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 friends whom we are leaving behind us.
Hostile faces may be observed, many of them peering from open doors or
windows.  Here and there a sulky lepero swings about in his blanket, or
cowers by the corner of the street, scowling savagely from under his
broad-brimmed hat.  Most of this class are absent--as long since
ascertained--with the guerrilla; but a few still remain to give shadow
to the picture.  They regard the approaches towards their women with
ill-concealed anger; and would resent this politeness if they dared.
They confine the exhibition of their spite to the dastardly meanness of
ill-treating the women themselves, whenever they have an opportunity.
No later than the night before, one of them was detected in beating his
sweetheart or mistress for the crime, as was alleged, of dallying too
long in the company of a Tejano.  The Tejano, in this case, took the law
into his own hands, and severely chastised the jealous _pelado_.

Even in the hurried glance which I gave to these scenes of leave-taking,
I could not help noticing an expression on the faces of some of the
young girls that had in it a strange significance.  It was something
more than sadness: it was more like the uneasy look that betokens
apprehension.

Perhaps the state of mind I was in magnified my perceptions.  At that
moment, a struggle was passing in my own breast, and a feeling of
irresolution lay heavy upon me.  All night long had my mind dwelt upon
the same thought--the danger that menaced my betrothed--all night long I
had been occupied with plans to avert it; but no reasonable scheme had I
succeeded in devising.

It is true the danger was only hypothetical and undefined; but it was
just this supposititious indefiniteness that caused the difficulty in
providing against it.  Had it assumed a tangible shape, I might more
easily have adopted some means of avoiding it: but no--it remained a
shadow, and against a shadow I knew not what precautions to take.  When
morning broke, I was still struggling under the same nervous indecision.

Problematical as was the peril my fancy had formed, there were moments
when it appalled me--moments when my mind laboured under a painful
presentiment, and I could not cast the load by any act of volition.
With all my philosophy, I could not fortify myself against the belief
that "coming events cast their shadows before;" and, spite of myself, I
kept repeating in thought the weird prophetic words.  Upon my soul,
certainly, there were shadows, and dark ones; if the events should have
any correspondence with them, then there was misery before me.

I have termed the danger in which Isolina was placed indefinite: it was
not so indefinite, after a fair analysis; it was directly traceable to
the presence of Rafael Ijurra.

True, there were other sources of apprehension; other perils surrounded
her, arising from the disturbed state of the country--but these did not
point at her in particular.  That frontier province had been for years
in a distracted condition--by revolution or Indian invasion--and war was
no new thing to its people.  In the midst of strife had this fair flower
grown to perfect blooming, without having been either crushed or trodden
upon.  Isolina de Vargas was a woman of sufficient spirit to resist
insult and cast off intrusion.  I had just had proof of this.  Under
ordinary circumstances, I had no fear that she would be unequal to the
emergency; but the circumstances in which she now stood were not of that
character; they were extraordinary, and that to an extreme degree.  In
addition to the light thrown upon Ijurra's designs by his own menacing
confession, I knew other particulars of him.  Holingsworth had helped me
to a knowledge of this bad man, and this knowledge it was that rendered
me apprehensive.  From a nature so base and brutal, it was natural I
should dread the worst.

But what could I do?  I might have thrown up my commission, and remained
upon the spot, but this would have been worse than idle.  I could not
have protected myself, much less another.  The rangers once gone from
the place, my life would not have been safe there for a single hour.

Only one plan suggested itself that had the semblance of feasibility: to
seek another interview with Isolina--her father as well--and adjure them
to remove at once from the scene of danger.  They might proceed to San
Antonio de Bexar, where, far removed from hostile ground, they could
live in safety till the war should be ended.

It was only at the last moment that this happy idea came into my head,
and I reviled myself that I had not conceived it sooner.  The chief
difficulty would lie in the opposition of Don Ramon.  I knew that he was
aware of the _friendship_ that existed between his daughter and myself,
and, furthermore, that he had opposed no obstacle to it; but how could I
convince him of the necessity for so sudden an expatriation as the one I
was about to propose? how should I persuade him of the peril I myself
dreaded? and from such a source?

Another difficulty I might encounter: in the proud spirit of Isolina
herself.  Much did I fear she would never consent to be thus driven from
her home, and by such a poltroon as she knew her cousin to be.  She had
cowed and conquered him but the day before; she feared him not; she
would not be likely to partake of my painful apprehensions.  My counsel
might be disregarded, my motives misconstrued.

The time, too, was unfavourable.  We must be on the march by sunrise--so
ran our orders--and already the day was breaking.  I cared not much for
this: I could easily have overtaken my troop; but it was a delicate
matter--that could only be excused by a certain knowledge of danger--to
awake a gentleman's family at such an hour, even for the purpose of
warning them.  Moreover, should my advice prove fruitless, I reflected
that my visit--which could not be made in secret--might aid in bringing
about the very danger I apprehended.  A circumstance so extraordinary
could not fail to be noticed by all.

It was thus that I was held in irresolution, while my troop was forming
for the march.

At the last moment, thanks to the thoughtful Holingsworth, a compromise
offered.  He suggested that I should send my advice in writing.  In that
I could be as explicit as I pleased, and bring before my proteges all
the arguments I might be able to adduce--perhaps more successfully than
if urged by a personal appeal.

My comrade's suggestion was adopted; and in haste, but with a fervour
resulting from my fears, I penned the admonitory epistle.

A trusty messenger was found in one of the _Ayankieados_; who promised,
as soon as the family should be stirring, to carry the letter to its
destination.

With my heart somewhat relieved of its load, though still far from
light, I gave the order to march.

The bugle rang clear and loud, and its cheerful notes, as I sprang into
the saddle, combined with the inspiration borrowed from my buoyant
steed, produced a soothing effect upon my spirits.



CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

CAMP GOSSIP.

It was but a short-lived light--a passing gleam--and soon again fell the
shadow, dark as ever.  Strive as I might, I could not cast the load that
weighed upon my bosom; reason as I would, I could not account for its
heaviness.

It was natural that a parting like ours should produce pain, and
misgivings as to the future.  My life was to be staked in the lottery of
war; I might fall on the field of fight; I might perish by
camp-pestilence--a foe that in the campaign kills more soldiers than
sword or shot--the many perils of flood and field were before me, and it
was natural I should regard the future with a degree of doubtfulness.

But it was not the contemplation of all these dangers that filled me
with such a terrible foreboding.  Strange to say, I had a forecast that
I should survive them.  It was almost a conviction, yet it failed to
comfort me, for it comprehended not the safety of Isolina.  No--but the
contrary.  Along with it came the presentiment, that we should never
meet again.

Once or twice, as this dread feeling became most acute, I reined up my
horse, half resolved to gallop back; but again the wild idea passed from
me, and I continued irresolutely on.

Something of prudence, too, now restrained me from returning: it would
no longer have been safe to go back to the rancheria.  As we issued from
the piazza, we could hear distant jeering, and cries of "_Mueran los
Tejanos_!"  It was with difficulty I could restrain the rangers from
turning to take vengeance.  One, the worse for mezcal, had loitered
behind--under the influence of the drink fancying himself secure.  Him
the _pelados_ had "bonneted," and otherwise maltreated.  They would have
murdered him outright; but that some of them, more prudent than their
fellows, had counselled the mob to let him go--alleging that the Tejanos
were yet "too near, and might come back."

Again I had strife with my men: they would have returned and fired the
place, had I permitted them.  Fortunately, he who had been ill-treated
was a good-for-nothing fellow--scarcely worth the sympathy of his
comrades--and I was well satisfied at his having received a lesson.  It
might be useful, and was much needed, for "straggling" was one of the
ranger-crimes most difficult to cure.

Along the road, we saw signs of a guerrilla.  Shots were fired at us
from a hill; but a party sent to the place encountered no one.
Horse-tracks were observed, and once a brace of mounted men were seen
galloping away over a distant slope.  It might be the band of Ijurra,
and doubtless it was so; but we fancied at the time that Canales himself
was near; and as an encounter with his large and well-organised force
would be a very different affair from a skirmish with the other, we felt
the necessity of advancing with caution.

The prospect of a "fight" with this noted partisan created quite an
excitement in the ranks.  To have captured Canales--the "Chapparal Fox,"
as the Texans termed him--or to have made conquest of his band, would
have been esteemed a feat of grand consequence--only inferior in
importance to a pitched battle, or the taking of "Game-leg" (Santa Anna)
himself.

I confess that to me the idea of measuring strength with the famed
guerrillero was at that moment rife with charms; and the excitement
derived from the hope of meeting him, for a while abstracted my mind
from its painful bodings.

But we reached the town without seeing aught of the Chapparal Fox.  It
was not likely that he was on our road; or if so, he took care not to
show himself.  Canales fought not for glory alone, and the rangers were
not the foes he cared to encounter.  Rich baggage-trains were the game
he was used to hunt; and our solitary "company-wagon," filled with
frying-pans, camp-kettles, sick soldiers, and tattered blankets--half
alive with those charming little insects of the genera _pules_ and
_pediculus_--had no attractions for the gallant guerrillero.

On reaching the town, we were surprised to find that the division had
not yet moved.  It was to have marched on that morning; but a
countermand had arrived from head-quarters, delaying the movement for
some days--perhaps a week.

This was rare news to me; and as soon as I heard it, my mind became
occupied with projects and anticipations of a pleasant nature.  I had
hoped that we should be sent back to the rancheria, but alas! no--our
orders were to remain with the division.

As every available building was occupied by troops, the rangers, as
usual, were treated as "outsiders," and compelled to take to the grass.

Half-a-mile from the town, a spot was shown us for our camp.  It was on
the banks of a pretty rivulet; and there, having picketed our steeds,
stretched our canvas to the sun, and washed the dust from our faces, we
made ourselves at home.

I did not remain long by the camp.  As soon as the tents were fairly
pitched, I left them, and walked back into the town--partly to get more
definite information as to the future movements of the army, and partly
with the design of indulging a little in the social feeling.  I had some
old comrades among the different regiments of the division; and, after
such a long spell of rustication, I was not indisposed to refresh my
spirit by the renewal of former fellowships.

At head-quarters, I learned definitely that we should not march for a
week at the least.  So far good; and after hearing this, I proceeded to
the _fonda_--the rendezvous of all the jovial spirits of the army.  Here
I encountered the friends of whom I was in search; and for a short while
I found respite from the thoughts that had been harrowing me.

I soon gathered the current "camp gossip," and learned who were the
"newspaper heroes" of the hour; over many of whose names my friends and
I could not restrain either our satire or laughter.  It appeared that
the men of deeds were scarcely known beyond the limits of the army
itself, while others, who in the field of battle had actually played the
poltroon, had at home become household words in the mouths of the
people.  One general, whom I myself saw hiding in a ditch daring the
rage of battle, was the theme of speech, sentiment, and song.  The
newspapers were filled with praises, and the windows with pictures, of a
"gallant dragoon officer," who had somehow obtained the credit of
capturing a certain battery.  My rangers cried "Bah!" when I told them
this.  They themselves were the men who had first galloped over those
Mexican guns!

"Keeping an editor in pay" was a standing sarcasm applicable to more
than one of our generals; and the "army correspondent," taking advantage
of this pruriency for fame, lived well, and swaggered in proportional
importance.

Ah, glory! what sacrifices men make for thee upon the shrine of
conscience!  For my part, I do not think I could feel happy under the
credit of a feat I had not performed.  Surely the consciousness of
having done a deed is of itself a sufficient reward?  He is but an
unhappy hero who is not a hero to himself!

Pleasanter gossip I heard about the relations existing between our
troops and the people of the town.  Many of the inhabitants had grown
quite friendly, in consequence of our excellent behaviour towards them.
Our conduct was compared with that which they had lately experienced at
the hands of their own army.  The latter was in the habit of seizing
property at pleasure, on pretence of using it for the defence of the
state.  We, on the contrary, paid for everything--round prices too--in
bright American dollars.  The ricos and merchants preferred this system,
and had no objections to making it permanent.  Outrages were few on the
part of our soldiery, and severely punished by the general.  Our enemies
contrasted the modest bearing of the American soldier with the conceited
strut and insolent swagger of their own gold-bedizened _militarios_, who
were wont on all occasions to "take the wall" of them.  It was only
outside the lines, between stragglers and leperos, that the retaliation
system was carried on so fiercely.  Within the walls, everything was
order, with a mildness too rare under martial law.  Private property was
strictly regarded, and private dwellings were not occupied by our
troops.  Even the officers were not billeted in private houses; and many
of them had to make shift in rather uncomfortable quarters, while most
of the soldiers lived under canvas.  This state of things was scarcely
satisfactory to the troops; and some grumbling was heard.  There was no
complaint, however, from the Mexicans, who seemed rather astonished at
so much forbearance on the part of their conquerors.

I doubt whether, in the whole history of war, can be found a conquest
characterised by equal mildness and humanity with the "Second Conquest
of Mexico."

It was principally for this reason the people had grown so well affected
towards us.  But there was another reason, perhaps, not less potent.
From the extensive operations we were now about to undertake, they saw
that we meant war in earnest; and the belief had become general, that a
large "annexation" was to follow; that perhaps the whole valley of the
Rio Grande would become American territory.  It was but human nature in
them to do homage to the rising sun.

The ricos were better disposed towards us than the common people; but
this enigma is easily explained.  The latter were more _patriotic_--that
is, more ready to fight for native tyranny, than accept freedom from a
foreign hand.  'Tis so in all lands.  In the event of a war with
England, the black slave of Carolina would range himself by the side of
his master, and prove the bitterest foe to the enemies, not of _his
freedom_, but of his _country_.

The _familias principales_ of Mexico had good reasons for being friendly
to us.  They had a stake to lose, which, under their own government, had
been ill guarded for them.  No wonder they should desire to come under
the broad protecting wings of the northern eagle.

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

I found that another species of "annexation" had been going on during my
absence.  One of our officers had become annexed to a wealthy senorita
of the place, and the marriage-ceremony had been performed with great
pomp and splendour.  Another was talked of as being _fiance_; and it was
expected that the example would find numerous imitators.

I need not say that I was much interested by these _novedades_ and I
returned with lighter heart to the ranger-camp.



CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

THE RUINED RANCHO.

The pleasant excitement caused by the visit to my old comrades was soon
over; and having nothing to do but lounge about my tent, I became again
the victim of the same painful bodings.  I could not shake them off.

Subtle and mysterious is the spirit-world within us; certainly does it
seem to have prescience of the future.  Is it an electric chain
connecting what is, with what is to be?  Or is it the second-sight of
instinct?  Certainly there are times when something within whispers a
warning--as, in the physical world, God's wild creatures are warned from
without of the earthquake and the storm.  How often do we experience the
realisation of portentous dreams?  Why should not the waking soul have
also its moments of clairvoyance?

As I lay stretched upon my leathern _catre_, I gave way to such
reflections.  I soon succeeded in reasoning myself into a full belief in
foreknowledge; and my apprehensions were proportionately strengthened.
But I had conceived a design; and the prospect of putting it in
execution somewhat relieved me from the heaviness I had hitherto felt.

My new project was to take a score of my best men, to ride back the road
we had come, place the party in ambush near the hacienda, while I alone
should enter the house, and further urge the counsels I had committed to
writing.  If I should find that these had been already followed, so much
the better--I should be assured, and return content; but I felt almost
certain that Don Ramon had rejected them.  At all events, I was
determined to know the truth--determined, moreover, to gratify my
longing for one more interview with my beloved.

I had warned the men and fixed the hour--as soon it was dark enough to
conceal our departure from the camp.

I had two reasons for not starting earlier--first, because I did not
wish this _private scouting_ to be known at head-quarters.  It is true,
that in such matters we rangers had the advantage of regular troops.
Though belonging to the division, our duty was usually detached from it,
and we were rarely "missed" when absent.  There was thus a sort of
pleasant independence in my command, which I for one fully appreciated.
For all that, I did not desire the whole world to know of an expedition
like the one projected.

My second motive for going in the night was simple prudence.  I dared
not take the whole of my command along with me without permission from
head-quarters.  The absence of the corps without leave would certainly
be noticed--even were it but for a few hours--and with the smaller party
I intended to take, caution would be requisite.  Should we move along
the road before it was deserted, some swift messenger might carry the
tidings _en avant_, and get us into trouble.

I designed to start at the earliest hour of darkness--so that I might
not alarm the hacienda by a midnight visit.

An hour and a half of constant riding would bring me to its gate.

At the last moment of twilight we leaped into our saddles; and rode
silently into the chapparal that skirted the camp.  After filing for
some distance through a narrow path, we debouched upon the up-river
road--the same that conducted to the rancheria.

The trappers, Rube and Garey, acting as scouts, went forward in the
advance.  They were on foot--their horses remaining behind with the
party.

It was a mode of march I had adopted after some experience in
bush-fighting.  The scouts of a marching force should always go on foot,
whether the main body be dragoons or infantry.  In this manner they can
take advantage of the ground; and by keeping under cover of the timber,
are enabled to reconnoitre the angles of the road in a much safer way
than when on horseback.  The great danger to a scout--and consequently
to the party for which he is acting--lies in his being _first_ seen, and
the risk is greater when he is mounted.  The horse cannot be drawn under
cover without an effort; and the sound of the hoof may be heard; whereas
in nine cases out of ten, a man on foot--that is, such a man as either
Rube Rawlings or Bill Garey--will discover the enemy before he is
himself seen, or any ambuscade can be attempted.  Of course the scout
should never advance beyond the possibility of retreating upon the party
he is guiding.

With full confidence in the men who had been sent forward, we rode on--
timing our pace, so as not to overtake them.  Now and then we caught a
glimpse of them, at the further end of a long stretch, skirting the
bushes, or stooping behind the cover, to reconnoitre the road in
advance.  To our chagrin, it was clear moonlight, and we could
distinguish their forms at a great distance.  We should have preferred a
darker night.

