a loud burst of laughter, both
from his comrades and the natives who stood around.  Even the gloomy
Indians showed their white teeth, and joined in the general chorus.

But this was not the end.  Among other spoils, Lige had made capture of
a Comanche mustang; and as his own war-horse had been for a long time on
the decline, this afforded him an excellent opportunity for a remount.
Some duty of the day had called him forth, and he now appeared in the
piazza leading the mustang, to which he had transferred his own saddle
and bridle.  A fine handsome horse it appeared.  More than one of his
comrades 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 were
hardly snug in the saddle, when the wicked Comanche "humped" his back,
and entered upon a round of kicking which seemed to exhibit every pose
and attitude of equestrian exercise.  First his hind feet, then his fore
ones, then all together, could be seen glancing in the air.  Now a hoof
whizzed past the ear of the affrighted rider, now a set of teeth
threatened his thighs, while every moment he appeared in danger of being
hurled with violence to the earth.  The sombrero had long since parted
from his head, and the rifle from his hand; and what with the flapping
of the wide trousers, the waving of the loose serape, the dancing of the
steel scabbard, the distracted motion of the rider's arms, his lank
streaming hair, and look of terror--all combined to form a spectacle
sufficiently 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 kept
his 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 now
lasted for several minutes, he was still safe in the saddle.  He was
winning 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 his
firm seat discovered.  One of the bystanders, sharper than the rest, had
chanced to look under the belly of the mustang, and the next moment
shouted out--

"Hoy! look yonder! by Geehorum, _his spars are clinched_!"

All eyes were lowered, and a fresh peal of laughter broke forth from the
crowd as they perceived that this was in reality the case.

Lige, upon mounting--under the suspicion that the mustang was disposed
for a fling--had clutched firmly with his legs; and these, on account of
their extreme length, completely enveloped the body of the animal, so
that his heels met underneath.  He had forgotten his new spurs, the
rowels of which, six inches in diameter, irritated the mustang, and were
no doubt the cause of such violent kicking.  These, after a few turns
had got "locked," and of course held Quackenboss as firmly as if he had
been strapped to the saddle.  But as the rowels were now buried in the
ribs of the mustang, the fierce brute, maddened with the pain, only grew
more furious at each fling, and it was natural enough he should do his
utmost to rid himself of so cruel a rider.

How long he might have kept up the pitching frolic before his
involuntary tormentor could have freed himself, is a matter of
conjecture.  It would have been an unfortunate "fix" to have been placed
in, alone upon the prairies.

Lige, however, found a compassionate bystander; who, having flung his
lazo around the neck of the mustang brought the spectacle to a
termination.



CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

A LOVER ON THE TRAIL.

Taking advantage of the distraction caused by Quackenboss and his
troubles, I despatched the black upon his interesting errand, and with
no slight anxiety awaited the result.

From my position on the roof, I saw my messenger climb the hill, leading
the 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 the
escalera, 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 this
mere phrase of compliment.

My man appeared better satisfied.  A gold _onza_ gleamed in his purple
palm--a handsome perquisite.

"By whom given?"  I inquired.

"Golly, mass cap'n, a gal guv it!  De handsomest quaderoom gal dis nigga
ever see."

Beyond a doubt, Isolina herself was the donor!

I could have broken the rascal's thick skull, but that the queenly
douceur gave proof of the satisfaction with which my offering had been
received.  Even on this trivial circumstance, I built my hopes of yet
receiving 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 commenced
their clangour, and other notes of rejoicing fell upon the ear.  The
poblanas appeared in their gayest attire--the Indians in bright naguas,
with red and purple threads twisted in their black hair; the denizens of
the ranchitos were pouring into the piazza, and processions were being
formed 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 painted
maskers; and there were Pilate and the Centurion, and the Saviour--a
spectacle absurd and unnatural; and yet a spectacle that may be
witnessed every week in a Mexican village, and which, with but slight
variation, has been exhibited every week for three centuries!

I had no eyes for this disgusting fanfarronade of a degrading
superstition.  Sick of the sight, wearied with the sounds, I had given
orders for my horse to be saddled, intending to ride forth and seek
repose for my spirit amid the silent glades of the chapparal.

While waiting for my steed, an object came under my eyes that quickened
the beatings of my pulse: my gaze had been long turned in one
direction--upon the hacienda of Don Ramon de Vargas.

Just then, I saw emerging from its gate, and passing rapidly down the
hill, a horse with a rider upon his back.

The snow-white colour of this horse, and the scarlet manga of the
rider--both contrasting with the green of the surrounding landscape--
could not escape observation even at that distance, and my eyes at once
caught 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 upon
that fair form--the rider was Isolina.

She was passing down the slope that stretched from the hacienda to the
river, and the minute after, the thick foliage of the platanus trees
shrouded the shining meteor from my sight.

I noticed that she halted a moment on the edge of the woods, and fancied
that she gazed earnestly towards the village; but the road she had taken
led almost in the opposite direction.

I chafed with impatience for my horse.  My resolve, made on the impulse
of 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 of
yucca, and reaching the open country, pressed my horse into a gallop.

My road lay up the river, through a heavily timbered bottom of gum and
cotton-woods.  These were thickly beset with the curious _tillandsia_,
whose silvery festoons, stretching from branch to branch, shrouded the
sun, causing amongst the tree-trunks the obscurity of twilight.

In the midst of one of these shadowy aisles, I met or passed some one: I
saw that it was a Mexican boy; but the sombre light, and the rapidity
with which I was riding, prevented me from noting anything more.  The
lad shouted after me, uttering some words, which were drowned by the
hoof-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 knew
the voice and the lad.  I recollected a sort of errand-boy attached to
the hacienda, and whom I had seen more than once at the rancheria.  I
now remembered the badinage of Wheatley, and would have returned to
question the youth; but I had left him too far in the rear.  After a
moment's reflection, I spurred on.

I soon arrived at the base of the hill on which stood the hacienda; and
here leaving the main road, I followed a bridle-path that skirted the
hill.

A few hundred yards brought me to the spot where I had last observed the
object of my pursuit.

The hoof-track of the white horse now guided me, and upon his trail I
entered the woods.

For some distance, it followed a well-trodden path--a cattle-track--but
all at once it diverged from this, and struck off into a heavily
timbered 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.  A
close underwood of arundinaria and sabal palms shut up the way and the
view; trailing roots obstructed progress below; while higher up, the
trelliswork of llianas, bamboo briars, sarsaparilla, and gigantic
grape-vines, rendered it necessary to bend down in the saddle in order
to pass onward.