The road we were travelling upon was entirely without habitations; most
of it ran through light chapparal forest, with neither clearing nor
homestead.  One solitary rancho stood at about equal distances between
the town and the rancheria; and was known among the rangers by the
familiar sobriquet of the "half-way house."  It was a poor hovel of
yucca, with a small patch around that had once grown yams, chile-pepper,
and a stock of maize for whoever had tilled it; but the occupants of the
little rancho had long since disappeared--the prowling soldier-robber
from the camp had paid it many a visit, and its household gods lay
broken upon the hearth.  The _tortilla_ stone and _comal_, red earthen
ollas, calabash cups, bedsteads and benches of the _cana vaquera_, a
whirligig spindle, an old stringless _jarana_ or bandolon, with other
like effects, lay in fragments upon the floor.  Mingling with these were
cheap coloured wood-prints, of saints and Saviour, that had been dragged
from the walls, and with the torn leaves of an old Spanish _misa_,
trampled in dust and dishonour.

I paint this tableau of ruin, not that it was in any way connected with
the events of our narrative, but that it had strangely affected me.  On
the day before, as we rode past, I had halted a moment by the rancho,
and contemplated the scene with a feeling of melancholy that amounted
almost to sadness.  Little thought I that a still sadder spectacle
awaited me in that same spot.

We had approached within less than half-a-mile of the ruined house, when
a strange medley of sounds reached our ears.  Human voices they were;
and borne upon the light breeze we could distinguish them to be the
voices of women.  Occasionally harsher tones were heard mingling in the
murmur, but most of them had the soft rich intonation that distinguishes
the female voice.

We all drew bridle, and listened.

The sounds continued in the same confused chorus, but there was neither
song nor joy in the accents.  On the contrary, the night-wind carried
upon its wings the voices of "lamentation and wailing."

"There are women in trouble," remarked one of my followers, in a
suggestive tone.

The remark caused all of us simultaneously to ply the spur, and ride
forward.

Before we had galloped a dozen lengths, a man appeared coming from the
opposite direction, and advancing rapidly up the middle of the road.  We
saw it was the scout Garey; and, once more reining up, we awaited his
approach.

I was at the head of the little troop, and as the trapper drew near, I
could see his face full under the light of the moon.  Its expression was
ominous of evil tidings.

He spoke not until he had laid his hand upon the pommel of my saddle,
and then only in a subdued and saddened tone.  His words were:--

"Thar's ugly news, capt'n."

Oh, that terrible foreboding!

"News?--ill news?"  I stammered out; "what, for Heaven's sake?--speak,
Garey!"

"They've been playin' the devil at the rancherie.  Them ruffins hez
behaved wuss than Injuns would a done.  But ride forrard, capt'n, an see
for yurself.  The weemen are clost by hyar at the shanty.  Rube's a
tryin' to pacify them, poor critters."

Oh, that terrible foreboding!

I made no response to Garey's last speech, but rode forward as fast as
my horse could carry me.

A brace of minutes brought me up to the rancho; and there I beheld a
spectacle that caused the blood to curdle in my veins.



CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

A CRUEL PROSCRIPTION.

The open space in front of the hovel was occupied by a group of women--
most of them young girls.  There were six or seven; I did not count
them.  There were two or three men, Mexicans, mixed up in the group.
Rube was in their midst, endeavouring in his broken Spanish to give them
consolation and assurance of safety.  Poor victims! they needed both.

The women were half-naked--some of them simply _en chemise_.  Their long
black hair fell loosely over their shoulders, looking tossed, wet, and
draggly.  There was blood upon it; there was blood upon their cheeks in
seams half dried, but still dropping.  The same horrid red mottled their
necks and bosoms, and there was blood upon the hands that had wiped
them.  A red-brown blotch appeared upon the foreheads of all.  In the
moonlight, it looked as if the skin had been burnt.

I rode closer to one, and examined it: it was a brand--the fire-stamp of
red-hot iron.  The skin around was scarlet; but in the midst of this
halo of inflammation I could distinguish, from their darker hue, the
outlines of the two letters I wore upon my button--the well-known "U.S."

She who was nearest me raised her hands, and tossing back from her
cheeks the thick clustered hair, cried out--

"_Miralo, senor! mira_!"

Oh, Heaven! my flesh crept as I looked upon the source of that crimson
haemorrhage.  Her ears had been cut off--they were wanting!

I needed no further uplifting of their hair to satisfy me that the
others had been served in like manner; the red stream still trickling
adown their necks was evidence enough.

The men, too, had been similarly abused.  Two of them had suffered still
further mutilation.  They held up their right arms before my face--not
their hands.  _There were no hands_.  I saw the hanging sleeve, and the
blood-steeped bandage on the stump.  Their hands had been chopped off at
the wrists.  Horrid sight!

Both men and women gathered around me, clasping my knees, and uttering
prayers and entreaties.  No doubt most of them were known to me by
sight; but their features were now unrecognisable.  They had been the
friends and sweethearts of the corps, and my followers were already
addressing them by name.  The lovers of one or two were present, sadly
embracing them!

One appeared more richly costumed than the rest, and upon her my eyes
had fallen, as I first rode up.  I almost dreaded to approach her, as
she stood a little apart; but no--it could not be--she was not tall
enough; besides, the ruffians would not dare--

"Your name, senorita?"

"_Conchita, senor_--_la hija del alcalde_."

The tears burst from her eyes, mingling with blood as they ran down her
cheeks.  Oh, that I too could have wept!  Poor Wheatley! he was not with
us.  He had yet to receive the blow: it would soon fall.

My heart was on fire; so were those of my followers.  They swore and
foamed at the mouth.  Some drew pistols and knives, calling out to me to
lead them on.  Never saw I men in such a frenzy of rage: the most
cold-blooded among them seemed to have suddenly gone mad.

I could scarcely restrain them, till we should hear the tale.  We
guessed it already; but we needed some details to guide us in the
execution of vengeance.  It was told by many mouths, interrupting or
confirming one another.

One of the men was more coherent--Pedro, who used to sell mezcal to the
troop.  To him we listened.  The substance of his story was as
follows:--

Shortly after we had left the rancheria, it was entered by the
guerrilleros with cries of "_Viva Santa Anna!  Viva Mexico_!" and
"_Death to the Yankees_!"  They commenced by breaking open the
_tiendas_, and drinking mezcal and whatever they could find.  They were
joined by the mob of the place--by _leperos_ and others.  Pedro noticed
the _herredero_ (blacksmith) and the _matador_ (cattle-killer) taking a
conspicuous part.  There were many women in the mob--the mistresses of
the guerrilleros, and others of the town.

After drinking a while, they grew more excited.  Then was heard the cry,
"_Mueran los Ayankieados_!" and the crowd scattering in different
directions, entered the houses, shouting, "_Saquenlos afuera!
matenlos_!"  (Drag them out! kill them!)

The poor girls, and all who had been friendly to the _Americanos_, were
dragged into the piazza amidst the oaths and execrations of the
guerrilla, and hissings and hootings from the mob.  They were spit upon,
called by filthy names, pelted with mud and melon-rinds, and then some
of the crowd suggested that they should be _marked_, so that their
friends the _Tejanos_ should know them again.  The suggestion was
adopted; the women, more fiendish than the men, exciting the latter to
the deed.  Voices were heard calling to the blacksmith--

"_Traiga el fierro! traiga el fierro_!"  (Bring the branding-iron!)

Others cried out, "_Sacan las orejas_!"  (Cut off their ears.)

The brutal blacksmith and butcher, both half drunk obeyed the call--
willingly, Pedro alleged.  The former used the branding-iron--already
prepared--while the latter performed his bloody office with the knife of
his trade!

Most of the guerrilleros wore masks.  The leaders were all masked, and
watched the proceedings from the roof of the alcalde's house.  One Pedro
knew in spite of his disguise; he knew him by his great size and red
hair: it was the _salteador_, El Zorro.  Others he guessed at; but he
had no doubt it was the band of Don Rafael Ijurra--nor had we.

Had they left the rancheria before Pedro and the others came away?

Pedro thought not; he and the other victims, as soon as they got out of
the hands of the mob, had fled to the chapparal, and were making for the
American camp when met by our scouts.  They were straggling along the
road one after the other; Rube had detained them by the rancho, till we
should come up.

Pedro feared that they were not all who had suffered--that there were
other victims; the alcalde, he feared, had been worse than mutilated--he
had been _murdered_.

This last information the poor fellow imparted in a whisper--at the same
time casting a sorrowful look towards Conchita.  I had not the courage
to inquire further.

The question arose whether we should send back for more men, and wait
till they arrived, or advance at once to the rancheria.

The former was negatived with unanimous voice.  We were strong enough,
and vengeance was impatient.

I was joyed by this decision; _I_ could not have waited.

The women were directed to continue on to the ranger-camp; Pedro,
mounted behind one of the men, should go with us.  We needed him for
purposes of _identification_.

We were about to move forward, when a figure appeared along the road in
the direction we were going to take.  On coming within sight of us, the
figure was seen to skulk and hide in the bushes.

Rube and Garey ran rapidly forward; and in a few minutes returned
bringing with them a Mexican youth--another of the victims!

He had left the scene of his sufferings somewhat later than the rest.

Was the guerrilla still in the place?

No; they were gone from the village.

"Whither?" was the anxious interrogatory.

They had taken the up-river road, _towards the hacienda de Vargas_.
They had passed the boy as he lay concealed among some magueys; he had
heard their cries as they rushed past.

"What cries?"

They shouted: "_Mueran al traidor y traidora!  Mueran al padre y hija!
Isolina la p-t-a_!"

"O merciful God!"



CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

THE BIVOUAC OF THE GUERRILLA.

I stayed to hear no more, but drove the spur against the ribs of my
horse, till he sprang in full gallop along the road.  Eager as were my
men to follow, 'twas as much as they could do to keep up.

We no longer thought of scouts or cautious marching.  The trappers had
mounted, and were galloping with the rest.  We thought only of _time_.

We rode for the hacienda de Vargas, straight up the river.  Although it
was beyond the rancheria, we could reach it without passing through the
latter--which lay some distance back from the stream.  We could return
to the village afterwards, but first for the hacienda.  There I wished
to arrive in the shortest time possible.

The miles flew behind us, like the dust of the road.

Oh, should we not be in time!  I feared to calculate the length of the
interval since the boy had heard that rabble rout.  Was it more than an
hour?  Five miles to the rancho, and he on foot.  Had he travelled
rapidly?  Yes, here and there; but he had made a stop: some men had
passed him, and he had hidden in the bushes till they were out of sight.
He had been more than an hour on the way--nearly two, and one would be
enough for the execution of the darkest deed.  Oh, we should not arrive
in time!

There was no delay now.  We were going at top-speed, and in silence,
scarcely exchanging a word.  Alone might be heard the clattering of
hoofs, the chinking of bits, or the ringing of steel scabbards.  Neither
the slimy gutter nor the deep rut of _carreta_ wheels stayed our
advance; our horses leaped over, or went sweltering through them.

In five minutes we came to the _rinconada_, where the road forked--the
left branch leading to the village.  We saw no one, and kept on by the
right--the direct road to the hacienda.  Another mile, and we should
reach the house; a quarter of that distance, and we should come in sight
of it; the trees alone hindered our view of its walls.  On--on!

What means that light?  Is the sun rising in the west?  Is the chapparal
on fire?  Whence comes the yellow gleam, half intercepted by the trunks
of the trees?  Is it not the moon!

"Ho! the hacienda is in flames!"

"No--it cannot be?  A house of stone, with scarcely enough timber to
make a blaze!  It cannot be that?"

It is not that.  We emerge from the forest; the hacienda is before our
eyes.  Its white walls gleam under a yellow light--the light of fire,
but not of a conflagration.  The house stands intact.  A huge bonfire
burns in front of the portal; it was this that caused the glare through
the forest.

We draw up and gaze upon it with surprise.  We behold a huge pile--the
material supplied from the household stock of dry faggots--a vast blaze
drowning the pale moonshine.  We can see the hacienda, and all around
it, as distinctly as by the light of day!

For what purpose this holocaust of crackling acacias?

Around the fire we behold many forms, living and moving.  There are men,
women, dogs, and saddled horses.  Huge joints are roasting over the red
coals, and others, roasted, are being greedily eaten.  Are they savages
who surround that blazing pile?

No--we can see their faces with full distinctness, the white skins and
black beards of the men, the cotton garments of the women; we can see
sombreros and serapes, cloth cloaks and calzoneros of velveteen, sashes
and sabres; we can distinguish their voices as they shout, sing, and
carouse; we note their lascivious movements in the national dance--the
_fandango_.  No Indians they--'tis a bivouac of the guerrilleros--the
ruffians for whom we are in search!

Oh, that I had listened to the voice of prudence, and adopted the
strategy of a surround!  But my blood was boiling, and I feared to lose
even a moment of time, lest we might be too late.  But one or two of my
followers counselled delay, and, as the event proved, they were the
wisest.  The rest, like myself, were impatient for action.

The word was given: and like hounds, fresh loosed from the leash, we
rushed forward with charging cheer.

It was the madness of fools.  Well knew our enemy the hoarse Texan
"hurrah!"  It had been shouted to terrify them, when there was no need.
They would never have stood ground.

The shout warned them, causing them to scatter like a herd of deer.  The
steep hill proved too heavy for our horses; and before we could reach
its summit, the main body of the guerrilla had mounted and scampered off
into the darkness.  Six of them fell to our shots; and as many more,
with their she-associates, remained prisoners in our hands; but as usual
that subtle coward had contrived to escape.

Pursuit was idle; they had taken to the dark woods beyond the hill.

I thought not of pursuit; my mind was bent on a far different purpose.

I rode into the _patio_.  The court was lit up by the glare of the fire.
It presented a picture of ruin.  Rich furniture was scattered about in
the verandah and over the pavement, broken or tumbled down.  I called
her name--the name of Don Ramon.  Loudly and earnestly did I raise my
voice, but echo gave the only reply.

I dismounted, and rushed into the verandah, still vociferating, and
still without receiving a response.

I hurried from room to room--from _cuarto_ to _sala_--from _sola_ to
_saguan_--up to the azotea--everywhere--even to the _capilla_ in the
rear.  The moonbeams gleamed upon the altar, but no human form was
there.  The whole house was deserted; the domestics--even the women of
the _cocina_--had disappeared.  My horse and I seemed the only living
things within those walls--for my followers had remained outside with
their prisoners.

A sudden hope gleamed across my heart.  Perhaps they had taken my
counsel, and gone off before the mob appeared?  Heaven grant it might be
so!

I rushed out to question the captives.  They should know, both men and
women: they could certainly tell me.

A glance showed me I was too late to receive information from the men.
A large _pecan_ tree stood at one corner of the building.  The firelight
glared upon it; from its branches hung six human forms with drooping
heads, and feet far from the earth.  They had just ceased to live!

One told me that the herredero was among them, and also the cruel
matador.  Pedro had identified both.  The others were _pelados_ of the
town, who had borne part in the affair of the day.  Their judges had
made quick work, and equally quick had been the ceremony of execution.
Lazos had been reeved over the limbs of the pecan, and with these all
six had been jerked up without shrift or prayer!

It was not revenge for which I panted.  I turned to the women; many of
these had made off, but there were still a dozen or more in the hands of
the men.  They looked haggard with drink; some sullen, and some
terrified.  They had reason to be afraid.

In answer to my questions, they shook their heads, but gave me no
information.  Some remained doggedly silent; others denied all knowledge
of Don Ramon or his daughter.  Threats had no effect.  They either knew
not, or _feared to tell_ what had befallen them.  Oh heaven! could it be
the latter?

I was turning away angered and despairing, when my eyes fell upon a
figure that seemed to skulk under the shadow of the walls.  A shout of
joy escaped me as I recognised the boy Cyprio, just emerging from his
place of concealment.

"Cyprio!"  I cried.

"_Si, senor's_" answered he, advancing rapidly to where I stood.

"Tell me, Cyprio! where are they gone--where--where?"

"_Carrai, senor's_! these bad men have carried the _dueno_ away; I do
not know whither."

"The senora? the senora?"

"Oh! _cavallero! es una cosa espantosa_!"  (It is a terrible thing.)

"Quick, tell me all!  Quickly, Cyprio!"

"Senor's, there came men with black masks, who broke into the house and
carried off the master; then they dragged out Dona Isolina into the
patio!  _Ay de mi_!  I cannot tell you what they did before--_pobre
senorita_!  There was blood running down her neck and over her breast:
she was not dressed, and I could see it.  Some went to the caballeriza,
and led out the white horse--the steed that was brought from the
_llanos_.  Upon his back they bound Dona Isolina.  _Valga me dios_! such
a sight!"

"Go on!"

"Then, senor's, they led the horse across the river, and out to the
plain beyond.  All went along, to see the sport, as they said--_ay de
mi_! such sport!  I did not go, for they beat and threatened to kill me;
but I saw all from the hill-top, where I had hidden myself in the
bushes.  _O Santissima Maria_!"

"Go on!"

"Then, senor's, they stuck _cohetes_ in the hips of the horse, and set
them on fire, and pulled off the bridle, and the steed went off, with
fire-rockets after him, and Dona Isolina tied down upon his back--_pobre
senorita_!  I could see the horse till he was far, far away upon the
_llano_, and then I could see him no more.  _Dios de mi alma! la nina
esta perdida_!"  (Alas! the young lady is lost.)

"Some water!  Rube!  Garey! friends--water! water!--"

I made an attempt to reach the fountain in the patio; but, after
staggering dizzily a pace or two, my strength failed me, and I fell
fainting to the earth.



CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN.

TAKING THE TRAIL.

I had merely swooned.  My nerves and frame were still weak from the
blood-letting I had received in the combat of yesterday.  The shock of
the horrid news was too much for my powers of endurance.

I was insensible only for a short while; the cold water revived me.

When consciousness returned, I was by the fountain, my back leaning
against its parapet edge; Rube, Garey and others were around me.  From
my dripping garments, I perceived that they had _douched_ me, and one
was pouring a fiery spirit down my throat.

There were men on horseback, who had ridden into the patio--the iron
hoofs causing the court to ring.  They were rangers, but not those who
had left camp in my company.  Some had arrived since, and others were
still galloping up.  The girls had reached the ranger camp, and told
their tale.  The men had not waited for orders, or even for one another,
but rushing to their horses, took the road in twos and threes.  Every
moment, a horseman, or several together, came riding forward in hot
haste, carrying their rifles, as if ready for action, and uttering loud
cries of indignation.

Wheatley had arrived among the foremost.

Poor fellow! his habitual buoyancy had departed; the gay smile was gone
from his lips.  His eyes were on fire, and his teeth set in the stern
expression of heart-consuming vengeance.

Amidst the hoarse shouting of the men, I heard screaming in the shriller
voices of women.  It came from without.

I rose hastily, and ran towards the spot: I saw several of the wretched
captives stripped to the waist, and men in the act of flogging them,
with mule-quirts and pieces of raw-hide rope.

I had feared it was worse; I had feared that their captors were
inflicting upon them a _retaliation in kind_.  But no--angry as were my
followers, they had not proceeded to such a fiendish extremity.

It required all the authority of a command to put an end to the
distressing spectacle.  They desisted at length; and the screeching and
affrighted wretches were permitted to take themselves away--all
disappearing rapidly beyond the light of the fire.

At this crisis a shout was raised: "To the rancheria, to the rancheria!"
and instantly a party, with Wheatley and Holingsworth at its head, rode
off for the village.  Pedro went along with them.

I waited not for their return; I had formed a plan of action for myself,
that would admit of no delay in its execution.

At first, stunned by the blow, and the distraction of my swooning
senses, I had not been able to _think_; as soon as the confusion passed,
and I could reflect more clearly, the course I ought to pursue was at
once apparent.  Vengeance I had felt as the first impulse, and a strong
desire to follow up the fiend Ijurra--night and day to follow him--
though the pursuit should lead me into the heart of the hostile ground.

This was but a momentary impulse: vengeance must be stifled for the
time.  A path was to be taken that widely diverged from that of the
retreating guerrilla--_the trail of the white steed_.

Mounting Cyprio, and choosing from my band half-a-dozen of the best
_trackers_, was the work of a moment.  In another, we were in the
saddle; and descending the hill, we plunged rapidly through the stream,
crossed the skirting timber, and soon rode out upon the open prairie.

Under Cyprio's guidance, we found the spot desecrated by that cruel
display.  The ground was trampled by many hoofs; fragments of paper--
powder-blackened--broken rocket-sticks, and half-burnt fuses, strewed
the sward--the pyrotechnic _reliquiae_ of the fiendish spectacle.

We halted not there.  By the aid of our guide and the moonlight, we rode
clear of the confusion; and taking up the trail of the horse, struck off
upon it, and were soon far out upon the prairie.

For more than a mile we advanced at a gallop.  Time was everything.
Trusting to the intelligence of the Mexican boy, we scarcely scrutinised
the track, but made directly for the point where the horse had been last
seen.

Cyprio's information did not deceive us.  A _motte_ of timber had served
him as a mark: the steed had passed close to its edge.  Beyond it, he
had seen him no more, and the boy was sent back.

Beyond it, we found the tracks, easily recognisable by Rube, Garey, and
myself.  There was a peculiarity by which we were prevented from
mistaking them: three of the prints were clearly cut in the turf--almost
perfect circles--the curve of the fourth--of the off fore-foot--was
interrupted by a slight indentation, where a piece had been broken from
the hoof.  It had been done in that terrible leap upon the rocky bed of
the barranca.

Taking the trail again, we kept on--now advancing at a slower pace, and
with a greater degree of caution.  Late rain had moistened the
prairie-turf, and we could perceive the racks without dismounting.  At
intervals, there were stretches of drier surface, where the hoof had
scarcely left its impression.  In such places, one leaped from the
saddle, and led the way on foot.  Rube or Garey usually performed this
office; and so rapidly did they move along the trail, that our horses
were seldom in a walk.  With bodies half bent, and eyes gliding along
the ground, they pressed forward like hounds running by the scent, but,
unlike these, the trackers made no noise.  Not a word was spoken by any
one.  I had no list for speech; my agony was too intense for utterance.

With Cyprio I had conversed upon the harrowing theme, and that only at
starting.  From him I had gathered further details.  No doubt, the
matador had performed his office.  Oh, God! without ears!

Cyprio had seen blood; it was streaming adown her neck and over her
bosom: her slight garments were stained red with it.  He knew not whence
it came, or why she was bleeding.  He was not present when that blood
had been drawn; it was in her chamber, he thought.  She was bleeding
when the ruffians dragged her forth!

Belike, too, the herredero had done his work?  Cyprio had seen the
blacksmith, but not the _fierro_.  He heard they had branded some at the
piazza, among others the daughter of the alcalde--_pobre Conchita_!  He
did not see them brand the Dona Isolina.

The ruffian deed might have been accomplished for all that; there was
plenty of time, while the boy lay hid, or before she had been dragged
from her chamber.

How was she placed upon the horse?

Despite my heart's bitterness, as I put these interrogatories, I could
not help thinking of the Cossack legend.  The famed classic picture came
vividly before my mind.  Wide was the distance between the Ukraine and
the Rio Bravo.  Had the monsters who re-enacted this scene on the banks
of the Mexican river--had these ever heard of Mazeppa?  Possibly their
leader had; but it was still more probable that the fiendish thought was
original.

The fashion at least was.  Cyprio had seen and described it.

She was laid longitudinally upon the back of the steed, her head resting
upon the point of his shoulder.  Her face was downward, her cheek
touching the withers.  Her arms embraced the neck, and her wrists were
made fast under the animal's throat.  Her body was held in this position
by means of a belt around her waist, attached to a surcingle on the
horse--both tightly buckled.  In addition to this, her ankles, bound
together by a thong, were fastened to the croup, with her feet
projecting beyond the hips!

I groaned as I listened to the details.

The ligature was perfect--cruelly complete.  There was no hope that such
fastenings would give way.  Those thongs of raw-hide would not come
undone.  Horse and rider could never part from that unwilling embrace--
never, till hunger, thirst, death--no, not even death could part them!
Oh, horror!

Not without groans could I contemplate the hideous fate of my
betrothed--of her whose love had become my life.

I left the tracking to my comrades, and my horse to follow after.  I
rode with loose rein, and head drooping forward; I scarcely gave thought
to design.  My heart was well-nigh broken.



CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.

THE VOYAGEUR.

We had not gone far when some one closed up beside me, and muttered a
word of cheer; I recognised the friendly voice of the big trapper.

"Don't be afeerd, capt'n," said he, in a tone of encouragement; "don't
be afeerd!  Rube an me'll find 'em afore thar's any harm done.  I don't
b'lieve the white hoss 'll gallip fur, knowin' thar's someb'dy on his
back.  It war them gim-cracks that sot him off.  When they burn out,
he'll come to a dead halt, an then--"

"And then?"  I inquired mechanically.

"We'll get up, an your black'll be able to overhaul him in a jump or
two."

I began to feel hope.  It was but a momentary gleam, and died out in the
next instant.

"If the moon 'ud only hold out," continued Garey, with an emphasis
denoting doubt.

"Rot the moon!" said a voice interrupting him; "she's a gwine to guv
out.  Wagh!"

It was Rube who had uttered the unpleasant prognostication, in a
peevish, but positive tone.

All eyes were turned upward.  The moon, round and white, was sailing
through a cloudless sky, and almost in the zenith.  How, then, was she
to "give out?"  She was near the full, and could not set before morning.
What did Rube mean?  The question was put to him.

"Look ee 'ander!" said he in reply.  "D'ees see thet ur black line, down
low on the paraira?"

There appeared a dark streak along the horizon to the eastward.  Yes, we
saw it.

"Wal," continued Rube, "thur's no timber thur--ne'er a stick--nor high
groun neyther: thurfor thet ur'ss a cloud; I've seed the likes afore.
Wait a bit.  Wagh!  In jest ten minnits, the durned thing'll kiver up
the moon, an make thet putty blue sky look as black as the hide o' an
Afrikin niggur--_it_ will."

"I'm afeerd he's right, capt'n," said Garey, in a desponding tone.  "I
war doubtful o' it myself: the sky looked too _near_.  I didn't like it
a bit: thar's always a change when things are better 'n common."

I needed not to inquire the consequences, should Rube's prediction prove
correct; that was evident to all of us.  The moon once obscured by
clouds, our progress would be arrested: even a horse could not be
tracked in the darkness.

We were not long in suspense.  Again the foresight of the old trapper
proved unerring.  Cumuli rolled up the sky one after another, until
their black masses shrouded the moon.  At first, they came only in
detached clouds, and there was light at intervals; but these were only
the advanced columns of a heavier body, that soon after appeared; and
without a break, spread itself pall-like over the firmament.

The moon's disc became entirely hidden from our view; her scattered
beams died out; and the prairie lay dark as if shadowed by an eclipse.

We could follow the trail no farther.  The ground itself was not
visible, much less the hoof-prints we had been tracing; and halting
simultaneously, we drew our horses togther, and sat in our saddles to
deliberate upon what was best to be done.

The consultation was a short one.  They who formed that little party
were all men of prairie or backwoods experience, and well versed in the
ways of the wilderness.  It took them but little time to decide what
course should be followed; and they were unanimous in their opinion.
Should the sky continue clouded, we must give up the pursuit till
morning, or adopt the only alternative--follow the trail by
_torchlight_.

Of course the latter was determined upon.  It was yet early in the
night; many hours must intervene before we should have the light of day.
I could not live through those long hours without action.  Even though
our progress might be slow, the knowledge that we were advancing would
help to stifle the painfulness of reflection.

"A torch! a torch!"

Where was such a thing to be procured?  We had with us no material with
which to make one; there was no timber near!  We were in the middle of a
naked prairie.  The universal mesquite--the _algar obia glandulosa_--
excellent for such a purpose--grew nowhere in the neighbourhood.  Who
was to find the torch?  Even Rube's ingenuity could not make one out of
nothing.

"Ecoutez, mon capitaine!" cried Le Blanc, an old voyageur--"ecoutez! vy
me no ride back, et von lanterne bring from ze ville Mexicaine?"

True, why not?  We were yet but a few miles from the rancheria.  The
Canadian's idea was a good one.

"Je connais," he continued--"know I, pe gar! ze ver spot ou--vere--sont
cachees--hid les chandelles magnifiques--von, deux, tree big candle--
vax, vax--"

"Wax-candles?"

"Oui--oui, messieurs! tres grand comme un baton; ze ver chose pour
allumer la prairie."

"You know where they are?  You could find them, Le Blanc?"

"Oui, messieurs--je connais: les chandelles sont cachees dans l'eglise--
zey are in ze church hid."

"Ha! in the church?"

"Oui, messieurs; c'est un grand sacrilege, mon Dieu! ver bad; mais
n'importe cela.  Eef mon capitaine permit--vill allow pour aller
Monsieur Quack'bosh, he go chez moi; nous chercherons; ve bring ze
chandelles--pe gar ve bring him!"

From the mixed gibberish of the voyageur, I could gather his meaning
well enough.  He knew of a depository of wax-candles, and the church of
the rancheria was the place in which they were kept.

I was not in a frame of mind to care much for the sacrilege, and my
companions were still less scrupulous.  The act was determined upon, and
Le Blanc and Quackenboss, without more delay, took the back-track for
the village.

The rest of us dismounted; and, picketing our horses to the grass, lay
down to await the return of the messengers.



CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

TRAILING BY TORCH-LIGHT.

While thus inactive, my mind yielded itself up to the contemplation of
painful probabilities.  Horrid spectacles passed before my imagination.
I saw the white horse galloping over the plain, pursued by wolves, and
shadowed by black vultures.  To escape these hungry pursuers, I saw him
dash into the thick chapparal, there to encounter the red panther or the
fierce prowling bear--there to encounter the sharp thorns of the
acacias, the barbed spines of the cactus, and the recurving claw-like
armature of the wild aloes.  I could see the red blood streaming adown
his white flanks--not _his_ blood, but that of the helpless victim
stretched prostrate along his back.  I could see the lacerated limbs--
the ankles chafed and swollen--the garments torn to shreds--the drooping
head--the long loose hair tossed and trailing to the earth--the white
wan lips--the woe-bespeaking eyes--Oh!  I could bear my reflections no
longer.  I sprang to my feet, and paced the prairie with the aimless,
unsteady step of a madman.

Again the kind-hearted trapper approached, and renewed his efforts to
console me.

"We could follow the trail," he said, "by torch or candle light, almost
as fast as we could travel; we should be many miles along it before
morning; maybe before then we should get sight of the steed.  It would
not be hard to surround and capture him; now that he was half-tamed, he
might not run from us; if he did, he could be overtaken.  Once in view,
we would not lose sight of him again.  The saynyora would be safe
enough; there was nothing to hurt her: the wolves would not know the
`fix' she was in, neyther the `bars' nor `painters.'  We should be sure
to come up with her before the next night, an would find her first-rate;
a little tired and hungry, no doubt, but nothing to hurt.  We should
relieve her, and rest would set all right again."

Notwithstanding the rude phrase in which these consolatory remarks were
made, I appreciated their kind intention.

Garey's speech had the effect of rendering me more hopeful; and in
calmer mood, I awaited the return of Quackenboss and the Canadian.

These did not linger.  Two hours had been allowed them to perform their
errand; but long before the expiration of that period, we heard the
double tramp of their horses as they came galloping across the plain.

In a few minutes they rode up, and we could see in the hands of Le Blanc
three whitish objects, that in length and thickness resembled stout
walking-canes.  We recognised _les chandelles magnifiques_.

They were the property of the church--designed, no doubt, to have
illumined the altar upon the occasion of some grand _dia de fiesta_.

"Voila! mon capitaine!" cried the Canadian, as he rode forward--"voila
les chandelles!  Ah, mon Dieu! c'est von big sacrilege, et je suis bon
Chretien--buen Catolico, as do call 'im ze dam Mexicaine; bien--ze bon
Dieu me forgive--God ve pardon vill pour--for ze grand necessitie; sure
certaine he will me pardon--Lige et moi--ze brave Monsieur Quack'bosh."

The messengers had brought news from the village.  Some rough
proceedings had taken place since our departure.  Men had been punished;
fresh victims had been found under the guidance of Pedro and others of
the abused.  The trees in the church enclosure that night bore horrid
fruit.

The alcalde was not dead; and Don Ramon, it was supposed, still
survived, but had been carried off a prisoner by the guerrilla!  The
rangers were yet at the rancheria; many had been desirous of returning
with Le Blanc and Quackenboss, but I had sent orders to the lieutenants
to take all back to camp as soon as their affair was over.  The fewer of
the troop that should be absent, the less likelihood of our being
missed, and those I had with me I deemed enough for my purpose.  Whether
successful or not, we should soon return to camp.  It would then be time
to devise some scheme for capturing the leader and prime actor in this
terrible tragedy.

Hardly waiting to hear the story, we lighted the great candles, and
moved once more along the trail.

Fortunately, the breeze was but slight, and only served to make the huge
waxen torches flare more freely.  By their brilliant blaze, we were
enabled to take up the tracks, quite as rapidly as by the moonlight.  At
this point, the horse had been still going at full gallop; and his
course, as it ran in a direct line, was the more easily followed.

Dark as the night was, we soon perceived we were heading for a point
well known to all of us--the prairie mound; and, under a faint belief
that the steed might have there come to a stop, we pressed forward with
a sort of hopeful anticipation.

After an hour's tracking, the white cliffs loomed within the circle of
our view--the shining selenite glancing back the light of our tapers,
like a wall set with diamonds.

We approached with caution, still keeping on the trail, but also keenly
scrutinising the ground in advance of us--in hopes of perceiving the
object of our search.  Neither by the cliff, nor in the gloom around,
was living form to be traced.

Sure enough the steed had halted there, or, at all events, ceased from
his wild gallop.  He had approached the mound in a walk, as the tracks
testified; but how, and in what direction, had he gone thence?  His
hoof-prints no longer appeared.  He had passed over the shingle, that
covered the plain to a distance of many yards from the base of the
cliff, and no track could be found beyond!

Several times we went around the mesa, carrying our candles everywhere.
We saw skeletons of men and horses, with skulls detached, fragments of
dresses, and pieces of broken armour--souvenirs of our late skirmish.
We looked into our little fortress, and gazed upon the rock that had
sheltered us; we glanced up the gorge where we had climbed, and beheld
the rope by which we had descended still hanging in its place: all these
we saw, but no further traces of the steed!

Round and round we went, back and forward, over the stony shingle, and
along its outer edge, but still without coming upon the tracks.  Whither
could the horse have gone!

Perhaps, with a better light, we might have found the trail; but for a
long hour we searched, without striking upon any sign of it.  Perhaps we
might still have found it, even with our waxen torches, but for an
incident that not only interrupted our search, but filled us with fresh
apprehension, and almost stifled our hopes of success.

The interruption did not come unexpected.  The clouds had for some time
given ample warning.  The big solitary drops that at intervals fell with
plashing noise upon the rocks, were but the _avant-couriers_ of one of
the great rainstorms of the prairie, when water descends as if from a
shower-bath.  We knew from the signs that such a storm was nigh; and
while casting around to recover the trail, it came down in all its fury.

Almost in an instant our lights were extinguished, and our bootless
search brought to a termination.

We drew up under the rocks, and stood side by side in sullen silence.
Even the elements seemed against me.  In my heart's bitterness, I cursed
them.



CHAPTER SIXTY.