To my surprise I noticed all this.  For what purpose could she have
chosen such a path?  Was it indeed Isolina I had seen?  A white horse
and a scarlet manga are not uncommon things in Mexico.  It might not
be--But the hoof-print--

I dismounted and examined it: I knew it at a glance--it was that of the
noble 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, here
turning 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 that
I was climbing a hill.  The woods became more open as I advanced--here
and there alternating with glades--the trees were of slender growth, and
the foliage lighter and thinner.  I was no longer among the heavy trunks
of platanus and liquidambar.  The _leguminoseae_ were the prevailing
trees; and many beautiful forms of inga, acacia, and mimosa, grew
around.  Myrtles, too, mingled their foliage with wild limes, their
branches twined with flowering parasites, as the climbing _combretum_,
with its long flame-like clusters, convolvuli, with large white
blossoms, 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 every
form of inflorescence.  There were the trumpet-shaped bignonias--
convolvuli in pendulous bells--syngenesists disposed in spreading
umbels; and over them, closely set upon tall spikes, rose the showy
blossoms of the bromelias--aloes and _dasylyrium_.  Even from the tops
of the highest trees hung gaudy catkins, wafted to and fro by the light
breeze, 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, and
enjoy, during their short and transient existence, both pleasure and
pain.  The bright warm sun is their happiness, while the cold cloudy sky
is the reflection of their misery.

As I rode onward, another reflection passed through my mind; it was
caused by my perceiving that the atmosphere was charged with pleasant
perfumes--literally loaded with fragrance.  I perceived, moreover, that
the same breeze carried upon its breath the sweet music of birds, whose
notes sounded clear, soft, and harmonious.

What closet-slanderer hath asserted that the flowers of this fair land
are devoid of fragrance--that its birds, though brightly plumed, are
songless?

Ah, Monsieur Buffon! with all your eloquence, such presumptive assertion
will one day strip you of half your fame.  You could never have
approached within two hundred paces of a _Stanhopea_, of the _epidendrum
odoratum_, of the _datura grandiflora_, with its mantle of snow-white
blossoms?  You could never have passed near the pothos plant, the
serbereae, and tabernamon taneae, the callas, eugenias, ocotas, and
nictiginas?--you could never have ridden through a chapparal of acacias
and mimosas--among orchids whose presence fills whole forests with
fragrant aroma?

And more, Monsieur! you could never have listened to the incomparable
melody of the mock-bird--the full, charming notes of the blue
song-thrush--the sweet warbling voices of the silvias, finches, and
tanagers, that not only adorn the American woods with their gorgeous
colours, 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 of
you, and silly as sad, to have yielded to the prejudice of a slender
spirit, and denied their existence.  Both exist--the singing birds and
the fragrant flowers--both exist, and thou art gone.

On such reflections I dwelt but for a moment; they were merely the
natural impressions of surrounding objects--short-lived sensations,
almost instantaneously passing away.  The soul, benighted with love, has
neither eye nor ear for aught beyond the object of its passion.  From
the contemplation of that only does it derive pleasure; and even the
fairest pictures of nature may be spread before it without challenging
observation.  It was only that the one through which I was passing was
of such transcendent beauty--so like to some scene of paradise--that I
could not help regarding it with momentary admiration.

But my eyes soon returned to the earth, and once more taking up the
trace of the steed, I rode on.

I had advanced near the summit.  The tracks were quite recent; the
branches that had been touched by the flanks of the horse had not yet
ceased to vibrate; the rider could not be far in advance.  I fancied I
heard the hoof-stroke.

Silently I pressed on, expecting every moment to catch the gleam of the
scarlet manga, or the white sheen of the steed.

A few paces farther, and both were under my eyes, glittering through the
feathery frondage of the mimosas.  I had followed the true track.  The
rider was Isolina.

I saw that she had halted.  She had reached the top of the hill, where
the 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 a
summer glade.  The open summit commanded a view of the surrounding
country--for the hill was a high one--while the charming spot itself
enjoyed perfect privacy and repose.

In this glade, she had drawn up, and was sitting silently in the saddle
as if to enjoy the warbling of birds, the hum of the bees, and the
fragrance of flowers.

I myself drew rein, and remained for some moments in a state of
hesitancy, as to whether I should ride forward or go back.  A feeling of
shame was upon me, and I believe I would have turned my horse and stolen
gently away, but just then I saw the fair rider draw forth from her
bosom something that glittered in the sun.  It was a watch, and she
appeared to note the time.  I observed that she looked anxiously over
the tops of the low trees, in the direction of the plain below.

These circumstances, trivial as they might appear, produced within me a
quick sense of pain.  I felt as if hot steel was passing through my
heart.  I had ridden to my ruin--I had followed to be present at an
assignation.  Thus only could I explain the solitary ride, and by such
difficult and devious paths; thus only could I account for the
oft-repeated anxious glance, the ear acutely bent.  Beyond a doubt, she
was 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 parrots
screeched his name--the _aras_ in hoarse concert cried out "_Ijurra_!"

The name nerved me, as blood knits the sinews of the tiger.  Once more
my fingers closed upon my bridle, my feet became firm in the stirrups,
and heart and arm swelled to their full strength.  'Twas but a light
rapier that hung against my thigh--no matter; he might be no better
weaponed; but even armed from head to heel, I feared him not.  Three
passions--hatred, jealousy, and revenge--supplied an arm of treble
strength, and under the influence of these I felt bold and sure of
conquest.  Yes, I felt at that moment, as though I could have slain my
hated rival with my naked hands.

I was no longer troubled with scruples of etiquette.  No; this monster
owed me satisfaction--life itself: he had striven to take mine; and now
his should be forfeit to my vengeance.  On that spot--even in her
presence--should he die, or I myself become the victim.  The two of us
should never go thence alive.  "Oh, that he may reach the ground while
my blood is thus hot, and my hand ready!"

The fierce thoughts stirring within me must have roused my horse, for at
that moment he tossed his head and neighed wildly.  A response came like
an 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 to
face with Isolina.



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

A DECLARATION ON HORSEBACK.

Face to face with my beautiful brunette.  Her eyes flashed upon me with
an expression of surprise.  I felt abashed by the glance; my conduct was
not _en regle_.

I bethought me of an apology.  What excuse could I offer for such
unceremonious intrusion?  Accident?  She would not believe it; the time
and the place were against such a supposition.  With an intellect like
hers, it would be idle to adopt so shallow an artifice.  No; I would not
dissemble; I would boldly avow the truth.  Jealousy had rendered me
reckless 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 to
say it will be better for him he should not arrive at all."

"My cousin?--better not arrive?  Holy Trinity, capitan!  I do not
comprehend you!"

Her large brown eyes were rolling in astonishment.  I was as much
puzzled as she, but I had begun my explanation, and was determined to
carry it to the end.

"Then, Senorita de Vargas, I shall be more explicit.  If Rafael Ijurra
appear upon this ground, either he or I leave it not alive.  He has
attempted my life, and I have vowed to take his, whenever and wherever I
may 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 should
not 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 this
interview to thank you for your noble gift.  You meet me with anger in
your 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 invite
you to our house; so I have chosen this pretty glade for my
drawing-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!  No
more flattery, I pray; we are no longer _en masque_.  Face to face, let
us be candid with each other."

"With all my heart I accept the conditions.  Candour is the very thing I
desire, 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 first
ask 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 you
expected?"

"Cyprio!  Ha, ha, ha!  Who should Cyprio be but my mozo; he who carried
my 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 may
return to the house.  _Carrambo_ capitan! both he and you must have sped
well.  I did not expect you for half-an-hour; but you soldiers are soon
in the saddle.  So much the better, for it is getting late, and I have a
great deal to say to you."

A light had broken upon me.  'Twas Cyprio I had passed in the forest
shade; 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 the
timepiece had been consulted--for whom those earnest glances had been
given!

The bitter moments were past, and my heart swelled anew with proud and
pleasant emotions.

As yet she knew not that I had come without invitation.  Cyprio, at the
word of command, had gone off without making any reply, and my prompt
appearance upon the ground was still unexplained.

I was about to account for it, and offer some apology for my brusque
behaviour, when I was challenged to the confession I had just promised.

Minor thoughts gave way before the important purpose I had formed, and
to which the banter now recalled me.  So fair an opportunity might never
offer again.  In the vicissitudes of a soldier's life, the chance of
to-day should not be disregarded--to-morrow may bring change either in
the scene or the circumstances; and I was skilled enough in love-lore to
know 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 under
the influence of such cunning cognisance at that moment.  I acted not by
volition, but rather under pressure of a passion that held complete
mastery over my will, and compelled me to the declaration I was about to
make.

It was simple enough--three little words in either of the two sweet
tongues in which we understood each other.  I chose the one--of all
others most attuned to the tones of the loving heart--and bending low to
that fair face, and gazing into the liquid depths of those large
inquiring eyes, I whispered the sweet, though oft-repeated phrase--

"_Yo te amo_."

The words quivered upon my lips, but their tone proved the sincerity in
which I had spoken.  No doubt it was further manifest by the earnestness
of my manner as I awaited her reply.

The habitual smile had departed from her lips; the damask red deepened
and mounted higher upon her cheeks; the dark fringes drooped downward,
and half-concealed the burning orbs beneath: the face of the gay girl
had suddenly assumed the serious air of womanhood.

At first, I was terrified by the expression, and could scarcely control
my dread; but I drew hope from the flushed cheek, the roseate neck, the
swelling 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 voice
tremble--"Senor, you promised to be candid; you have been so: are you
equally _sincere_?"

"I have spoken from the depth of my soul."

The long lashes were raised, and the love-light gleamed in her liquid
eyes; 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, or
fancied so, the gay _insouciance_ that springs from indifference.  To me
it 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; I
made no reply, but with eyes upon the ground, sat in my saddle, feeling
like 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 had
never listened to its siren tones!

I heard the hoof-stroke of her horse; and, looking up, saw that she was
moving away from the spot.  Was she going to leave me thus?

She spurred towards the centre of the glade, where the ground was
higher, and there again pulled up.

"Come hither, cavallero!" she cried, beckoning to me with her small
gloved 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 have
put that dreaded interrogatory--often, I fear too often."

I looked at her with surprise.  There was a touch of bitterness in the
tone.  The gay smile was gone; her eyelids drooped; her look was turned
upon 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 but
little interest for you."

She answered me with a smile of strange intelligence.  I fancied there
was 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 love
me!"

"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; she
appeared struggling with some emotion.

"Yes, more than thanks," she replied at length; "gratitude! three things
more--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.  Look
around you!--north, south, east, and west--the land you see is mine; be
it yours, if you will."

"Isolina!"

"This, too, can I bestow,"--she held forth her little hand, which I
clasped 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 to
understand what was said; they had gradually moved closer and closer,
till their muzzles touched and their steel curbs rang together.  At the
last words, they came side by side, as if yoked in a chariot.  It
appeared delight to them to press their proud heaving flanks against
each other, while their riders, closing in mutual clasp, leaned over and
met 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 be
seen riding together, and Isolina went away first, leaving me in the
glade.

We had bidden adieu in that phrase of pleasant promise, "_hasta la
manana_" (until to-morrow).  To-morrow we should meet again.  To-morrow,
and to-morrow, we should visit that sweet spot, repeat our burning
words, 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 the
calm repose of perfect contentment.  My heart's longings had been
gratified; it had found all that it desired--even to the full
reciprocity of its passion.  What would it more?  There is no more of
mundane bliss.  Life has no felicity to cope with requited love; it
alone can give us a foretaste of future joys; by it only may we form
some idea of the angel existence of heaven.

The world without was in harmony with the spirit within.  The scene
around me was rose-coloured.  The flowers appeared fresher in tint, and
breathed a sweeter fragrance in the air; the hum of the homeward bee,
laden with treasures for his love-queen, fell with a dreamy pleasance
upon the ear; the voices of the birds sounded softer and more musical;
even the _aras_ and paroquets, chanting in a more subdued tone, no
longer pronounced that hated name; and the tiny Mexican doves, _las
palomitas_--scarcely so large as finches--walked with proud gait over
the ground, or side by side upon the branches of the myrtles--like types
of tender love--told their heart's tale in soft and amorous cooing.

Long could I have lingered by that consecrated spot, even _hasta la
manana_, but duty claimed me, and its calls must not be disregarded.
Already the setting sun was flinging purple beams over the distant
prairie; and, heading my horse down the hill, I once more plunged under
the shadows of the mimosas.

Absorbed in my supreme happiness, I took no heed of aught else; I
noticed neither track nor path.

Had I left my horse to himself, most likely he would have taken the
right road; but in my reverie, perhaps I had mechanically dragged upon
the rein, and turned him from it.  Whether or not, after a lapse of
time, I found myself in the midst of thick woods, with not the semblance
of a trail to guide me; and I knew not whether I was riding in the right
direction.  I ought rather to say that I knew the contrary--else I must
long before have reached the clearings around the village.