THE SOMBRERO.

The horses cowered under the cold rain, all of them jaded and hungry.
The hot dusty march of the morning, and the long rough gallop of the
night, had exhausted their strength; and they stood with drooped heads
and hanging ears, dozing and motionless.

The men, too, were wearied--some of them quite worn out.  A few kept
their feet, bridle in hand, under shelter of the impending cliff; the
others, having staggered down, with their backs against the rock, had
almost instantly fallen asleep.

For me was neither sleep nor rest; I did not even seek protection
against the storm; but standing clear of the cliff, received the
drenching shower full upon my shoulders.  It was the chill rain of the
"norther;" but at that moment neither cold _norte_ nor hot sirocco could
have produced upon me an impression of pain.  To physical suffering I
was insensible.  I should even have welcomed it, for I well understood
the truth, proverbially expressed in that language, rich above all
others in proverbial lore--"_un clavo saca otro clavo_" and still more
fully illustrated by the poet:

  "_Tristezas me hacen triste,
  Tristezas salgo a buscar,
  A ver si con tristezas
  Tristezas puedo olvidar_."

Yes, under any other form, I should have welcomed physical pain as a
neutraliser of my mental anguish; but that cold norther brought no
consolation.

Sadly the reverse.  It was the harbinger of keen apprehension; for not
only had it interrupted our search, but should the heavy rain continue
only for a few hours, we might be able neither to find or further to
follow the trail.  It would be _blinded_--obliterated--lost.

Can you wonder that in my heart I execrated those black clouds, and that
driving deluge?--that with my lips I cursed the sky and the storm, the
moon and the stars, the red lightning and the rolling thunder?

My anathema ended, I stood in sullen silence, leaning against the body
of my brave horse--whose sides shivered under the chilly rain, though I
felt not its chill.

Absorbed in gloomy thought, I recked not what was passing around me;
and, for an unnoted period, I remained in this speechless abstraction.

My reverie was broken.  Some expressions that reached my ear told me
that at least two of my followers had not yet yielded to weariness or
despair.  Two of them were in conversation; and I easily recognised the
voices of the trappers.

Tireless, used to stern struggles--to constant warfare with the
elements--with nature herself--these true men never thought of giving
up, until the last effort of human ingenuity had failed.  From their
conversation, I gathered that they had not yet lost hope of finding the
trail, but were meditating on some plan for recovering and following it.

With renewed eagerness I faced towards them and listened.  Both talked
in a low voice.  Garey was speaking, as I turned to them.

"I guess you're right, Rube.  The hoss must a gone thar, an if so, we're
boun' to fetch his tracks.  Thar's mud, if I remember right, all roun'
the pool.  We can carry the cannel under Dutch's sombrera."

"Ye-es," drawled Rube in reply; "an ef this niggur don't miskalk'late,
we ain't a gwine to need eyther cannel or sombrairay.  Lookee yander!"--
the speaker pointed to a break in the clouds--"I'll stake high, I kin
mizyure this hyur shower wi' the tail o' a goat.  Wagh! we'll hev the
moon agin, clur as iver in the inside o' ten minnits--see ef we haint."

"So much the better, old hoss; but hadn't we best first try for the
tracks; time's precious, Rube--"

"In coorse it ur; git the cannel an the sombrairay, an le's be off then.
The rest o' these fellurs hed better stay hyur, an snore it out; thu'll
only bamfoozle us."

"Lige!" called out Garey, addressing himself to Quackenboss--"Lige! gi'
us yur hat a bit."

A loud snore was the only reply.  The ranger, seated with his back
against the rock, and his head drooping over his breast, was sound
asleep.

"Durned sleepy-head!" exclaimed Rube, in a tone of peevish impatience.
"Prod 'im wi' the point o' yur bowie, Bill!  Rib-roast 'im wi' yur
wipin'-stick!  Lam 'im wi' yur laryette!--gi' 'im a kick i' the guts!--
roust 'im up, durn 'im!"

"Lige!--he!--Dutchy!" cried Garey, approaching the sleeper, and shaking
him by the shoulder; "I want your sombrera."

"Ho! wo! stand still!  Jingo! he'll throw me.  I can't get off; the
spurs are locked.  He! wo! wo!"

Rube and Garey broke into a loud cachinnation that awakened the rest of
the slumberers.  Quackenboss alone remained asleep, fighting in his
dreams with the wild Indian horse.

"Durned mulehead!" cried Rube after a pause; "let 'im go on at thet
long's he likes it.  Chuck the hat off o' his head, Bill! we don't want
_him_--thet we don't."

There was a little pique in the trapper's tone.  The breach that the
ranger had made, while acting as a faithful sentinel, was not yet
healed.

Garey made no further attempts to arouse the sleeper, but in obedience
to the order of his comrade, lifted off the hat; and, having procured
one of the great candles, he and Rube started off without saying another
word, of giving any clue to their design.

Though joyed at what I had heard, I refrained from interrogating them.
Some of my followers who put questions received only ambiguous answers.
From the manner of the trappers, I saw that they wished to be left to
themselves; and I could well trust them to the development of whatever
design they had conceived.

On leaving us, they walked straight out from the cliff; but how far they
continued in this direction it was impossible to tell.  They had not
lighted the candle; and after going half-a-dozen steps, their forms
disappeared from our view amidst the darkness and thickly-falling rain.



CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

THE TRAIL RECOVERED.

The rangers, after a moment of speculation as to the designs of the
trappers, resumed their attitude of repose.  Fatigued as they were, even
the cold could not keep them awake.

After a pause, the voice of Quackenboss could be heard, in proof that
that heavy sleeper was at length aroused; the rain falling upon his
half-bald skull had been more effective than the shouts and shaking of
Garey.

"Hillo?  Where's my hat?" inquired he in a mystified tone, at the same
time stirring himself, and groping about among the rocks.  "Where _is_
my hat?  Boys, did any o' ye see anything o' a hat, did ye?"  His shouts
again awoke the sleepers.

"What sort of a hat, Lige?" inquired one.

"A black hat--that Mexican sombrera."

"Oh! a black hat; no--I saw no black hat."

"You darned Dutchman! who do you expect could see a black hat such a
night as this, or a white one eyther?  Go to sleep!"

"Come, boys, I don't want none o' your nonsense: I want my hat.  Who's
tuk my hat?"

"Are you sure it was a black hat?"

"Bah! the wind has carried it away."

"Pe gar!  Monsieur Quack'bosh--votre chapeau grand--you great beeg 'at--
est-il perdu?--is loss?--c'est vrai?  Pardieu! les loups--ze wolfs have
it carr'd avay--have it mange--eat? c'est vrai?"

"None o' your gibberish, Frenchy.  Have _you_ tuk my hat?"

"Moi! votre chapeau grand!  No, Monsieur Quack'bosh--vraiment je ne l'ai
pas; pe gar, no!"

"Have _you_ got it, Stanfield?" asked the botanist, addressing himself
to a Kentucky backwoodsman of that name.

"Dang yar hat!  What shed I do wi' yar hat?  I've got my own hat, and
that's hat enough for me."

"Have _you_ my hat, Bill Black?"

"No," was the prompt reply; "I've got neery hat but my own, and that
ain't black, I reckon, 'cept on sich a night as this."

"I tell you what, Lige, old fellow! you lost your hat while you were a
ridin' the mustang just now: the hoss kicked it off o' your head."

A chorus of laughter followed this sally, in the midst of which
Quackenboss could be heard apostrophising both his hat and his comrades
in no very respectful terms, while he commenced scrambling over the
ground in vain search after the lost sombrero, amidst the jokes and
laughter uttered at his expense.

To this merriment of my followers I gave but little heed: my thoughts
were intent on other things.  My eyes were fixed upon that bright spot
in the sky, that had been pointed out by Rube; and my heart gladdened,
as I perceived that it was every moment growing brighter and bigger.

The rain still fell thick and fast; but the edge of the cloud-curtain
was slowly rising above the eastern horizon, as though drawn up by some
invisible hand.

Should the movement continue, I felt confident that in a few minutes--as
Rube had predicted--the sky would be clear again, and the moon shining
brightly as ever.  These were joyous anticipations.

At intervals I glanced towards the prairie, and listened to catch some
sound--either the voices of the trappers, or the tread of their
returning footsteps.  No such sounds could be heard.

I was becoming impatient, when I perceived a sudden waif of light far
out upon the plain.  It seemed to be again extinguished; but in the same
place, and the moment after, appeared a small, steady flame, twinkling
like a solitary star through the bluish mist of the rain.  For a few
seconds it remained fixed, and then commenced moving--as if carried low
down along the surface of the ground.

There was nothing mysterious about this lone light.  To Quackenboss only
it remained an unexplained apparition; and he might have mistaken it for
the _fata morgana_.  The others had been awake when Rube and Garey took
their departure, and easily recognised the lighted candle in the hands
of the trappers.

For some time the light appeared to move backwards and forwards, turning
at short distances, as if borne in irregular circles, or in zig-zag
lines.  We could perceive the sheen of water between us and the flame--
as though there was a pond, or perhaps a portion of the prairie, flooded
by the rain.

After a while the light became fixed, and a sharp exclamation was heard
across the plain, which all of us recognised as being in the voice of
the trapper Rube.

Again the light was in motion--now flitting along more rapidly, and as
if carried in a straight line over the prairie.

We followed it with eager eyes.  We saw it was moving further and
further away; and my companions hazarded the conjecture that the
trappers had recovered the trail.

This was soon verified by one of themselves--Garey--whose huge form,
looming through the mist, was seen approaching the spot; and though the
expression of his face could not be noted in the darkness, his bearing
betokened that he brought cheerful tidings.

"Rube's struck the trail, capt'n," said he in a quiet voice as he came
up: "yonder he goes, whar you see the bleeze o' the cannel!  He'll soon
be out o' sight, if we don't make haste, an follow."

Without another word, we seized the reins, sprang once more into our
saddles, and rode off after the twinkling star, that beaconed us across
the plain.

Rube was soon overtaken; and we perceived that despite the storm, he was
rapidly progressing along the trail, his candle sheltered from the rain
under the ample sombrero.

In answer to numerous queries, the old trapper vouchsafed only an
occasional "Wagh!" evidently proud of this new exhibition of his skill.
With Garey, the curious succeeded better; and as we continued on, the
latter explained to them how the trail had been recovered by his
comrade--for to Rube, it appeared, was the credit due.

Rube remembered the mesa spring.  It was the water in its branch that we
had seen gleaming under the light.  The thoughtful trapper conjectured,
and rightly as it proved, that the steed would stop there to drink.  He
had passed along the stony shingle by the mound--simply because around
the cliff lay his nearest way to the water--and had followed a dry ridge
that led directly from the mesa to the spring-branch.  Along this ridge,
going gently at the time, his hoof had left no marks--at least none that
could be distinguished by torch-light--and this was why the trail had
been for the moment lost.  Rube, however, remembered that around the
spring there was a tract of soft boggy ground; and he anticipated that
in this the hoof-prints would leave a deep impression.  To find them he
needed only a "kiver" for the candle, and the huge hat of Quackenboss
served the purpose well.  An umbrella would scarcely have been better.

As the trappers had conjectured, they found the tracks in the muddy
margin of the spring-branch.  The steed had drunk at the pool; but
immediately after had resumed his wild flight, going westward from the
mound.

Why had he gone off at a gallop?  Had he been alarmed by aught?  Or had
he taken fresh affright, at the strange rider upon his back?

I questioned Garey.  I saw that he knew why.  He needed pressing for the
answer.

He gave it at length, but with evident reluctance.  These were his words
of explanation--

"Thar are wolf-tracks on the trail!"



CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

WOLVES ON THE TRACK.

The wolves, then, were after him!

The trackers had made out their footprints in the mud of the arroyo.
Both kinds had been there--the large brown wolf of Texas, and the small
barking _coyote_ of the plains.  A full pack there had been, as the
trappers could tell by the numerous tracks, and that they were following
the horse, the tracks also testified to these men of strange
intelligence.  How knew they this?  By what sign?

To my inquiries, I obtained answer from Garey.

Above the spring-branch extended a shelving bank; up this the steed had
bounded, after drinking at the pool.  Up this, too, the wolves had
sprung after: they had left the indentation of their claws in the soft
loam.

How knew Garey that they were in pursuit of the horse?

The "scratches" told him they were going at their fastest, and they
would not have sprung so far had they not been pursuing some prey.
There were footmarks of no other animal except theirs, and the
hoof-prints of that steed; and that they were after him was evident to
the trapper, because _the tracks of the wolves covered those of the
horse_.

Garey had no more doubt of the correctness of his reasoning, than a
geometrician of the truth of a theorem in Euclid.

I groaned in spirit as I was forced to adopt his conclusion.  But it was
all probable--too probable.  Had the steed been alone--Unembarrassed--
free--it was not likely the wolves would have chased him thus.  The
wild-horse in his prime is rarely the object of their attack; though the
old and infirm--the gravid mare, and the feeble colt--often fall before
these hungry hunters of the plains.  Both common wolf and coyote possess
all the astuteness of the fox, and know, as if by instinct, the animal
that is wounded to death.  They will follow the stricken deer that has
escaped from the hunter; but if it prove to be but slightly harmed,
instinctively they abandon the chase.

Their instinct had told them that the steed was not ridden by a free
hand; they had seen that there was _something amiss_; and in the hope of
running down both horse and rider, they had followed with hungry howl.

Another fact lent probability to this painful conjecture; we knew that
by the mesa were many wolves.

The spring was the constant resort of ruminant animals, deer and
antelopes; the half-wild cattle of the _ganaderos_ drank there, and the
tottering calf oft became the prey of the coyote and his more powerful
congener, the gaunt Texan wolf.  There was still another reason why the
place must of late have been the favourite prowl of these hideous
brutes: the _debris_ of our skirmish had furnished them with many a
midnight banquet.  They had ravened upon the blood of men and the flesh
of horses, and they hungered for more.

That they might succeed in running down the steed, cumbered as he was,
was probable enough.  Sooner or later, they would overtake him.  It
might be after a long, long gallop over hill and dale, through swamp and
chapparal; but still it was probable those tough, tireless pursuers
would overtake him.  They would launch themselves upon his flanks; they
would seize upon his wearied limbs--upon hers, the helpless victim on
his back--both horse and rider would be dragged to the earth--both
torn--parted in pieces--devoured!

I groaned under the horrid apprehension.

"Look thar!" said Garey, pointing to the ground, and holding his torch
so as to illuminate the surface; "the hoss has made a slip thar.  See!
hyar's the track o' the big wolf--he hes sprung up jest hyar; I can tell
by the scratch o' his hind-claws."

I examined the "sign."  Even to my eyes it was readable, and just as
Garey had interpreted it.  There were other tracks of wolves on the damp
soil, but one had certainly launched himself forward, in a long leap, as
though in an effort to fasten himself upon the flanks of some animal.
The hoof-mark plainly showed that the steed had slipped as he sprang
over the wet grass; and this had tempted the spring of the watchful
pursuer.

We hurried on.  Our excited feelings hindered us from causing longer
than a moment.  Both rangers and trappers snared my eagerness, as well
as my apprehensions.  Fast as the torches could be carried, we hurried
on.

Shortly after parting from the mesa, there occurred a change in our
favour.  The lights had been carried under hats to protect them from the
rain.  This precaution was no longer required.  The storm had passed--
the shower ceasing as suddenly as it had come on; the clouds were fast
driving from the face of the firmament.  In five minutes more, the moon
would shine forth.  Already her refracted rays lightened the prairie.

We did not stay for her full beam; time was too precious.  Still
trusting to the torches, we hurried on.

The beautiful queen of the night kept her promise.  In five minutes, her
cheering orb shot out beyond the margin of the dark pall that had
hitherto shrouded it; and her white disc, as if purified by the storm,
shone with unwonted brightness.  The ground became conspicuous almost as
in day; the torches were extinguished, and we followed the trail more
rapidly by the light of the moon.

Here, still in full gallop, had passed the wild-horse, and for miles
beyond--still had he gone at utmost speed.  Still close upon his heels
had followed the ravenous and untiring wolves.  Here and there were the
prints of their clawed feet--the signs of their unflagging pursuit.

The roar of water sounded in our ears: it came from the direction
towards which the trail was conducting us, a stream was not far distant.

We soon diminished the distance.  A glassy sheet glistened under the
moonlight, and towards this the trail trended in a straight line.

It was a river--a cataract was near, down which the water, freshened by
the late rain, came tumbling, broken by the rocks into hummocks of white
foam.  Under the moonlight, it appeared like an avalanche of snow.  The
trappers recognised an affluent of the Rio Bravo, running from the
north--from the high steppe of the Llano Estacado.

We hurried forward to its bank, and opposite the frothing rapids.  The
trail conducted us to this point--to the very edge of the foaming water.
It led no farther.  There were the hoof-marks forward to the brink, but
not back.  The horse had plunged into the torrent.



CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

ACROSS THE TORRENT.

Surely was it so.  Into that seething rapid the steed had launched
himself--where the spume was whitest, and the rocks gave out their
hoarsest echoes.  The four hoof-prints, close together upon the bank,
showed the point from which he had sprung; and the deeply indented turf
testified that he had made no timid leap.  The pursuers had been close
upon his heels, and he had flung himself with desperate plunge upon the
water.

Had he succeeded in crossing?  It was our first thought.  It appeared
improbable--impossible.  Notwithstanding its foam-bedappled surface, the
current was swift, and looked as though it would sweep either man or
horse from his footing.  Surely it was too deep to be forded.  Though
here and there rocks were seen above the surface, they were but the
crests of large boulders, and between them the impetuous wave ran dark
and rapid.  Had the horse lost footing? had he been forced to swim?  If
so, he must have been carried down by the current--his body submerged--
his withers sunk below the surface--his helpless rider--

The conclusion was evident to all of us.  All felt the conviction
simultaneously.  No--not all.  There came a word of comfort from the
oldest and wisest--a word that gave cheer to my drooping spirit.