Without much reflection, I turned in a new direction, and rode for some
time without striking a trail.  This led me once more into doubt, and I
made head back again, but still without success.  I was in a
forest-plain, but I could find no path leading anywhere; and amid the
underwood 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 the
moss-covered trees, it was nearly dark.  Night would be down in a few
minutes, and in all probability I should be obliged to spend it in the
forest--by no means an agreeable prospect, and the less so that I was
thinly clad and hungry.  True, I might pass some hours in sweet
reflection upon the pleasant incident of the day--I might dream rosy
dreams--but, alas! the soul is sadly under the influence of the body;
the spiritual must ever yield to the physical, and even love itself
becomes 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 commenced
falling in large heavy drops.

After another unsuccessful effort to strike a trail, I pulled up and sat
listening.  My eyes would no longer avail me; perhaps my ears might do
better service.

And so it chanced.  The report of a rifle reached them, apparently fired
some hundred yards off in the woods.

Considering that I was upon hostile ground, such a sound might have
caused me alarm; but I knew from the sharp whip-like crack that the
piece was a hunter's rifle, and no Mexican ever handled a gun of that
kind.  Moreover, I had heard, closely following upon the shot, a dull
concussion, as of some heavy body dropped from a high elevation to the
ground.  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 three
or four of the rangers who carried the hunter-rifle--a very different
weapon from the "regulation" piece--old backwoodsmen who had been
indulged in their whim.  It might be one of these.

Without hesitation, I headed my horse for the spot, and rode as rapidly
as the underwood would permit me.

I kept on for five minutes or more without halting.  I certainly must
have passed the place where the shot had been fired, and yet I saw no
one; but just as I was about to pull up again, a well-known voice
reached 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 the
hoof-strokes of my horse, and lain hid till I had passed them.

Rube carried upon his shoulders a large turkey gobbler--the game I had
heard drop--while upon Garey's back I observed the choice portions of a
deer.

"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 but
that your rangers offered us a plenty to eat; but ye see we couldn't in
honour accept o' it, for we promised to find for ourselves."

"Ye-es, durn it!" added Rube, "we're free mountainee men--ain't a gwine
to sponge on nobody--we ain't."

"An', capt'n," continued Garey, "thar don't appear to be any great
eatin' fixins about the place for yurself neyther: if yu'll just accept
o' the turkey, and one o' these hyar quarters o' the deer-meat, thar's
plenty 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 the
truth, the village larder had no such delicacies as either wild turkey
or venison--and having signified my assent, we all three moved away from
the spot.  With the trappers for my guides, I should soon get into the
right road.  They, too, were on their return to the post.  They had been
in the woods since noon.  They were both afoot, having left their horses
at the rancheria.

After winding about half-a-mile among the trees, we came out upon a
narrow road.  Here my companions, who were unacquainted with the
neighbourhood, were at fault as well as myself: and knew not which
direction to take.

It was dark as pitch, but, as on the night before, there was lightning
at intervals.  Unlike the preceding night, however, it was now raining
as if all the sluices of the sky had been set open; and by this time we
were all three of us soaking wet.  The whole canopy of heaven was
shrouded in black, without a single streak of light upon it--not even a
star.  Who could discover the direction in such a night?

As the lightning flashed, I saw Rube bending down over the road; he
appeared to be examining the tracks.  I noticed that there were
wheel-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 a
finger-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 questioned
him.

"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 raizonable
to s'pose thet the back-track leads to the settlements, an' thet's
thisaway."

"But how could you tell which was the back-track?"

"Wagh! thet ur easy as fallin' off a log.  The back track ur the fresher
by more'n a kupple o' hours."

Pondering upon the singular "instinct" that enabled our guide to
distinguish the tracks, I rode on in silence.

Shortly after, I again heard the voice of Rube, who was some paces in
the advance.

"I kud a knowd the way," he said, "'ithout the wheel-tracks: they only
made 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 into
the tracks, thet it ur runnin' this-away.  Do ee hear thet thur?"

I listened.  I heard distinctly the sound of running water, as of a
small 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 a
follerin it down; an' thurfor must kum to the river jest whur we want to
git.  Oncest thur, we'll soon find our way, I reck'n.  Wagh! how the
durned rain kums down!  It 'ud drown a muss-rat.  Wagh!"

The result proved the trapper's reasoning correct.  The road-water was
running in the direction we had taken; and shortly after, the brawling
branch shot out from among the bushes, and crossed our path, diverging
from it at an acute angle.  We could see, however, as we plunged through
the 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, and
struck the main road leading to the rancheria.

A few minutes' brisk travelling carried us to the outskirts of the
village, and we expected soon to be under shelter, when we were all
three brought to a sudden halt by the sharp hail of the sentry, who
called out the usual interrogatory--

"Who goes there?"

"Friends!"  I replied; "'tis you, Quackenboss?"

I had recognised the voice of the soldier-botanist, and under the
lightning saw him standing by the trunk of a tree.

"Halt!  Give the countersign!" was the response in a firm, determined
tone.

I did not know this masonic pass-word.  On riding out, I had not thought
of 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 'ithout
countersign."

I now saw that we were in a real dilemma.

"Send for the corporal of the guard, or either of the lieutenants," I
suggested, thinking that that might be the shortest way to get over the
difficulty.

"Hain't got nobody to send," came the gruff voice of Quackenboss from
out the darkness.

"I'll go!" promptly answered Garey--the big trapper thinking, in his
innocence, there could be no reason why _he_ should not carry the
message to quarters--and as he spoke, he made a step or two forward in
the 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 'ee
shoot this way, it 'll be the last time yu'll ever lay claw to a
trigger.  Now then!" and Rube stood with his rifle half raised to the
level, and threatening to raise it still higher.

At that moment, the lightning gleamed; I saw the sentry with _his_ piece
also 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 had
heard before, or whether in the light he had recognised my features, I
saw 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 rather
rough compliments between Quackenboss and my two companions; so, after
endeavouring to make peace between them, I stood still to await the
chance of some one of the guard coming within hail.

Fortunately, at that moment, a ranger, somewhat the worse for
aguardiente, appeared in the direction of the piazza.

Quackenboss condescended to call him up; and after a crooked palaver, he
was despatched to bring the corporal of the guard.

The arrival of the latter ended our troubles, and we were permitted to
reach the piazza without further hindrance; but as we passed the stern
sentry, 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, whose
every hour was consecrated to its god.  At earliest dawn, by the rosy
rays of Aurora; at golden noon, shadowed under sweet acacias; in the
gleam of the purple twilight; 'neath the silvery light of the moon.

That both laid our hearts upon his altar, and willing knelt before the
shrine, witness ye bright birds and perfumed flowers!--ye green myrtles
and mimosas!--witness ye blue skies of Anahuac!  Ye alone were our
witnesses.

For you who have loved, I need not portray the pleasure of this noble
passion; for you who have not loved, I cannot.  Love is a delight that
may be known only to those who have experienced it.