"Wagh! the hoss hain't swum a lick--_he_ hain't."

"Are you sure, Rube?  How can you tell?" were the quick interrogatories.

"Sure--how kin I tell--i'deed, how?" replied Rube, a little nettled at
our having questioned his judgment.  "What the divul's yur eyes good
for--all o' yur?  Lookee hyur! and I'll show 'ee how I tell.  Do 'ee see
the colour o' thet water?--it ur as brown as a buffler in the Fall;
thurfor it's fresh kim down; and jest afore the shower, thur wan't
more'n half o' it in the channel.  _Then_ the hoss mout a waded 'crosst
hyur, easy as fallin' off a log, and _then_ that hoss _did_ wade
acrosst."

"He crossed before the rain?"

"Sure as a shot from Targuts.  Look at the tracks!  Them wur made afore
a drop o' rain kim down: ef they hedn't, they'd a been a durned sight
deeper in the sod.  Wagh! the hoss got safe acrosst 'ithout wettin' a
hair o' his hips.  So far as drowndin' goes, don't be skeeart 'bout
thet, young fellur! the gurl's safe enough yit."

"And the wolves?  Do you think they have followed across the stream?"

"Ne'er a wolf o' 'em--ne'er a one.  The vamints hed more sense.  They
knowd thur legs wan't long enough, an thet ur current wud a swep 'em a
mile afore they kud a swum half-way acrosst.  The wolves, they stayed on
this side, I reck'n.  Look hyur--hyur's thur tracks.  Wagh! thur wur a
wheen o' the filthy beests.  Geehosophat! the bank ur paddled like a
sheep-pen."

We bent down to examine the ground.  Sure enough, it was covered with
the tracks of wolves.  A numerous band had crowded together on the spot;
and as the prints of their feet pointed in all directions, it was
evident they had not gone forward, but, brought to a stand by the
torrent, had given up the chase, and scattered away.

Pray heaven it was no mere conjecture!

With Rube it was a belief; and as I had grown to put implicit reliance
in the old trapper's wood-craft, I felt reassured.  Rube's opinions,
both as to the steed having safely crossed, and the discomfiture of the
wolves, were shared by the rest of my followers--not one of whom was a
mean authority on such a subject.  Garey--second only to his older
comrade in the working out of a prairie syllogism--gave Rube's statement
his emphatic confirmation.  The steed was yet safe--and pray heaven, the
rider.

With lighter heart I sprang back into the saddle.  My followers imitated
the example, and with eyes scanning the stream, we rode along the bank
to seek for a crossing.

There was no ford near the spot.  Perhaps where the steed had passed
over the stream might have been waded at low-water; but now, during the
freshet, the current would have swept off horse and man like so much
cork-wood.  The rocks--the black waves that rushed between them--the
boiling, frothing eddies--discouraged any attempt at crossing there; we
all saw that it was impracticable.

Some rode up stream, others went in the opposite direction.

Both parties met again with blank looks; neither had found a crossing.

There was no time to search further--at least my impatience would no
longer brook delay.  It was not the first time for both my horse and
myself to cross a river without ford; nor was it the first time for many
of my followers.

Below the rapids, the current ran slow, apparently ceasing altogether.
The water was still, though wider from bank to bank--a hundred yards or
more.  By the aid of the moonlight, I could tell that the bank on the
opposite side was low and shelving.  It could be easily climbed by a
horse.

I stayed to reason no further.  Many a hundred yards had Moro swum with
his rider on his back--many a current had he cleft with his proud breast
far more rapid than that.

I headed him to the bank, gave him the spur, and went plunging into the
flood.

Plunge--plunge--plunge!  I heard behind me till the last of my followers
had launched themselves on the wave, and were swimming silently over.

One after another we reached the opposite side, and ascended the bank.

Hurriedly I counted our number as the men rode out; one had not yet
arrived.  Who was missing?

"Rube," answered some one.

I glanced back, but without feeling any uneasiness.  I had no fear for
the trapper; Garey alleged he was "safe to turn up."  Something had
detained him.  Could his old mare swim?

"Like a mink," replied Garey; "but Rube won't ride her across; he's
afeerd to sink her too deep in the water.  See! yonder he comes!"

Near the middle of the stream, two faces were observed rippling the
wave, one directly in the wake of the other.  The foremost was the
grizzled front of the old mustang, the other the unmistakeable
physiognomy of her master.  The moonlight shining upon both rendered
them conspicuous above the dark brown water; and the spectacle drew a
laugh from those who had reached the bank.

Rube's mode of crossing was unique, like every action of this singular
man.  Perhaps he adopted it from sheer eccentricity, or maybe in order
that his mustang might swim more freely.

He had ridden gently into the water, and kept his saddle till the mare
was beyond her depth--then sliding backward over her hips, he took the
tail in his teeth, and partly towed like a fish upon the hook, and
partly striking to assist in the passage, he swam after.  As soon as the
mare again touched bottom, he drew himself up over the croup, and in
this way regained his saddle.

Mare and man, as they climbed out on the bank--the thin skeleton bodies
of both reduced to their slenderest dimensions by the soaking water--
presented a spectacle so ludicrous as to elicit a fresh chorus of
laughter from his comrades.

I stayed not till its echoes had died away; but pressing my steed along
the bank, soon arrived at the rapids, where I expected to recover the
trail.

To my joy, hoof-marks were there, directly opposite the point where the
steed had taken to the stream.  Rube was right.  He had waded safely
across.

Thank heaven! at least from that peril has she been saved!



CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.

A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST.

On resuming the trail, I was cheered by three considerations.  The peril
of the flood was past--she was not drowned.  The wolves were thrown
off--the dangerous rapid had deterred them; on the other side their
footprints were no longer found.  Thirdly, the steed had slackened his
pace.  After climbing the bank, he had set off in a rapid gait, but not
at a gallop.

"He's been pacin' hyar!" remarked Garey, as soon as his eyes rested upon
the tracks.

"Pacing!"

I knew what was meant by this; I knew that gait peculiar to the prairie
horse, fast but smooth as the amble of a palfrey.  His rider would
scarcely perceive the gentle movement; her torture would be less.

Perhaps, too, no longer frighted by the fierce pursuers, the horse would
come to a stop.  His wearied limbs would admonish him, and then--

Surely he could not have gone much farther?

We, too, were wearied, one and all; but these pleasing conjectures
beguiled us from thinking of our toil, and we advanced more hopefully
along the trail.

Alas! it was my fate to be the victim of alternate hopes and fears.  My
new-sprung joy was short-lived, and fast fleeted away.

We had gone but a few hundred paces from the river, when we encountered
an obstacle, that proved not only a serious barrier to our progress, but
almost brought our tracking to a termination.

This obstacle was a forest of oaks, not _giant_ oaks, as these famed
trees are usually designated, but the very reverse--a forest of _dwarf_
oaks (_Quercus nana_).  Far as the eye could reach extended this
singular wood, in which no tree rose above thirty inches in height!  Yet
was it no thicket--no under-growth of shrubs--but a true forest of oaks,
each tree having its separate stem, its boughs, its lobed leaves, and
its bunches of brown acorns.

"Shin oak," cried the trappers, as we entered the verge of this
miniature forest.

"Wagh!" exclaimed Rube, in a tone of impatience, "hyur's bother.  'Ee
may all get out o' yur saddles an rest yur critturs: we'll hev to crawl
hyur."

And so it resulted.  For long weary hours we followed the trail, going
not faster than we could have crawled upon our hands and knees.  The
tracks of the steed were plain enough, and in daylight could have been
easily followed; but the little oaks grew close and regular as if
planted by the hand of man; and through their thick foliage the
moonlight scarcely penetrated.  Their boughs almost touched each other,
so that the whole surface lay in dark shadow, rendering it almost
impossible to make out the hoof-prints.  Here and there, a broken branch
or a bunch of tossed leaves--their under-sides shining glaucous in the
moonlight--enabled us to advance at a quicker rate; but as the horse had
passed gently over the ground, these "signs" were few and far between.

For long fretful hours we toiled through the "shin-oak" forest, our
heads far overtopping its tallest trees!  We might have fancied that we
were threading our way through some extended nursery.  The trail led
directly across its central part; and ere we had reached its furthest
verge, the moon's rays were mingling with the purple light of morning.

Soon after the "forest opened;" the little dwarfs grew further apart--
here scattered thinly over the ground, there disposed in clumps or
miniature grove?--until at length the sward of the prairie predominated.

The trouble of the trackers was at an end.  The welcome light of the sun
was thrown upon the trail, so that they could lift it as fast as we
could ride; and, no longer hindered by brake or bush, we advanced at a
rapid rate across the prairie.

Over this ground the steed had also passed rapidly.  He had continued to
pace for some distance, after emerging from the shin-oak forest; but all
at once, as we could tell by his tracks, he had bounded off again, and
resumed his headlong gallop.

What had started him afresh?  We were at a loss to imagine; even the
prairie-men were puzzled!

Had wolves again attacked him, or some other enemy?  No; nor one nor
other.  It was a green prairie over which he had gone, a smooth sward of
mezquite-grass; but there were spots where the growth was thin--patches
nearly bare--and these were softened by the rain.  Even the light paw of
a wolf would have impressed itself in such places, sufficiently to be
detected by the lynx-eyed men of the plains.  The horse had passed since
the rain had ceased falling.  No wolf, or other animal, had been after
him.

Perhaps he had taken a start of himself, freshly affrighted at the novel
mode in which he was ridden--still under excitement from the rough usage
he had received, and from which he had not yet cooled down--perhaps the
barbed points of the cohetes rankled in his flesh, acting like spurs;
perhaps some distant sound had led him to fancy the hooting mob, or the
howling wolves, still coming at his heels; perhaps--

An exclamation from the trackers, who were riding in the advance, put an
end to these conjectures.  Both had pulled up, and were pointing to the
ground.  No words were spoken--none needed.  We all read with our eyes
an explanation of the renewed gallop.

Directly in front of us, the sward was cut and scored by numerous
tracks.  Not four, but four hundred hoof-prints were indented in the
turf--all of them fresh as the trail we were following--and amidst these
the tracks of the steed, becoming intermingled, were lost to our view.

"A drove of wild horses," pronounced the guides at a glance.

They were the tracks of unshod hoofs, though that would scarcely have
proved them wild.  An Indian troop might have ridden past without
leaving any other sign; but these horses had not been mounted, as the
trappers confidently alleged; and among them were the hoof-marks of
foals and half-grown colts, which proved the drove to be a _caballada_
of mustangs.

At the point where we first struck their tracks they had been going in
full speed, and the trail of the steed converged until it closed with
theirs at an acute angle.

"Ye-es," drawled Rube, "I see how 'tis.  They've been skeeart at the
awkurd look o' the hoss, an hev put off.  See! thur's his tracks on the
top o' all o' theirn: he's been runnin' arter 'em.  Thur!" continued the
tracker, as we advanced--"thur he hez overtuk some o' 'em.  See! thur!
the vamints hev scattered right an left!  Hyur agin, they've galliped
thegither, some ahint, an some afore him.  Wagh!  I guess they know him
now, an ain't any more afeerd o' him.  See thur! he's in the thick o'
the drove."

Involuntarily I raised my eyes, fancying from these words that the
horses were in sight; but no; the speaker was riding forward, leaning
over in his saddle, with looks fixed upon the ground.  All that he had
spoken he had been reading from the surface of the prairie--from
hieroglyphics to me unintelligible, but to him more easily interpreted
than a page of the printed book.

I knew that what he was saying was true.  The steed had galloped after a
drove of wild horses; he had overtaken them; and at the point where we
now were, had been passing along in their midst!

Dark thoughts came crowding into my mind at this discovery--another
shadow across my heart.  I perceived at once a new situation of peril
for my betrothed--new, and strange, and awful.

I saw her in the midst of a troop of neighing wild-horses--stallions
with fiery eyes and red steaming nostrils--these perhaps angry at the
white steed, and jealous of his approach to the _manada_; in mad rage
rushing upon him with open mouth and yellow glistening teeth; rearing
around and above him, and striking down with deadly desperate hoof--Oh,
it was a horrid apprehension, a fearful fancy!

Yet, fearful as it was, it proved to be the exact shadow of a reality.
As the mirage refracts distant objects upon the retina of the eye, so
some spiritual mirage must have thrown upon my mind the image of things
that were real.  Not distant, though then unseen--not distant was the
real.

Rapidly I ascended another swell of the prairie, and from its crest
beheld almost the counterpart of the terrible scene that my imagination
had conjured up!

Was it a dream? was it still fancy that was cheating my eyes?  No; there
was the wild-horse drove; there the rearing, screaming stallions; there
the white steed in their midst--he too rearing erect--there upon his
back--

"O God! look down in mercy--save her! save her!"



CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE.

SCATTERING THE WILD STALLIONS.

Such rude appeal was wrung from my lips by the dread spectacle on which
my eyes rested.

I scarcely waited the echo of my words; I waited not the counsel of my
comrades; but, plunging deeply the spur, galloped down the hill in the
direction of the drove.

There was no method observed--no attempt to keep under cover.  There was
no time either for caution or concealment.  I acted under instantaneous
impulse, and with but one thought--to charge forward, scatter the
stallions, and, if yet in time, save her from those hurling heels and
fierce glittering teeth.

_If yet in time_--ay, such provisory parenthesis was in my mind at the
moment.  But I drew hope from observing that the steed kept a ring
cleared around him: his assailants only threatened at a distance.

Had he been alone, I might have acted with more caution, and perhaps
have thought of some stratagem to capture him.  As it was, stratagem was
out of the question; the circumstances required speed.

Both trappers and rangers--acting under like impulse with myself--had
spurred their horses into a gallop, and followed close at my heels.

The drove was yet distant.  The wind blew from them--a brisk breeze.  We
were half-way down the hill, and still the wild horses neither heard,
saw, nor scented us.

I shouted at the top of my voice: I wished to startle and put them to
flight.  My followers shouted in chorus; but our voices reached not the
quarrelling caballada.

A better expedient suggested itself: I drew my pistol from its holster,
and fired several shots in the air.

The first would have been sufficient.  Its report was heard, despite the
opposing wind; and the mustangs, affrighted by the sound, suddenly
forsook the encounter.  Some bounded away at once; others came wheeling
around us, snorting fiercely, and tossing their heads in the air, a few
galloped almost within range of our rifles; and then, uttering their
shrill neighing, turned and broke off in rapid flight.  The steed and
his rider alone remained, where we had first observed them!

For some moments he kept the ground, as if bewildered by the sudden
scattering of his assailants; but he too must have heard the shots, and
perhaps alone divined something of what had caused those singular
noises.  In the loud concussion, he recognised the voice of his greatest
enemy; and yet he stirred not from the spot!

Was he going to await our approach?  Had he become tamed?--reconciled to
captivity? or was it that we had rescued him from his angry rivals--that
he was grateful, and no longer feared us?

Such odd ideas rushed rapidly through my mind as I hurried forward!

I had begun to deem it probable that he would stay our approach, and
suffer us quietly to recapture him.  Alas!  I was soon undeceived.  I
was still a long way off--many hundred yards--when I saw him rear
upward, wheel round upon his hind-feet as on a pivot, and then bound off
in determined flight.  His shrill scream pealing back upon the breeze,
fell upon my ears like the taunt of some deadly foe.  It seemed the
utterance of mockery and revenge: mockery at the impotence of my
pursuit; revenge that I had once made him my captive.

I obeyed the only impulse I could have at such a moment, and galloped
after as fast as my horse could go.  I stayed for no consultation with
my companions; I had already forged far ahead of them.  They were too
distant for speech.

I needed not their wisdom to guide me.  No plan required conception or
deliberation; the course was clear: by speed alone could the horse be
taken, and his rider saved from destruction--_if yet safe_.

Oh, the fearfulness of this last reflection! the agony of the doubt!

It was not the hour to indulge in idle anguish; I repressed the emotion,
and bent myself earnestly upon the pursuit.  I spoke to my brave steed,
addressing him by name; I urged him with hands and knees; only at
intervals did I inflict the cruel steel upon his ribs.

I soon perceived that he was flagging; I perceived it with increased
apprehension for the result.  He had worn his saddle too long on the day
before, and the wet weary night had jaded him.  He had been
over-wrought, and I felt his weariness, as he galloped with feebler
stroke.  The prairie-steed must have been fresh in comparison.

But life and death were upon the issue.  Her life--perhaps my own.  I
cared not to survive her.  She must be saved.  The spur must be plied
without remorse: the steed must be overtaken, even if Moro should die!

It was a rolling prairie over which the chase led--a surface that
undulated like the billows of the ocean.  We galloped transversely to
the direction of the "swells," that rose one after the other in rapid
succession.  Perhaps the rapidity with which we were crossing them
brought them _nearer_ to each other.  To me there appeared no level
ground between these land-billows.  Up hill and down hill in quick
alternation was the manner of our progress--a severe trial upon the
girths--a hard killing gallop for my poor horse.  But life and death
were upon the issue, and the spur must be plied without remorse.

A long cruel gallop--would it never come to an end I would the steed
never tire? would he never stop?  Surely in time he must become weary?
Surely Moro was his equal in strength as in speed?--superior to him in
both?

Ah! the prairie horse possessed a double advantage--he had started
fresh--he was on his native ground.

I kept my eyes fixed upon him; not for one moment did I withdraw my
glance.  A mysterious apprehension was upon me; I feared to look around,
lest he should disappear!  The souvenirs of the former chase still
haunted me; weird remembrances clung to my spirit.  I was once more in
the region of the supernatural.

I looked neither to the right nor left, but straight before me--straight
at the object of my pursuit, and the distance that lay between us.  This
last I continuously scanned, now with fresh hope, and now again with
doubt.  It seemed to vary with the ground.  At one time, I was nearer,
as the descending slope gave me the advantage; but the moment after, the
steep declivity retarded the speed of my horse, and increased the
intervening distance.