Ours was a half-month of happiness without alloy.  True, there were
moments of pain--the moments of daily parting--but these were brief, and
perhaps only prevented the cloyment of too much joy--if such a thing be
possible.

Moreover, these short-lived sorrows were in part neutralised by the
knowledge we should soon meet again; we never parted without exchanging
that fair promise.  In the morning, it was "_hasta la tarde_;" at night,
our last words were "_manana por la manana_" Lovers have felt, and poets
have sung, the pleasures of hope; oft the anticipation of a pleasure
rivals in piquancy its actual enjoyment.

Let memory not be forgotten; it, too, has its joys; and oh, how sweet
the retrospect of those blissful hours!  If there was monotony, it was a
monotone of which my heart could never tire.  It was an intoxication I
could have endured for life.  There is no surfeit of such sweets.  Why
are 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 pretty
promise upon our lips--"until the morning", "until the evening," but for
long weeks, months, maybe years--an uncertain time--"_hasta se acabo la
guerra_" (until the war is over).

Oh, the misery of that parting!  Cruel destiny of war!  Never felt I so
weary of wearing a sword.

There was a struggle 'twixt love and duty.  No, not duty: I might have
sheathed my sword, and wronged no one; I was but a cipher among
thousands, whose blade would scarcely have been missed.  Nor would I
have wronged myself.  I was simply, as I have already declared, an
adventurer.  The country for which I fought could not claim me; I was
bound by no political conscience, no patriotic _esprit_.  Perhaps, now
and then, I entertained the idea that I was aiding the designs of
"manifest destiny"--that I was doing God's work in battling against the
despotic form.  Yes, I may confess that such sparks glowed within me at
intervals, and at such intervals only did I feel enthusiasm in the
cause.  But it was no consideration of this kind that hindered me from
deserting my banner.  Far otherwise: I was influenced by a motive purely
selfish--pride.

I could not--an adventurer almost penniless--I _would_ not presume to
claim that richly dowried hand.  Fortune I might never have to equal
hers, but fame is worthy wealth, and glory mates with beauty.  I knew
that I was gifted with an apt head and bold aspiring heart; I knew that
I 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 handle
to my name, and then--

Ah, for all that, it was a bitter parting!  It was hard to list
unheeding to those earnest entreaties, adjuring me to stay--terrible to
entwine those tender arms--terrible to utter that last _adios_!

Our troth was plighted within that same glade that had echoed our first
vows.  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 suddenly
eclipsed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I lingered not long, though I could have stayed for hours upon the
hallowed spot.  Again duty, that stern commander, summoned me away.  It
was already close upon sunset, and by to-morrow's dawn I must be _en
route_ 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 led
more directly to the hacienda.  From precaution this had been our
habitual mode of parting; and we also met from opposite sides.  In the
wild region of the _cerro_--for by this name was the hill known--we
never encountered a human being.  There was no habitation near, and the
vaqueros rarely strayed that way, so that our place of meeting remained
a secret--at least we fancied so--and we acted without much
apprehension, and perhaps without sufficient caution.  Each hour we had
grown more confident of security, and, blinded by love, had taken less
pains to conceal the fact of our daily assignation.  It was only that
morning I had heard a whisper that our affair was known, and that they
of the rancheria were not as benighted as we supposed them.  Wheatley
was my informant--Conchita, his.  The lieutenant had added some friendly
advice, cautioning me against the imprudence of going so far from the
post unattended.

Perhaps I might have treated his remonstrance with less neglect; but as
this was to be our last meeting for a long time, my heart grew heavy
under the prospect of the parting scene.  I preferred going
companionless; I had no apprehension that any enemy was near.  As for
Ijurra, he was no longer in the neighbourhood; he had not been seen
since the night of the battle; and we had positive information that he
had joined his band with the guerrilla of the celebrated Canales, then
operating on the road between Camargo and Monterey.  Indeed, had Ijurra
been near, he could hardly have escaped the keen search of Holingsworth
and the rangers, who, night and day, had been upon the scout, in hopes
of overhauling him.

I was about turning into the old track, when a yearning came over me--a
desire to obtain one more look at my beloved.  By this time she would
have reached her home; I should pass near the house; perhaps I might see
her upon the azotea--a distant glance--a wave of the hand--haply the
sweet prayer "_va con Dios_!" wafted upon the breeze: something of the
kind I anticipated.

My horse seemed to divine my wishes; scarcely waiting for the guidance
of the rein, he moved forward upon the path taken by the steed of
Isolina.

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 the
cerro.  There was no path, but the tracks of the white steed were easily
followed, and, guiding myself by them, I rode forward.

I had not gone five hundred yards from the hill, when I heard voices
through, the woods, directly in front of me, and apparently at no great
distance.  Years of frontier-life had imbued me with an intuitive
caution that resembled instinct; and, as if by mechanical effort, I
pulled up and listened.

A woman was speaking; and instantly I recognised the voice.  There was
but one that rang with that rich metallic tone.  I might well remember
it, for the sweet, sad sounds of the _va con Dios_ had not yet ceased to
vibrate in my ears.

With whom was she in converse?  Whom had she encountered in such a
place, amid the wild woods?

She ceased speaking.

With ears keenly set, I listened for the rejoinder.  Naturally, I
expected it in the voice of a man; but not that man.  Oh, heavens! it
was the voice of Rafael Ijurra!



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

THREATS.

Yes, the voice was Ijurra's.  I knew it well.  While listening to it by
the mesa, I had noted its tones sufficiently to remember them--round,
sonorous, of true Spanish accent, and not inharmonious--though at that
moment they grated harshly upon my ear.

An indescribable feeling came over me: it was not jealousy--I was too
confident to be jealous--and yet, I shame to confess, I felt a sensation
sadly akin to it.  After those earnest oaths, those tears and frenzied
kisses--so soon after!  Oh, shame upon me!

Alas! the experienced heart no more enjoys the tranquil continuity of
faith.  Its belief is like a broken dream--an intermittence of light and
shade.  It was my misfortune, my error, perhaps my crime, to remember
too many pairs of pretty perjured lips.

In a word, I was once more jealous, in spite of all that had passed--of
sighs, and tears, and plighted vows--once more jealous of Ijurra!

But the moment before, his name was on her tongue, and spoken with
scorn; in the same breath I was assured that he was no longer in the
neighbourhood, that he was far away!

No; he was upon the spot, in close conversation with her, and scarcely
five minutes after the oath had been sworn that bound her to me for
life!  Less wonder I was jealous.  That the feeling lasted only for an
instant might be some palliation, but it was no merit of mine that
brought it so quickly to a termination.  I cannot screen my conduct
behind an act of volition; for although the poisoned sting rankled but
for a few seconds of time, during that short period I yielded obedience
to its demoniac promptings.