It was with joy I crossed the last swell of the rolling prairie, and
beheld a level plain stretching before us.  It was with joy I perceived
that upon the new ground I was rapidly gaining upon the steed!

And rapidly I continued to gain upon him, until scarcely three hundred
yards were between us.  So near was I, that I could trace the outlines
of _her_ form--her prostrate limbs--still lashed to the croup--her
garments loose and torn--her ankles--her long dark hair dishevelled and
trailing to the ground--even her pallid cheek I could perceive, as at
intervals the steed tossed back his head to utter his wild taunting
neigh.  O God! there was blood upon it!

I was near enough to be heard.  I shouted in my loudest voice; I called
her by name.  I kept my eyes upon her, and with throbbing anxiety
listened for a response.

I fancied that her head was raised, as though she understood and would
have answered me.  I could hear no voice, but her feeble cry might have
been drowned by the clatter of the hoofs.

Again I called aloud--again and again pronouncing her name.

Surely I heard a cry? surely her head was raised from the withers of the
horse?  It was so--I could not be mistaken.

"Thank Heaven, she lives!"

I had scarcely uttered the prayer, when I felt my steed yield beneath me
as though he was sinking into the bosom of the earth.  I was hurled out
of the saddle, and flung head-foremost upon the plain.  My horse had
broken through the burrow of the prairie marmot, and the false step had
brought him with violence to the ground.

I was neither stunned nor entangled by the fall; and in a few seconds
had regained my feet, my bridle, and saddle.  But as I headed my horse
once more toward the chase, the white steed and his rider had passed out
of sight.



CHAPTER SIXTY SIX.

LOST IN A CHAPPARAL.

I was chagrined, frantic, and despairing, but not surprised.  This time
there was no mystery about the disappearance of the steed; the chapparal
explained it.  Though I no longer saw him, he was yet within hearing.
His footfall on the firm ground, the occasional snapping of a dead
stick, the whisk of the recoiling branches, all reached my ears as I was
remounting.

These sounds guided me, and without staying to follow his tracks, I
dashed forward to the edge of the chapparal--at the point nearest to
where I heard him moving.

I did not pause to look for an opening, but, heading in the direction
whence came the sounds, I spurred forward into the thicket.

Breasting the bushes that reached around, his neck, or bounding over
them, my brave horse pressed on; but he had not gone three lengths of
himself before I recognised the imprudence of the course I was pursuing:
I now saw I should have _followed the tracks_.

I no longer heard the movements of the steed--neither foot-stroke, nor
snapping sticks, nor breaking branches.  The noise made by my own horse,
amid the crackling acacias, drowned every other sound; and so long as I
kept in motion, I moved with uncertainty.  It was only when I made stop
that I could again hear the chase struggling through the thicket; but
now the sounds were faint and far distant--growing still fainter as I
listened.

Once more I urged forward my horse, heading him almost at random; but I
had not advanced a hundred paces, before the misery of uncertainty again
impelled me to halt.

This time I listened and heard nothing--not even the recoil of a bough.
The steed had either stopped, and was standing silent, or, what was more
probable, had gained so so far in advance of me that his hoof-stroke was
out of hearing.

Half-frantic, angered at myself, too much excited for cool reflection, I
lanced the sides of my horse, and galloped madly through the thicket.

I rode several hundred yards before drawing bridle, in a sort of
desperate hope I might once more bring myself within earshot of the
chase.

Again I halted to listen.  My recklessness proved of no avail.  Not a
sound reached my ear: even had there been sounds, I should scarcely have
heard them above that that was issuing from the nostrils of my panting
horse; but sound there was none.  Silent was the chapparal around me--
silent as death; not even a bird moved among its branches.

I felt something like self-execration: my imprudence I denounced over
and over.  But for my rash haste, I might yet have been upon the trail--
perhaps within sight of the object of pursuit.  Where the steed had
gone, surely I could have followed.  Now he was gone I knew not
whither--lost--his trail lost--all lost!

To recover the trace of him, I made several casts across the thicket.  I
rode first in one direction, then in another, but all to no purpose.  I
could find neither hoof-track nor broken branch.

I next bethought me of returning to the open prairie, there retaking the
trail, and following it thence.  This was clearly the wisest,--in fact,
the only course in which there was reason.  I should easily recover the
trail, at the point where the horse had entered the chapparal, and
thence I might follow it without difficulty.

I turned my horse round, and headed him in the direction of the
prairie--or rather in what I supposed to be the direction--for this too
had become conjecture.

It was not till I had ridden for a half-hour--for more than a mile
through glade and bush--not till I had ridden nearly twice as far in the
opposite direction--and then to right, and then to left--that I pulled
up my broken horse, dropped the rein upon his withers, and sat bent in
my saddle under the full conviction that I too was lost.

Lost in the chapparal--that parched and hideous jungle, where every
plant that carries a thorn seemed to have place.  Around grew _acacias,
mimosas, gleditschias, robinias, algarobias_--all the thorny legumes of
the world; above towered the splendid _fouquiera_ with spinous stem;
there nourished the "tornillo" (_prosopis glandulosa_), with its twisted
beans; there the "junco" (_koeblerinia_), whose very leaves are thorns.
There saw I spear-pointed yuccas and clawed bromelias (_agave_ and
_dasylirion_); there, too, the universal cactacese (_opuntia,
mamillaria, cereus_, and _echinocactus_); even the very grass was
thorny--for it was a species of the "mezquite-grass," whose knotted
culms are armed with sharp spurs!

Through this horrid thicket I had not passed unscathed; my garments were
already torn, my limbs were bleeding.

_My_ limbs--and hers?

Of hers alone was I thinking: those fair-proportioned members--those
softly-rounded arms--that smooth, delicate skin--bosom and shoulders
bare--the thorn--the scratch--the tear.  Oh! it was agony to think!

By action alone might I hope to still my emotions; and once more rousing
myself from the lethargy of painful thought, I urged my steed onward
through the bushes.



CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN.

ENCOUNTER WITH JAVALL.

I had no mark to guide me, either on the earth or in the heavens.  I had
an indefinite idea that the chase had led westward, and therefore to get
back to the prairie, I ought to head towards the east.

But how was I to distinguish east from west?  In the chapparal both were
alike, and so too upon the sky.  No sun was visible; the canopy of
heaven was of a uniform leaden colour; upon its face were no signs by
which the cardinal points could have been discovered.

Had I been in the midst of a forest surrounded by a northern _sylva_, I
could have made out my course.  The oak or the elm, the ash-tree or
maple, the beech or sycamore--any of them would have been compass
sufficient for me; but in that thicket of thorny shrubs I was completely
at fault.  It was a subtropical flora--or rather a vegetation of the
arid desert--to which I was almost a stranger.  I knew there were men
skilled in the craft of the chapparal, who, in the midst of it, could
tell north from south without compass or stars.  Not I.

I could think of no better mode than to trust to the guidance of my
horse.  More than once, when lost in the thick forest or on the
boundless plain, had I reposed a similar trust in his instincts--more
than once had he borne me out of my bewilderment.

But whither could he take me?  Back to the path by which we had come?

Probably enough, had that path led to a home; but it did not: my poor
steed, like myself, had no home.  He, too, was a ranger; for years had
been flitting from place to place,--hundreds, ay, thousands of miles
from each other.  Long had he forgotten his native stall.

I surmised that if there was water near, his instinct might carry him to
that--and much needed it both horse and rider.  Should we reach a
running stream, it would serve as a guide.

I dropped the rein upon his neck, and left him to his will.

I had already shouted in my loudest voice, in hopes of being heard by my
comrades; by none other than them, for what could human being do in such
a spot, shunned even by the brute creation?  The horned lizard (_agama
cornuta_), the ground rattlesnake, the shell-covered armadillo, and the
ever-present coyote, alone inhabit these dry jungles; and now and then
the javali (_dicotyles torquatus_), feeding upon the twisted legumes of
the "tornillo," passes through their midst; but even these are rare; and
the traveller may ride for scores of miles through a Mexican chapparal
without encountering aught that lives and moves.  There reigns the
stillness of death.  Unless the wind be rustling among the pinnate
fronds of the acacias, or the unseen locust utters its harsh shrieking
amid the parched herbage, the weary wayfarer may ride on, cheered by no
other sound than his own voice, or the footfall of his horse.

There was still the chance that my followers might hear me.  I knew that
they would not stray from the trail.  Though they must have been far
behind when I entered the chapparal, following the tracks, they would in
time be sure to come up.

It was a question whether they would follow mine, or those of the steed.
This had not occurred to me before, and I paused to consider it.  If
the former, then was I wrong in moving onward, as I should only be going
_from_ them, and leading them on a longer search.  Already had I given
them a knot to unravel--my devious path forming a labyrinthine maze.

It was more than probable they would follow _me_--in the belief that I
had some reason for deviating from the trail of the steed, perhaps for
the purpose of heading or intercepting him.

This conjecture decided me against advancing farther--at least until
some time should elapse, enough for them to get up.

Out of compassion for my hard-breathing horse, I dismounted.

At intervals, I shouted aloud, and fired shots from my pistols after
each I listened; but neither shot nor shout reached me in reply.  They
must have been distant indeed, not to hear the report of fire-arms; for
had they heard them, they would have been certain to make answer in a
similar manner.  All of them carried rifles and pistols.

I began to think it was full time for them to have reached me.  Again I
fired several shots; but, as before, echo was the only reply.  Perhaps
they had _not_ followed me? perhaps they had kept on upon the trail of
the steed, and it might be leading them far away, beyond hearing of the
reports? perhaps there was not yet time for them to have arrived?

While thus conjecturing, my ears were assailed by the screeching of
birds at some distance off.  I recognised the harsh notes of the jay,
mingling with the chatter of the red cardinal.

From the tones, I knew that these birds were excited by the presence of
some enemy.  Perhaps they were defending their nests against the black
snake or the _crotalus_.

Or it might be my followers approaching! it might be the steed--like me,
still wandering in the chapparal?

I sprang to my saddle to get a better view, and gazed over the tops of
the trees.  Guided by the voices of the birds, I soon discovered the
scene of the commotion.

At some distance off, I saw both jays and cardinals fluttering among the
branches, evidently busy with something on the ground beneath them.  At
the same time I heard strange noises, far louder than the voices of the
birds, but could not tell what was causing them.  My spirits sank, for I
knew they could not be produced either by my comrades or the steed.

It was not far, and I determined to satisfy myself as to what was
causing such a commotion in this hitherto silent place.  I rode towards
the spot, as fast as my horse could make way through the bushes.  I was
soon satisfied.

Coming out on the edge of a little glade, I became spectator to a
singular scene--a battle between the red cougar and a band of javali.

The fierce little boars were "ringing" the panther, who was fighting
desperately in their midst.  Several of them lay upon the ground, struck
senseless or dead, by the strong paws of the huge cat; but the others,
nothing daunted, had completely surrounded their enemy, and were
bounding upon him with open mouths; and wounding him with their sharp
shining tusks.

The scene aroused my hunter instincts; and suddenly unslinging my rifle,
I set my eye to the sights.  I had no hesitation about the selection of
my mark--the panther, by all means--and drawing trigger, I sent my
bullet through the creature's skull, that stretched him out in the midst
of his assailants.

Three seconds had not elapsed, before I had reason to regret the choice
I had made of a victim.  I should have let the cougar alone, and either
held my fire, or directed it upon one of his urchin-like enemies; for
the moment he was _hors de combat_, his assailants became mine--
transferring their "surround" to my horse and myself, with all the
savage fierceness they had just exhibited towards the panther!

I had no means of punishing the ungrateful brutes.  They had not given
me time to reload my rifle before commencing their attack, and my
pistols were both empty.  My horse, startled by the unexpected assault,
as well as by the strange creatures that were making it, snorted and
plunged wildly over the ground; but go where he would, a score of the
ferocious brutes followed, springing up against his thighs, and scoring
his shanks with their terrible tusks.  Well for me I was able to keep
the saddle; had I been thrown from it at that moment, I should certainly
have been torn to pieces.

I saw no hope of safety but in flight; and spurring my horse, I gave him
full rein.  Alas! through that tangled thicket the javali could go as
fast as he; and after advancing a hundred yards or so, I perceived the
whole flock still around me, assailing as fiercely as ever the limbs of
my steed.

The result might have proved awkward enough; but at that moment I heard
voices, and saw mounted men breaking through the underwood.  They were
Stanfield, Quackenboss, and the rest of the rangers.

In another instant, they were on the ground; and their revolvers,
playing rapidly, soon thinned the ranks of the javali, and caused the
survivors to retreat grunting and screaming into the thicket.



CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

THE WOODS ON FIRE?

The trappers were not among those who had rescued me--where were they?

The others made answer, though I already guessed what they had to tell.
Rube and Garey had followed the tracks of the steed, leaving the rangers
to come after me.

I was pleased with the ready intelligence of my comrades: they had acted
exactly as they should have done.  I was myself found, and I no longer
entertained any apprehension that the trail would be lost.

By this time, the trackers must be far upon it; more than an hour had
elapsed since they and the others had parted company.  My zigzag path
had cost my followers many a bewildering pause.

But they had not ridden recklessly as I, and could find their way back.
As it was impossible to tell in what direction Rube and Garey had gone,
this course was the best to be followed; and under the guidance of
Stanfield--an expert woodsman--we rode back towards the prairie.

It was not necessary to retrace our own crooked trail.  The Kentuckian
had noted the "lay" of the chapparal, and led us out of its labyrinths
by an almost direct path.

On reaching the open ground, we made no pause; but upon the tracks of
Rube, Garey, and the steed, re-entered the chapparal.

We had no difficulty about our course; it was plainly traced out for us;
the trappers had "blazed" it.  In most places, the tracks of the three
horses were sufficient indices of the route; but there were stretches
where the ground was stony, and upon the parched arid herbage, even the
shod hoof left no visible mark.  In such places, a branch of acacia
broken and pendulous, the bent flower-stem of an aloe, or the succulent
leaves of the cactus slashed with a sharp knife, were conspicuous and
unmistakeable signs; and by the guidance of these we made rapid advance.

We must have gone much faster than the trackers themselves--for
notwithstanding the freshness of the trail, there were dry spots and
patches of cut rock over which it passed, and where it must have cost
them both time and keen perception to trace it.

As we were travelling so much more rapidly than Rube and Garey could
have done, I looked forward to our soon overtaking them: with eager
anticipation, I looked forward.  Surely they would have some news for
me, now that they had been so long in the advance?  Surely by this time
they must have come in sight of the steed?--perhaps captured him?  Oh,
joyous anticipation!

Or would they return with a different tale?  Was I to meet the report
that he still hurried on--on for ever?  That he had swum some rapid
stream? or plunged over a precipice--into some dark abysm?

Though hastening on after the trackers, there were moments when I feared
to overtake them--moments when I dreaded to hear their tale!

We had worked our way about five miles through the hideous jungle, when
I began to feel a strange sensation in my eyes--a sensation of pain--
what is usually termed a "smarting."  I at first attributed it to the
want of sleep.

My companions complained that they were affected in a similar manner.

It was not until we had gone some distance farther, that we found the
true explanation--on perceiving that there was _smoke in the air_!
Smoke it was that was causing the bitterness in our eyes.

The denizen of the prairie never regards such an indication with
indifference.  Where there is smoke, there is fire, and where fire,
danger--at least upon the broad grassy steppes of the west.  A burning
forest may be shunned.  You may stand near a forest on fire, and
contemplate such a scene with safety; but a blazing prairie is a
phenomenon of a different character; and it is indeed a rare position
where you may view, without peril, this sublime spectacle.

There are prairies that will not burn.  The plains covered with the
short "buffalo-grass" (_sesleria dactyloides_), and the sward of various
species of "gramma" (_chondrosium_), rarely take fire; or if they do,
horse, man, buffalo, or antelope, can easily escape by leaping across
the blaze.  'Tis only the reptile world--snakes, lizards, the toad, and
the land-turtle (_terrapin_)--that fall victims to such a flame.

Not so upon the "weed-prairies," or those where the tall reed-grass
rises above the withers of a horse--its culms matted and laced together
by the trailing stems of various species of bindweed, by creeping
convolvulus, cucurbitacese, and wild pea-vines.  In the dry season, when
a fire lays its hold upon vegetation of this character, there is danger
indeed--where it rages, there is death.

It was smoke that affected our eyes, causing them to wince and water.
Fire must be causing the smoke--what was on fire?

I could detect apprehension in the looks of my followers, as we rode on.
It was but slight, for as yet the smoke was scarcely perceptible, and
the fire, wherever it was, must be distant--so fancied we.

As we advanced, the glances of the men became more uneasy.  Beyond a
doubt, the smoke was thickening around us, the sky was fast becoming
darker, and the pain in our eyes more acute.

"The woods are on fire," said Stanfield.

Stanfield was a backwoodsman--his thoughts ran upon "woods."

Whether forest or prairie, a conflagration was certainly raging.  It
might be far off--for the wind will carry the smoke of a prairie fire a
long distance--but I had an unpleasant suspicion that it was _not_
distant.  I noticed dropping around us the white floe of burnt leaves,
and from the intense bitterness of the smoke, I reasoned that it could
not have floated far--its gases were not yet dissipated.

It was not the distance of the fire that so much troubled me, as its
direction.  The wind blew right in our teeth, and the smoke was
travelling with the wind.  The conflagration must be ahead--directly
upon the trail!

The smoke grew thicker and thicker--ahead, the sky appeared slashed with
a lurid light; I fancied I could hear the crackling of the flames.  The
air felt hot and dry: a choking sensation was produced in our throats,
and one and all were hacking and gasping for breath.

So dark had it suddenly become--or rather so blinded were we with the
smoke--we could scarcely make out the trail.

My followers would have stopped, but I urged them on.  With voice and
example, I urged them on--myself leading the way.  My heart was too full
of anxiety to make pause.

Where in all this were Rube and Garey?  We had come far and fast; we
should now be nearly up with them--they could not be much ahead.

I halloed as we advanced.

"Hullow!" came the response, in the rough baritone of the younger
trapper.

We hurried forward in the direction of the voice.

The path conducted to an opening in the chapparal--in the centre of
which, through the smoke, we could distinguish the forms of men and
horses.

With eager eyes, I scanned the group; a glance was sufficient: there
were _only two_ of each--only the trackers.



CHAPTER SIXTY NINE.

SMOKE AND THIRST.

"Ah, Monsieur Roob!" cried the Canadian, as we hurried up, "vat make
zees diable d'une fumee--smoke?  Are ze woods on fire--you tink--eh?"

"Wuds!" exclaimed Rube, with a contemptuous glance at the speaker.
"Wagh!  Thur's no wuds hyur.  Thur's a paraira afire.  Don't yer smell
the stink o' the grass?"

"Pe gar, oui! vraiment--c'est la prairie?  You sure, Monsieur Roob?"

"Sure!" vociferated the trapper in a tone of indignation--"Sure!--ye
durned parley-voo-eat-a-frog-spit-a-brickbat-soup-suckin' Frenchman,
d'yur think I don't know the smell o' a burnin' paraira?  Wagh!"

"Ah, Monsieur Roob, me pardonnez.  Vat I mean ask--is ze chapparal
brule--on fire--ces arbres?"

"The chapparil ain't afire," answered Rube, somewhat mollified by the
apology: "so don't be skeeart, Frenchy yur safe enuf."

This assurance seemed to gratify not only the timid Canadian, but
others, who, up to this moment, were apprehensive that it was the
thicket that was on fire.

For myself, I had no such fears; I perceived that the chapparal could
not burn.  Here and there, patches of dry mezquite-trees would have
caught like tinder; but in most places, a succulent endogenous
vegetation formed three parts of the jungle, and rendered it
"fire-proof."  This was especially the case around the glade where the
trappers had taken their stand, and which was completely enclosed by a
wall of the great organ cactus, with aloes, opuntias, and other
juicy-leaved plants.  In the opening, we were as safe from the fire as
though it was a hundred miles off; we suffered only from the smoke, that
now quite filled the atmosphere, causing a darkness that rivalled night
itself.

I had no apprehension for _our_ safety; it was not of that I was
thinking.

To the hasty dialogue between Rube and the Canadian I had scarcely given
heed; Garey had advanced to meet me, and I listened with anxious ear to
the tale of the tracker.

It was soon told.  Rube and he had followed the trail, until it emerged
from the chapparal, and struck out into a wide grass-prairie.  The edge
of the thicket was close by; but they had gone a considerable distance
beyond it and across the plain.  They were still advancing, when, to
their consternation, they perceived that the prairie was on fire
directly ahead of them!  The wind was rolling both smoke and flames
before it with the rapidity of a running horse; and it was with
difficulty they had escaped from it by galloping back to the chapparal.

And the steed--what had become of him?  Had they seen nothing?

I did not put these questions in words--only in thought did I ask them;
and in thought only were they answered.  Both the trackers were silent,
and that was an answer in the negative; yes, I read an ominous negative
in their looks of gloom.

We were compelled to halt; even the smoke rendered further progress
impossible; but we could hear the fire at no great distance--the culms
of the coarse reed-grass cracking like volleys of musketry.

Now and then, a scared deer broke through the bushes, passing us at full
speed.  A band of antelopes dashed into the glade, and halted close
beside us--the frightened creatures not knowing where to run.  At their
heels came a pack of prairie-wolves, but not in pursuit of them: these
also stopped near.  A black bear and a cougar arrived next; and fierce
beasts of prey and gentle ruminants stood side by side, both terrified
out of their natural habits.  Birds shrieked among the branches, eagles
screamed in the air, and black vultures could be seen hovering through
the smoke, with no thought of stooping upon a quarry!

The hunter man alone preserved his instincts.  My followers were hungry.
Rifles were levelled--and the bear and one of the antelopes fell
victims to the deadly aim.

Both were soon stripped of their skins, and butchered.  A fire was
kindled in the glade, and upon sword-blades and sapling spits the choice
morsels of venison and "bear-meat" were roasted, and eaten, with many a
jest about the "smoky kitchen."

I was myself hungered.  I shared the repast, but not the merriment.  At
that moment, no wit could have won from me a smile; the most luxurious
table could not have furnished me with cheer.

A worse appetite than hunger assailed my companions, and I felt it with
the rest--it was thirst: for hours all had been suffering from it; the
long hard ride had brought it on, and now the smoke and the dry hot
atmosphere increased the appetite till it had grown agonising, almost
unendurable.  No water had been passed since the stream we had crossed
before day; there was none in the chapparal; the trackers saw none so
far as they had gone: we were in a waterless desert; and the very
thought itself renders the pang of thirst keener and harder to endure.

Some chewed their leaden bullets, or pebbles of chalcedony which they
had picked up; others obtained relief by drinking the blood of the
slaughtered animals--the bear and the antelope--but we found a better
source of assuagement in the succulent stems of the cactus and agave.

The relief was but temporary: the juice cooled our lips and tongues, but
there is an acrid principle in some of these plants that soon acted, and
our thirst became more intense than ever.

Some talked of returning on the trail in search of water--of going back
even to the stream--more than twenty miles distant.

Under such circumstances, even military command loses its authority.
Nature is stronger than martial law.

I cared not if they did return; I cared not who left me, so long as the
trappers remained true.  I had no fear that they would forsake me; and
my disapprobation of it checked the cheerless proposal, and once more
all declared their willingness to go on.

Fortunately, at that crisis the smoke began to clear away, and the
atmosphere to lighten up.  The fire had burnt on to the edge of the
chapparal, where it was now opposed by the sap-bearing trees.  The grass
had been all consumed--the conflagration was at an end.

Mounting our horses, we rode out from the glade; and following the trail
a few hundred yards farther, we emerged from the thicket, and stood upon
the edge of the desolated plain.



CHAPTER SEVENTY.

A BURNT PRAIRIE.

The earth offers no aspect more drear and desolate than that of a burnt
prairie.  The ocean when its waves are grey--a blighted heath--a flat
fenny country under a rapid thaw--all these impress the beholder with a
feeling of chill monotony; but the water has motion, the heath, colour,
and the half-thawed flat exhibits variety in its mottling of white and
ground.

Not so the steppe that has been fired and burned.  In this, the eye
perceives neither colour, nor form, nor motion.  It roams over the
limitless level in search of one or other, but in vain; and in the
absence of all three, it tires, and the heart grows cheerless and sick.
Even the sky scarcely offers relief.  It, too, by refraction from the
black surface beneath, wears a dull livid aspect; or perhaps the eye,
jaundiced by the reflection of the earth, beholds not the brightness of
the heavens.

A prairie, when green, does not always glad the eye,--not even when
enamelled with fairest flowers.  I have crossed such plains, verdant or
blooming to the utmost verge of vision, and longed for _something_ to
appear _in sight_--a rock, tree, a living creature--anything to relieve
the universal sameness; just as the voyager on the ample ocean longs for
ships, for _cetaceae_, or the sight of land, and is delighted with a
nautilus, polypi, phosphorescence, or a floating weed.

Colour alone does not satisfy the sense.  What hue more charming than
the fresh verdure of the grassy plain? what more exquisite than the deep
blue of the ocean? and yet the eye grows aweary of both!  Even the
"flower-prairie," with its thousands of gay corollas of every tint and
shade--with its golden helianthus, its white argemone, its purple
cleome, its pink malvaceae, its blue lupin--its poppy worts of red and
orange--even these fair tints grow tiresome to the sight, and the eye
yearns for form and motion.

If so, what must be the prairie when divested of all these verdant and
flowery charms--when burned to black ashes?  It is difficult to conceive
the aspect of dreary monotony it then presents--more difficult to
describe it.  Words will not paint such a scene.

And such presented itself to our eyes as we rode out from the chapparal.
The fire was past--even the smoke had ceased to ascend--except in spots
where the damp earth still reeked under the heat--but right and left,
and far ahead, on to the very hem of the horizon, the surface was of one
uniform hue, as if covered with a vast crape.  There was nought of form
to be seen, living or lifeless; there was neither life nor motion, even
in the elements; all sounds had ceased: an awful stillness reigned above
and around--the world seemed dead and shrouded in a vast sable pall!

Under other circumstances, I might have stayed to regard such a scene,
though not to admire it.  On that interminable waste, there was nought
to be admired, not even sublimity; but no spectacle, however sublime,
however beautiful, could have won from me a thought at that moment.

The trackers had already ridden far out, and were advancing, half
concealed by the cloud of black "stoor" flung up from the heels of their
horses.

For some distance, they moved straight on, without looking for the
tracks of the steed.  Before meeting the fire, they had traced them
beyond the edge of the chapparal, and therefore knew the direction.

After a while, I observed them moving more slowly, with their eyes upon
the ground as if they had lost it, I had doubts of their being able
either to find or follow it now.  The shallow hoof-prints would be
filled with the debris of the burnt herbage--surely they could no longer
be traced?

By myself, they could not, nor by a common man; but it seemed that to
the eyes of those keen hunters, the trail was as conspicuous as ever.  I
saw that, after searching a few seconds, they had taken it up, and were
once more moving along, guided by the tracks.

Some slight hollows I could perceive, distributed here and there over
the ground, and scarcely distinguishable from the surrounding level.
Certainly, without having been told what they were, I should not have
known them to be the tracks of a horse.

It proved a wide prairie, and we seemed to be crossing its central part.
The fire had spread far.

At one place, nearly midway, where the trail was faint, and difficult to
make out, we stopped for a short while to give the trackers time.  A
momentary curiosity induced me to gaze around.  Awful was the scene--
awful without sublimity.  Even the thorny chapparal no longer relieved
the eye; the outline of its low shrubbery had sunk below the horizon;
and on all sides stretched the charred plain up to the rim of the leaden
canopy, black--black--illimitable.  Had I been alone, I might easily
have yielded to the fancy, that the world was dead.

Gazing over this vast opacity, I for a moment forgot my companions, and
fell into a sort of lethargic stupor.  I fancied that I too was dead or
dreaming--I fancied that I was in hell--the Avernus of the ancients.  In
my youth, I had the misfortune to be well schooled in classic lore--to
the neglect of studies more useful--and often in life have the poetical
absurdities of Greek and Latin mythology intruded themselves upon my
spirit--both asleep and awake.  I fancied, therefore, that some
well-meaning Anchises had introduced me to the regions below; and that
the black plain before me was some landscape in the kingdom of Pluto.
Reflection--had I been capable of that--would have convinced me of my
error.  No part of that monarch's dominions can be so thinly peopled.

I was summoned to reason again by the voices of my followers.  The lost
trail had been found, and they were moving on.



CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE.

THE TALK OF THE TRACKERS.

I spurred after, and soon overtook them.  Regardless of the dust, I rode
close in the rear of the trackers, and listened to what they were
saying.

These "men of the mountains"--as they prided to call themselves--were
peculiar in everything.  While engaged in a duty, such as the present,
they would scarce disclose their thoughts, even to me; much less were
they communicative with the rest of my following, whom they were
accustomed to regard as "greenhorns"--their favourite appellation for
all men who have not made the tour of the grand prairies.

Notwithstanding that Stanfield and Black were backwoodsmen and hunters
by profession, Quackenboss a splendid shot, Le Blanc a regular
_voyageur_, and the others more or less skilled in woodcraft, all were
greenhorns in the opinion of the trappers.  To be otherwise a man must
have starved upon a "sage-prairie"--"run" buffalo by the Yellowstone or
Platte--fought "Injun," and shot Indian--have well-nigh lost scalp or
ears--spent a winter in Pierre's Hole upon Green River--or camped amid
the snows of the Rocky Mountains!  Some one of all these feats must
needs have been performed, ere the "greenhorn" can matriculate and take
rank as a "mountain man."

I of all my party was the only one who, in the eyes of Rube and Garey,
was _not_ a greenhorn; and even I--gentleman-amateur that I was--was
hardly up either in their confidence or their "craft."  It is indeed
true--with all my classic accomplishments--with my fine words, my fine
horse, and fine clothes--so long as we were within the limits of
prairie-land, I acknowledged these men as my superiors.  They were my
guides, my instructors, my masters.

Since overtaking them on the trail, I had not asked them to give any
opinion.  I dreaded a direct answer--for I had noticed something like a
despairing look in the eyes of both.

As I followed them over the black plain, however, I thought that their
faces brightened a little, and appeared once more lit up by a faint ray
of hope.  For that reason, I rode close upon their heels, and eagerly
caught up every word that was passing between them.  Rube was speaking
when I first drew near.

"Wagh!  I don't b'lieve it, Bill: 'taint possyble no-howso-ever.  The
paraira wur sot afire--must 'a been--thur's no other ways for it.  It
cudn't 'a tuk to bleezing o' itself--eh?"

"Sartinly not; I agree wi' you, Rube."

"Wal--thur wur a fellur as I met oncest at Bent's Fort on the Arkinsaw--
a odd sort o' a critter he wur, an no mistake; he us't to go pokin
about, gatherin' weeds an' all sorts o' green garbitch, an' spreadin'
'em out atween sheets o' paper--whet he called button-eyesin--jest like
thet ur Dutch doctur as wur rubbed out when we went into the Navagh
country, t'other side o' the Grand."

"I remembers him."

"Wal, this hyur fellur I tell 'ee about, he us't to talk mighty big o'
this, thet, an t' other; an he palavered a heap 'bout a thing thet, ef I
don't disremember, wur called _spuntainyus kumbuxshun_."

"I've heerd o' 't; that are the name."

"Wal, the button-eyeser, he sayed thet a paraira mout take afire o'
itself, 'ithout anybody whatsomdiver heving sot it.  Now, thet ur's what
this child don't b'lieve, nohow.  In coorse, I knows thet lightnin'
sometimes may sot a paraira a bleezin', but lightnin's a natral fire o'
itself; an it's only reezunible to expect thet the dry grass wud catch
from _it_ like punk; but I shed like to know how fire kud kindle 'ithout
somethin to kindle it--thet's whet I shed like to know."

"I don't believe it can," rejoined Garey.

"Ne'er a bit o' it.  I never seed a burnin' paraira yit, thet thur
wa'n't eyther a camp-fire or a Injun at the bottom o' it--thet ur
'ceptin whur lightnin hed did the bizness."

"And you think, Rube, thar's been Injun at the bottom o' this?"

"Putty nigh sure; an I'll gie you my reezuns.  Fust, do 'ee see thur's
been no lightnin this mornin to 'a made the fire?  Seconds, it's too fur
west hyur for any settlement o' whites--in coorse I speak o' Texans--
thur might be Mexikins; them I don't call white, nohow-nosomediver.  An
then, agin, it kin scace be Mexikins neyther.  It ur too fur no'th for
any o' the yellur-bellies to be a straying jest now, seein as it's _the
Mexikin moon_ wi' the kimanchees, an both them an the Leepans ur on the
war-trail.  Wal, then, it's clur thur's no Mexikin 'bout hyur to hev sot
the paraira afire, an thur's been no lightnin to do it; thurfor, it must
'a been did eyther by a Injun, or thet ur dodrotted spuntainyus
kumbuxshun."

"One or t'other."

"Wal, being as this child don't b'lieve in the kumbuxshun nohow,
thurfore it's my opeenyun thet red Injuns did the bizness--_they_ did
sartint."

"No doubt of it," assented Garey.

"An ef they did," continued the old trapper, "thur about yit some whur
not fur off, an we've got to keep a sharp look-out for our har--thet's
what _we_ hev."

"Safe, we have," assented Garey.

"I tell 'ee, Bill," continued Rube in a new strain, "the Injuns is
mighty riled jest now.  I never knowd 'em so savagerous an fighty.  The
war hez gin 'em a fresh start, an thur dander's up agin us, by reezun
thet the gin'ral didn't take thur offer to help us agin the
yellur-bellies.  Ef we meet wi' eyther Kimanch or Leepan on these hyur
plains, thu'll scalp us, or we'll scalp 'em--thet 'll be it.  Wagh!"

"But what for could they 'a sot the parairy on fire?" inquired Garey.

"Thet ere," replied Rube,--"thet ere wur what puzzled me at fust.  I
thort it mout 'a been done by accydent--preehaps by the scattering o' a
camp-fire--for Injuns is careless enuf 'bout thet.  Now, howsowever,
I've got a different idee.  Thet story thet Dutch an Frenchy hev fetched
from the rancherie, gies me a insight inter the hull bizness."

I knew the "story" to which Rube had reference.  Lige and Le Blanc, when
at the village, had heard some rumour of an Indian foray that had just
been made against one of the Mexican towns, not far from the rancheria.
It had occurred on the same day that we marched out.  The Indians--
supposed to be Lipans or Comanches--had sacked the place, and carried
off both plunder and captives.  A party of them had passed near the
rancheria after we ourselves had left it.  This party had "called" at
the hacienda de Vargas and completed the pillage, left unfinished by the
guerilla.  This was the substance of what the messengers had heard.

"You mean about the Injuns?" said Garey, half interrogatively.

"In coorse," rejoined Rube.  "Belike enuf, 'em Injuns ur the same
niggurs we gin sich a rib-roastin' to by the moun.  Wagh! they hain't
gone back to thur mountains, as 'twur b'lieved: they dassent 'a gone
back in sich disgrace, 'ithout takin' eyther har or hosses.  The squaws
ud 'a hooted 'em out o' thur wigwams."

"Sure enough."