I slipped down gently from my saddle; and with the crouching gait and
silent tread of the jaguar, approached the speakers.  My horse, well
trained to such tactics stayed where I had dismounted, without tie or
hopple.  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 vertically
on short petioles, like large green fans; and overlying one another,
formed a perfect screen, through which the keenest eye could not
perceive the approach of an intruder.

In a few seconds, I stood behind the last row that bounded the edge of a
small opening; and peering through the serrate interstices of the
leaves, I saw my betrothed and her cousin.

Isolina was still in the saddle.  Ijurra was on foot, and standing by
her stirrup, with one hand resting upon the pommel, the other grasping
the rein.

Up to this moment, my heart had continued its painful throbbing; but the
attitude of Ijurra, with his troubled and angry look, at once produced a
revulsion in my feelings.  I saw that the encounter had been
accidental--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, and
towards Ijurra; but the tones of her voice reached me, and by these I
perceived that she addressed him in anger.  Oh, how those accents of
indignation ravished my heart; sweeter were they to me than the softest
melody!

As yet, I had heard nothing of what had passed between them; the loud
beating of my heart, the rustling of the leaves under my feet, of the
boughs as I pressed through them, had prevented me from distinguishing
what was said.  These sounds ceased as I came to a stop; and although
still fifty paces distant from the speakers, I could catch every word of
their conversation, favoured by the loud tone in which it was carried
on.

"So, then, you refuse?"

It was Ijurra who put this interrogatory.

"I have done so before, Rafael; your conduct has given me no cause to
change 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: you
love this _gringo_--this Yankee captain?"

"And suppose I do, that is my affair.  Nay, more, sir, shall not even
attempt 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, and
tightened over his teeth; he seemed endeavouring to curb the exposure of
his 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 to
me, Isolina de Vargas!  I have something to say that may not be so
pleasant--"

"You can say nothing pleasant; but I listen."

"First, then, here are certain documents that concern you--both you and
your father."

I saw some folded papers in his hand, which he had taken from under his
jacket.  He opened and held them before her face, as he continued:--

"This safeguard is one given by the American commander-in-chief to the
Dona Isolina de Vargas.  Perhaps you have seen it before?  And here is a
letter from Don Ramon de Vargas to the commissary-general of the
American army, enclosed within another from that functionary to your pet
filibustero--a pretty piece of treason this!"

"Well, sir?"

"Not so well for you, madame.  You forget that General Santa Anna is now
chief of this republic.  Think you he will not punish such traitorous
correspondence!  _Carrambo_! if I but lay these documents before his
Excellency, I shall have an order for the arrest of both yourself and
your father as quickly as it can be spoken.  No more; the estate will be
proscript 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 your
consent to become my wife, and these papers shall be destroyed on the
instant."

"Never!" was the firm response that delighted my ears.

"Never!" echoed Ijurra; "then dread the consequences.  I shall obtain
orders for your arrest, and as soon as this horde of Yankee ruffians has
been driven from the country, the property shall be mine."

"Ha, ha, ha!" came the scornful laugh in reply--"ha, ha, ha! you
mistake, 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 Rio
Grande; and ere that horde of Yankee ruffians, as you term them, be
driven out, they will establish this river for their boundary.  Where,
then, will lie the power of confiscation?  Not with you, and your
cowardly master.  Ha, ha, ha!"

The reply maddened Ijurra still further, for he saw the probability of
what had been said.  His face became livid, and he seemed to lose all
control 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 are
not 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 should
the United States triumph, its laws cannot make _you_ legitimate.  You
are not the heiress of the hacienda de Vargas!"

As yet not a word from Isolina.  She sat silent and motionless, but I
could tell by the rising and falling of her shoulders that a terrible
storm was gathering in her bosom.

The fiend continued:--

"Now, madame, you may know how disinterested it was of me to offer you
marriage: nay, more, I never loved you; if I told you so, it was a
lie--"

He never lied in his life as he was doing at that moment.  His face
bespoke the falsehood of his words.  It was the utterance of purest
spleen.  I read in his look the unmistakable expression of jealousy.
Coarse as the passion may have been, he loved her--oh! how could it have
been otherwise?

"Love you, indeed!  Ha, ha, ha! love you--the daughter of a poor
Indian--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 aside
from my path!"

"Not yet," answered Ijurra, grasping the bridle more firmly.  "I have
something 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 her
rescue.  I saw her right hand raised on high, and something shining in
its grasp.  It was a pistol.  Its muzzle was pointed at Ijurra.

No doubt the resolute character of her who held it was well known to
him, for the threat produced an immediate effect; the coward relaxed his
hold, the reins dropped from his fingers, and with a mingled look of
hatred and fear, he stepped back a pace.

The moment the bridle became free, the steed, already startled by the
spur, bounded forward; and after half-a-dozen springs, both horse and
rider disappeared behind the screen of the palmettoes.

I was too late to play the knight-errant.  The "ladye faire" had not
needed my help; she neither saw nor heard me; and by the time I arrived
upon 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 was
standing.  His back was towards me, for he still fronted in the
direction in which Isolina had galloped off.  He had followed her with
his eyes, with a cry of disappointed rage, with a threat of malignant
vengeance.

The sound of his own voice hindered him from hearing mine, and he was
not aware of my presence, when I paused scarcely three feet from where
he stood, and directly behind him.

I held my sword drawn; I could have thrust him in the back, through and
through again, before he could have offered either defence or
resistance.  He was completely in my power.

Fortunate was it for him at that moment that I had been bred a
gentleman, else in another instant his lifeless body would have lain at
my 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 had
before me a man who had sought my life--a deadly foe--a deadly foe to
her I loved--a perjured villain--a murderer!  With such titles for
himself, he had none to the laws of honour; and I confess that for one
short moment, I felt like ignoring his claim.

'Twas but for a moment: the thought revolted me.  Wicked and worthless
as he was, I could not stab him in the back.

I leaned forward, and tapping him upon the shoulder, pronounced his
name.

It was the first intimation he had of my presence; and starting as if
hit by a bullet, he turned face towards me.  The flush of anger upon his
cheek suddenly gave place to deadly pallor, and his eyes became set in
that peculiar stare that indicates an apprehension of danger.  This he
must have felt keenly, for my determined look and drawn sword--to say
nothing of the surprise by which I had come upon him--were calculated to
produce that effect.

It was the first time we had stood face to face, and I now perceived
that he was a much larger man than myself.  But I saw, too, that his eye
quailed, and his lip quivered, at the encounter.  I saw that he was
cowed; felt that I was his master.

"You are Rafael Ijurra?"  I repeated, as he had not made answer to my
first 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 them
over."

"Are you Captain Warfield?" he asked, after a pause, at the same time
pretending 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 the
road: you are welcome to it, senor."

As he said this, he handed me the commissary's order, still retaining
the other documents.

"There was an enclosure.  I perceive you have it in your hand.  I beg
you 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 safeguard
from 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 to
the lady to whom it belongs."

This was the bitterest pill I had yet presented to him.  He glanced
hastily first to the right and then to the left, as if desirous of
making 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 a
feigned attempt at laughter.  "'Tis a worthless document to me; 'tis at
your service, sir captain;" and as he handed me the paper, he
accompanied the act with another sorry cachinnation.

I folded the precious documents, and thrust all three under the breast
of my coat; then placing myself in fighting attitude, I cried out to my
adversary to "draw and defend" himself.

I had already noticed that he wore a sword, and, like myself, it
appeared to be the only weapon he carried.  I saw no pistols upon his
person.  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 weapon
that 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 not
awed, 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.  His
white lips trembled, his eyes rolled wildly from side to side, seeking
an opportunity to escape.  I am certain that could he have hoped to get
clear, he would at that crisis have turned and run.

All at once, and to my surprise, the coward appeared smitten with
courage; and, grasping the hilt of his sabre, he drew the blade ringing
from its scabbard, with all the energy of a determined man!  His
reluctance to fight seemed suddenly to have forsaken him.  Had I
mistaken my man? or was it despair that was nerving his arm?

His cowed look had disappeared: his eyes flashed with fury and
vengeance; his teeth gritted together; and a fierce _carajo_ hissed from
his lips.

Our blades met--the sparks crackled along the creasing steel, and the
combat began.

Fortunate for me, that, in avoiding the first lunge of my antagonist, I
had to turn half round: fortunately I turned so soon, else I should
never have left that glade alive.

As I faced in the new direction, I saw two men running towards us, sword
in hand.  A single glance told me they were guerrilleros.  They were
already within ten paces of the spot, and must have been seen long
before by Ijurra.

This was the key to his altered demeanour.  Their approach it was that
had inspired him with courage to begin the fight--for he had calculated
the time when they should be able to get up, and assail me from behind.

"_Hola_!" shouted he, seeing that I had discovered them--"_Hola!  El
Zorro_--_Jose! anda! anda!  Mueran los Yankies! at muerte con el
picaro_!"

For the first time, I felt myself in danger.  Three swords to one was
awkward odds; and the red giant, with a companion nearly as large as
himself, would no doubt prove very different antagonists from the
poltroon with whom I was engaged.

Yes, I was conscious of danger, and might have retreated, had I deemed
such a course possible; but my horse was too far off, and the new-comers
were directly in the path I should have to take to reach him.  I could
not hope to escape on foot; I well knew that these men run as lightly as
Indians, 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 as
to bring all three of them in front of me, when I found my sword
clashing against their blades, and parrying their blows one after the
other.

I can describe the unequal combat no farther.  It was a confused medley
of cut and thrust, in which I both gave wounds and received them.  I was
wounded in several places, and felt the warm blood running under my
clothes 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 blade
had already drawn my blood, and was crimsoned at the point; it was about
to descend with a finishing stroke.  I should be unable to parry it, for
I 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 my
antagonist, and the uplifted arm to fall loosely by his side?  Was it my
cry that created the consternation suddenly visible in the faces of my
foes?  I might have fancied so, had I not heard a sharp crack from
behind, 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 was
battling, 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 they
plunged into the thicket, and disappeared.

I turned in the opposite direction.  A man was running across the open
ground with a gun in his hand.  He was advancing towards the spot where
I stood.  It was he who had fired the shot.  I saw that he was in
Mexican costume; surely he was one of the guerrilleros--he had aimed at
me, and wounded his comrade?

For some seconds, I fancied that such might be the case.  Evidently he
was bolder than any of the three, for he continued to advance, as if
determined to attack me alone!

I placed myself in readiness for this new antagonist--taking a fresh
grasp on my sword, and wiping the blood from my eyes, that I might the
better receive him.

It was not until he was close to the point of my blade, that I
recognised the long ape-like arms, and crooked mateless limbs, of Elijah
Quackenboss!

The ranger, after delivering his fire, had not waited to reload, but ran
forward with the intention of joining me in the hand-to-hand fight--
though he carried no other weapon than his empty gun.  But this would
have been an efficient arm in such hands; for, despite his unsymmetrical
build, Dutch Lige was stalwart and though, and would have been a full
match 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, no
doubt, that a stronger force was near; perhaps they remembered the
terrible rifles of the trappers, and no doubt believed it was they who
had arrived to the rescue.  Indeed, such was my own belief, until I saw
the oddly-costumed ranger bounding towards the spot.

A glance satisfied me that I owed my preservation to Lige's love of
botanical science.  A large globe-shaped cactus plant, bristling like a
hedgehog, hung dangling from the swivel of his gun--it was thus carried
to save his fingers from contact with its barbed spines--while stuck
into every loop and button-hole of his dress could be seen the leaves
and branchlets, and fruits and flowers, of a host of curious and unknown
plants!  He had been herborising in the woods; and coming by chance
within earshot of the scuffle, had scrambled through the bushes just in
time 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 red
divel's skull, or sent my bullet into his stomach; he's got off too
easy."

"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: 'tis
only 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 brought
up, and stood near.  The botanist was bending over me, and binding up my
wounds with strips torn from his own shirt.  He had one boot on; the
other stood by, full of water, a portion of which he had already poured
down my throat, and with the rest he proceeded to bathe my temples and
wash the blood from my face.

This done, I soon felt refreshed and strong enough to mount; and having
climbed into the saddle, I set out for the rancheria, my companion half
guiding, half leadin my horse.

By the path which we followed, we should have to pass close to the
hacienda and within sight of it; but night had come on, and the darkness
would hinder us from being observed.  It was what I now desired, though
I had left the cerro with hopes and wishes directly the reverse.  With a
red gash upon my forehead--my uniform torn and blood-stained--I feared
being seen, lest my invalid appearance should create unnecessary alarm.
But we passed on without meeting any one, either by the hill or upon the
main road; and in half-an-hour after, I was safe within my _cuarto_ in
the house of the alcalde.



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

AN OFFICIAL BLACK LIST.

The incidents of the day preyed upon my spirits, and I was far from
feeling easy about the future.  I knew that my betrothed would be true
till death; and I felt ashamed that I had doubted her, even for a
moment.  About her loyalty I had no uneasiness, and I mentally vowed
never 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 upon
it, till it assumed almost the form of a fear.

The man who had used such bitter threats, and behaved with so much
rudeness, would scarcely stop at anything.  'Tis true I had deprived him
of much of his power over her, by stripping him of the dangerous
documents; but it was not this time, nor was he the man, to stand upon
nice distinctions of legality, where jealousy and cupidity were the
incentives to action.  Holding a sort of irresponsible office as the
chief of what was less a patriotic guerrilla than a band of brigands, it
was 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 the
neighbourhood.  What deed might he not accomplish with impunity, holding
his power directly from the unprincipled dictator, whom he was
accustomed to imitate as a model, and who would indorse any act of
villainy, provided it was the act of one of his own satellites?  I
shuddered as I reflected.

The reappearance of Ijurra and his band--for I doubted not that his
followers were near--their reappearance in that vicinity, and at such a
crisis--just as we were being withdrawn--had something ominous in it.
They must have known ere this of the plan of campaign designed for the
American army.  Wheatley's rumour had proved well founded.  The new
commander-in-chief, Scott, had arrived upon the ground, and
three-fourths of the "army of occupation" had been draughted to form the
expedition destined to act upon Vera Cruz.  As this greedy general
stripped 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 preferred
remaining with the brave veteran who had already led us so often to
victory.  I can answer for Wheatley and myself; I might also vouch for
Holingsworth, though far different were his motives for wishing to
remain on the Rio Grande.  His sweetheart was revenge--in his breast
long 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 were
marching upon Brazos Santiago, and Tampico, there to be embarked for the
south, and all that were to go had received their orders.  The provinces
on the Rio Grande were not to be entirely abandoned, but the army left
there was to have its lines contracted, and would therefore cover much
less ground.  Not only was our little post to be deserted, but the
neighbouring town, which had long been the head-quarters of a division,
was also to be evacuated.  No force of ours would remain within fifty
miles of the rancheria; and perhaps no American troop would ever again
visit that isolated village.  The reflection rendered me more than
melancholy.

No doubt of it, then, the enemy was apprised of our movements.  In our
special case--that _we_ the rangers were to march on the following
morning, was well known to the people of the neighbourhood.  It had been
known to them for several days; and it had not passed unobserved by us
that the citizens of the place--those who were not Ayankieados--had
lately shown themselves more sulky and inhospitable, in proportion as
the time approached for our departure.  This _brusquerie_ had led to
several street-conflicts, in which knives had been drawn and blood
spilled, 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 this
time thrust under the doors of such of the citizens as had been friendly
to us.  Even the alcalde had received some documents of this character--
perhaps emanating from a jealous _tiendero_ who had looked with bitter
eye upon the courtship of Wheatley and Conchita.  It was not till
afterwards I learned that similar missives had "come to hand" in a
quarter that more concerned myself.

Some scouted the absurdity of these acts--alleging that they sprung from
personal 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 the
meanness; and at their instigation, a "black list" was made out in every
town 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 betrothed
during my absence; but my thoughts proved barren.

With a sort of faint hope that the villain Ijurra might yet fall into
our hands, I had despatched Holingsworth--nothing loath for the duty--
with a party of rangers upon his trail, and I was impatiently awaiting
their 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 the
same time ushering "Cyprio" into the room.

The lad carried a note, which I opened.  A green sprig of juniper was
enclosed, and the simple word "_tuya_" was written in pencil.

I knew the symbol well.  The juniper is _tuya_ in that most beautiful of
tongues, and _tuya_ from a lady signifies "yours."

"Anything more?"  I asked of the messenger.

"Nothing, Senor Capitan," answered the intelligent boy; "only to inquire
if you had arrived safe."

She had been anxious then!

I separated the branchlet into two equal parts: one I placed in my
bosom; 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.  Nothing
had been seen of the guerrilla.



CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

THE ROUTE.

It was a struggle between Aurora and the moon which of them should rule
the sky, when our bugle rang its clear _reveille_, rousing the rangers
from their slumber, and startling their steeds at the stall.  The
goddess of morning soon triumphed, and under her soft blue light, men
and horses could be seen moving about, until the bugle again sounded--
this time to "boot and saddle"--and the rangers began to form in the
piazza, 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 the
whole baggage-train of the corps, and served as an ambulance for our
invalids.  Both baggage and sick had been safely stowed, and the vehicle
was ready for the road.  The bugler, already in his saddle, awaited
orders to sound the "forward."

I had climbed to my favourite "smoking-room," the azotea.  Perhaps it
was the last time I should ever set foot on those painted tiles.  My
eyes wandered over the piazza, though I little heeded what was passing
there.  Only the salient points of the picture were noted by me--steeds
under saddle and bridle; men buckling on folded blankets, holsters, and
valises; a few already in the saddle; a few more standing by the heads
of their horses, and still another few grouped round the door of the
_pulperia_, having a last drink of _mezcal_ or _Catalan_ with their
swarthy Mexican acquaintances.

Here and there, in front of some adobe hut, might be observed a more
tender leave-taking.  The ranger fully equipped--with arms, haversack,
and canteen--leaning against the heavy bars of a window, his face turned
inward, as though he was talking to some prisoner through the grating of
a jail.  But he is himself the real captive, ensnared during his short
sojourn, and still held in chains by the olive-skinned _poblana_, whose
dark liquid eyes may be seen on the other side of the reja, flashing
with love, or melting with sad tenderness at the prospect of parting.

Others, again, are bidding their _adios_ in retired corners, under the
shadow of the church walls, or in groups of four or five more openly in
the piazza itself.  Early as is the hour, the people have all arisen;
and not a few of the brown, rebosa-clad, short-skirted wenches are
already on their way, _jarro_ on crown, to the fountain.  There the
pitchers are filled, and lifted on their heads--perhaps for the last
time--by the rangers, who perform the office with all the rude grace in
their power.  Then follows a profusion of smiles and bows, and a
dialogue, 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 like
ungrammatical phrase, in order that it may be intelligible to the person
to whom it is addressed.

I have often been surprised at the success of my great uncouth followers
with these _petite_ dark-eyed damsels of Anahuac; but, indeed, many of
the rangers are not bad-looking men.  On the contrary, there are
handsome fellows among them, if they were only put into clean shirts,
and a little more closely shaven.  But woman's eye is keen-sighted in
such matters: she easily penetrates through the disguise of dust, the
bronze of sun-tan, and the shaggy mask of an ill-kept beard; and no eye
is quicker in this respect than that of the fair Mexicana.  In the big,
apparently rude, individual, called a "ranger," she beholds a type of
strength and courage, a heart that can cherish, and an arm that can
protect her.  These are qualities that, from all time, have won the love
of woman.

It is evident they are not all