"Sure, sartint.  Wal, Billee, 'ee see now what I mean: thet party's been
a skulketin' 'bout hyur ever since, till they got a fust-rate chance at
the Mexikin town, an thur they've _struck a blow_."

"It's mighty like as you say, Rube; but why have they sot fire to the
parairy?"

"Wagh!  Bill, kin ye not see why? it ur plain as Pike's Peak on a
summery day."

"I don't see," responded Garey, in a thoughtful tone.

"Well, this child _do_; an this ur the reezun: as I tell 'ee, the Injuns
hain't forgot the lambaystin they hed by the moun; an preehaps bein' now
a weak party, an thinkin' thet we as wolloped 'em wur still i' the
rancherie, they wur afeerd thet on hearing o' thur pilledgin', we mout
be arter 'em."

"An they've burnt the parairy to kiver thur trail?"

"Preezactly so."

"By Gosh, you're right, Rube!--it's uncommon like.  But whar do you
think this trail's goin?  Surely the hoss hain't been caught in the
fire?"

I bent forward in the saddle, and listened with acute eagerness.  To my
great relief, the answer of the old trapper was in the negative.

"He hain't," said he; "ne'er a bit o' it.  His trail, do ee see, runs in
a bee-line, or clost on a bee-line: now, ef the fire hed 'a begun afore
he wur acrosst this paraira, he wud long since 'a doubled 'bout, an tuk
the back track; but 'ee see he hain't did so; thurfor, I conclude he's
safe through it, an the grass must 'a been sot afire ahint 'im."

I breathed freely after listening to these words.  A load seemed lifted
from my breast--for up to this moment I had been vainly endeavouring to
combat the fearful apprehension that had shaped itself in my
imagination.  From the moment that we had entered the burning prairie,
my eyes constantly, and almost mechanically, had sought the ground in
front of our course, had wandered over it, with uneasy glance, in dread
of beholding forms--lifeless--burned and charred--

The words of the trapper gave relief--almost an assurance that the steed
and his rider were still safe--and under the inspiration of renewed
hope, I rode forward with lighter heart.



CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO.

"INJUN SIGN."

After a pause, the guides resumed their conversation, and I continued to
listen.

I had a reason for not mingling in it.  If I joined them in their
counsels, they might not express their convictions so freely, and I was
desirous of knowing what they truly thought.  By keeping close behind
them, I could hear all--myself unnoticed under the cloud of dust that
ascended around us.  On the soft ashes, the hoof-stroke was scarcely
audible--our horses gliding along in a sweeping silent walk.

"By Gosh! then," said Garey, "if Injuns fired the parairy, they must 'a
done it to wind'ard, an we're travellin' right in the teeth o' the wind;
we're goin in a ugly direction, Rube; what do you think o' 't, old
hoss?"

"Jest what you sez, boyee--a cussed ugly direckshun--durnation'd ugly."

"It ain't many hours since the fire begun, an the redskins won't be far
from t'other side, I reckon.  If the hoss-trail leads us right on them,
we'll be in a fix, old boy."

"Ay," replied Rube, in a low but significant drawl; "ef it do, an ef
this niggur don't a miskalkerlate, it _will_ lead right on 'em, _plum
straight custrut into thur camp_."

I started on hearing this.  I could no longer remain silent; but
brushing rapidly forward to the side of the trapper, in hasty phrase
demanded his meaning.

"Jest what 'ee've heern me say, young fellur," was his reply.

"You think that there are Indians ahead? that the horse has gone to
their camp?"

"No, not _gone_ thur; nor kin I say for sartint thur ur Injuns ahead;
though it looks mighty like.  Thur's nuthin else to guv reezun for the
fire--nuthin as Bill or me kin think o'; an ef thur be Injuns, then I
don't think the hoss hez _gone_ to thur camp, but I do kalkerlate it's
mighty like he's been _tuk_ thur: thet's what I thinks, young fellur."

"You mean that the Indians have captured him?"

"Thet's preezactly what this child means."

"But how?  What reason have you for thinking so?"

"Wal--jest because I think so."

"Pray explain, Rube!"  I said in an appealing tone.  I feared that his
secretive instincts would get the better of him, and he would delay
giving his reasons, out of the pure love of mystification that was
inherent in the old fellow's nature.  I was too anxious to be patient;
but my appeal proved successful.

"Wal, 'ee see, young fellur, the hoss must 'a crosst hyur jest afore
this paraira wur sot afire; an it's mighty reezunible to s'pose thet
whosomediver did the bizness, Injun or no Injun, must 'a been to win'ard
o' hyur.  It ur also likely enuf, I reckun, thet the party must 'a seed
the hoss; an it ur likely agin thet nobody wa'nt a gwine to see _thet_
hoss, wi' the gurl stropped down 'long his hump-ribs, 'ithout bein'
kewrious enuf to take arter 'im.  Injuns 'ud be safe to go arter 'im,
yellin' like blazes; an arter 'im they've gone, an roped 'im, I reckun--
thet they've done."

"You think they could have caught him?"

"Sartint.  The hoss by then must 'a been dead beat--thet ur, unless he's
got the divvel in 'im; an by Geehorum!  I gin to surspect--Gehu--
Gehosophat! jest as I said; lookee, thur--thur!"

"What is it?"  I inquired, seeing the speaker suddenly halt and point to
the ground, upon which his eyes also were fixed.  "What is it, Rube?  I
can perceive nothing strange."

"Don't 'ee see 'em hoss-tracks?--thur!--thick as sheep-feet--hundreds o'
'em!"

I certainly noticed some slight hollows in the surface, nearly levelled
up by the black ashes.  I should not have known them to be horse-tracks.

"They ur," said Rube, "every one o' 'em--an Injun hoss-tracks too--
sartint they ur."

"They may be the wild-hosses, Rube?" said one of the rangers, riding up
and surveying the sign.

"Wild jackasses!" angrily retorted the old trapper.  "Whur did _you_
ever see a wild-hoss?  Do 'ee s'pose I've turned stone-blind, do 'ee?
Stan thur, my mar!" he cried, talking to his mare, flinging his lean
carcass out of the saddle at the same time: "stan thur! 'ee knows better
than thet fellur, I kin tell by the way yur sniftin'.  Keep yur ground a
minnit, ole gurl, till Rube Rawlins shew these hyur greenhorns how a
mountain man kin read sign--wild-hosses! wagh!"

After thus delivering himself, the trapper dropped upon his knees,
placed his lips close to the ground, and commenced blowing at the black
ashes.

The others had by this time ridden up, and sat in their saddles watching
him.  We saw that he was clearing the ashes out of one of the hollows
which he had pronounced to be horse-tracks, and which now proved to be
so.

"'Thur now, mister!" said he, turning triumphantly, and rather savagely,
upon the ranger who had questioned the truth of his conjecture: "thur's
a _shod_ track--shod wi' parflesh too.  Did 'ee ever see a wild-hoss, or
a wild mule, or a wild jackass eyther, shod wi' parflesh?  Ef 'ee did,
it's more'n Rube Rawlins ever seed, an thet ur trapper's been on the
hoss-plains well-nigh forty yeern.  Wagh!"

Of course, there was no reply to this interrogatory.  There was the
track; and, dismounting, all examined it in turn.

Sure enough it was the track of a shod horse--shod with _parfleche_--
thick leather made from the hide of the buffalo bull.

We all knew this to be a mode of shoeing practised by the horse-Indians
of the plains, and only by them.

The evidence was conclusive: Indians had been upon the ground.



CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE.

TRANSLATING THE "SIGN."

This discovery brought us to a pause.  A consultation ensued, in which
all took part; but as usual, the others listened to the opinions of the
prairie-men, and especially to that of Rube.

The old trapper was inclined to sulk for some time, and acted as if he
meant to withhold his advice.  Nothing "miffed" him more than to have
his word contradicted or his skill called in question.  I have known him
to be "out of sorts" for days, from having his prairie-craft doubted by
some one whom he deemed less experienced than himself; and, indeed,
there were few of his kind whose knowledge of the wilderness was at all
comparable with his.  He was not always in the right; but generally
where _his_ instincts failed, it wat, idle to try further.  In the
present case, the man who had thoughtlessly doubted him was one of the
"greenest" of the party, but this only aggravated the matter in the eyes
of Old Rube.

"Sich a fellur as you," he said, giving a last dig to the offending
ranger--"sich a fellur as you oughter keep yur head shet up: thet ur
tongue o' yourn s' allers a gwine like a bull's tail in fly-time.
Wagh!"

As the man made no reply to this rather rough remonstrance, Rube's
"dander" soon smoothed down; and once more becoming cool, he turned his
attention to the business of the hour.

That there had been Indians upon the ground was now an ascertained fact;
the peculiar shoeing of the horses rendered it indubitable.  Mexican
horses, if shod at all, would have had a shoeing of iron--at least on
their fore-feet.  Wild mustangs would have had the hoof naked; while the
tracks of Texan or American horses could have been easily told, either
from the peculiar shoeing or the superior size of their hoofs.  The
horses that had galloped over that ground were neither wild, Texan, nor
Mexican: Indian they must have been.

Although the one track first examined might have settled the point, it
was a fact of too much importance to be left under the slightest doubt.
The presence of Indians meant the presence of enemies--foes dire and
deadly--and it was with something more than feelings of mere curiosity
that my companions scrutinised the sign.

The ashes were blown out from several others, and these carefully
studied.  Additional facts were brought to light by those Champollions
of the prairie--Rube and Garey.  Whoever rode the horses, had been going
in a gallop.  They had not ridden long in one course; but here and there
had turned and struck off in new directions.  There had been a score or
so of them.  No two had been galloping together; their tracks converged
or crossed one another--now zigzagging, now running in right lines, or
sweeping in curves and circles over the plain.

All this knowledge the trackers had obtained in less than ten minutes--
simply by riding around and examining the tracks.  Not to disturb them
in their diagnosis, the rest of us halted and awaited the result of
their scrutiny.

In ten minutes' time both came back to us; they had read the sign to
their satisfaction, and needed no further light.

That sign had disclosed to them one fact of more significance than all
the rest.  Of course, we all knew that the Indian horsemen had gone over
the ground before the grass had been burnt; but how long before?  We had
no difficulty in making out that it was upon that same day, and since
the rising of the sun--these were trifles easily ascertained; but at
_what hour_ had they passed?  Late, or early?  With the steed, before,
or after him?

About this point I was most anxious, but I had not the slightest idea
that it could be decided by the "sign."

To my astonishment, those cunning hunters returned to tell me, not only
the very hour at which the steed had passed the spot, but also that the
Indian horsemen had been riding _after him_!  Clairvoyance could
scarcely have gone farther.

The old trapper had grown expletive, more than was his wont.  It was no
longer a matter of tracking the white steed.  Indians were near.
Caution had become necessary, and neither the company nor counsel of the
humblest was to be scorned.  We might soon stand in need of the
strength, even of the weakest in our party.

Freely, then, the trackers communicated their discoveries, in answer to
my interrogation.

"The white hoss," said Rube, "must 'a been hyur 'bout four hour ago--
kalkerlatin the rate at which he wur a gwine, an kalkerlatin how fur he
hed ter kum.  He hain't 'a stopped nowhur; an 'ceptin i' the thicket, he
hez gallipt the rest o' the way--thet's clur.  Wal, we knows the
distance, thurfor we knows the time--thet's clur too; an four hour's
'bout the mark, I reck'n--preehaps a leetle less, an alser preehaps a
leetle more.  Now, furrermore to the peint.  Them niggurs hez been
eyther clost arter 'im, in view o' the critter, or follerin 'im on the
trail--the one or the t'other--an which 'taint possyble to tell wi' this
hyur sign no-how-cum-somever.  But thet they _wur arter_ 'im, me an
Bill's made out clur as mud--thet we sartintly hez."

"How have you ascertained that they were after?"

"The tracks, young fellur--the tracks."

"But how by them?"

"Easy as eatin' hump-rib: them as wur made by the white hoss ur
_un'ermost_."

The conclusion was clear indeed.  The Indians must have been _after_
him.

We stayed no longer upon the spot, but once more sending the trackers
forward, moved on after them.

We had advanced about half-a-mile farther, when the horse-tracks,
hitherto scattered, and tending in different directions, became merged
together, as though the Indians had been riding, not in single file--as
is their ordinary method--but in an irregular body of several abreast.

The trackers, after proceeding along this new trail for a hundred yards
or so, deliberately drew up; and dismounting, bent down upon their hands
and knees, as if once more to examine the sign.  The rest of us halted a
little behind, and watched their proceedings without offering to
interrupt them.

Both were observed to be busy blowing aside the ashes, not now from any
particular track, but from the full breadth of the trail.

In a few minutes, they succeeded in removing the black dust from a
stretch of several yards--so that the numerous hoof-prints could be
distinctly traced, side by side, or overlapping and half obliterating
one another.

Rube now returned to where they had commenced; and then once more
leisurely advancing upon his knees, with eyes close to the surface,
appeared to scrutinise the print of every hoof separately.

Before he had reached the spot where Garey was still engaged in clearing
off the dust, he rose to his feet with an air that told he was
satisfied, and turning to his companion, cried out--

"Don't bother furrer, Bill: it ur jest as I thort; they've roped 'im, by
Gad!"



CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

THE STEED LAZOED.

It was not the emphatic tone in which this announcement was made that
produced within me conviction of its truth; I should have been convinced
without that.  I was better than half prepared for the intelligence thus
rudely conveyed; for I was myself not altogether unskilled in that art
of which my trapper-companions were masters.

I had observed the sudden convergence of the horse-tracks; I had noticed
also, that, after coming together, the animals had proceeded at a slow
pace--at a walk.  I needed only to perceive the hoof of the steed among
the others, to know that he no longer ran free--that he was a captive.

This the tracker had found; hence the decisive declaration that the
Indians had "roped" him--in other words, had caught him with their
lazoes.

"Sartint they've tuk 'im," asserted Rube, in answer to an interrogatory:
"sartint sure; hyur's his track clur as daylight.  He's been led hyur at
the eend o' a laryette; he's been nigh the middle o' the crowd--some in
front--some hev been arter 'im--thet's how they've gone past hyur.
Wagh!" continued the speaker, once more turning his eyes upon the trail,
"thur's been a good grist on 'em--twunty or more; an ef this child don't
miskalkerlate, thet ain't the hul o' the niggurs; _it_ ain't!  'Tur only
some o' 'em as galliped out to rope the hoss.  I'd lay my rifle agin a
Mexican blunderbox, thur's a bigger party than this nigh at hand
somewhur hyur.  By Geehosophat, thur's boun to be, sartint as sun-up!"

The suspicion that had half formed itself in my mind was no longer
hypothetical; the sign upon the trail had settled that: it was now a
positive intelligence--a conviction.  The steed had been taken; he and
his rider were captive in the hands of the Indians.

This knowledge brought with it a crowd of new thoughts, in which
emotions of the most opposite character were mingled together.

The first was a sensation of joy.  The steed had been captured, and by
human beings.  Indians at least were men, and possessed human hearts.
Though in the rider they might recognise the lineaments of their
pale-faced foes--not so strongly neither--yet a woman, and in such a
dilemma, what reason could they have for hostility to her?

None; perhaps the very opposite passion might be excited by the
spectacle of her helpless situation.  They would see before them the
victim of some cruel revenge--the act, too, of their own enemies; this
would be more likely to inspire them with sympathy and pity; they would
relieve her from her perilous position; would minister to her wants and
wounds; would tenderly nurse and cherish her: yes; of all this I felt
confident.  They were human; how could they do otherwise?

Such was the first rush of my reflections on becoming assured that the
steed had been captured by Indians--that Isolina was in their hands.  I
only thought of her safety--that she was rescued from pain and peril,
perhaps from death; and the thought was a gleam of joy.

Alas! only a gleam; and the reflections that followed were painfully
bitter.

I could not help thinking of the character of the savages into whose
hands she had fallen.  If they were the same band that had harried the
frontier town, then were they southern Indians--Comanche or Lipan.  The
report said one or other; and it was but too probable.  True, the
remnant of Shawanos and Delawares, with the Kickapoos and Texan
Cherokees, sometimes stray as far as the banks of the Rio Grande.  But
the conduct was not theirs: these tribes, from long intercourse with
whites, have been inducted into a sort of semi-civilisation; and their
hereditary hostility for the pale-face has died out.  Pillage and murder
are no longer their trade; it could not have been they who had made the
late foray.  It might have been "Wild Cat" with his wicked Seminoles,
now settled on the Texan frontier; but the act was more in keeping with
the character of the mezcal-eating Apaches, who of late years had been
pushing their expeditions far down the river.  Even so--it mattered
little; Apaches are but Comanches, or rather Comanches Apaches, and
whether the Indians on whose trail we were standing were one or the
other--whether Apache, Lipan, Comanche, or their allies Caygua, Waco, or
Pawnee-Pict, it mattered not; one and all were alike; one or other of
them, my reflections were bitterly the same.  Well understood I the
character of these red men of the south; so far differing from their
kindred of the north--so far different from that ideal type of cold
continence, it has pleased the poet and the writer of romance to ascribe
to them.  The reverse of the medal was before my mind's eye; the memory
of many a scene was in my thoughts, of many a tale I had heard,
illustrating the uxorious disposition, the wild unbridled wantonness of
these lords of the southern plains.

Not then did I dwell long on such thoughts; for they had their influence
in urging me onward, and onward I spurred.

There was another reason for our rapid advance: all of us were under the
extreme agony of thirst--literally gasping for water; and thus physical
suffering impelled us to ride forward as fast as our jaded horses could
carry us over the ground.

Timber was at length before our eyes--green foliage--looking all the
fresher and brighter from contrast with the black plain which it
bounded.  It was a grove of cottonwoods, skirting a prairie-stream; and
beyond this the fire had not extended.

Wild joyous cries escaped from men and horses, as their eyes rested upon
the limpid stream.

The men galloped over the bank, leaped out of their saddles, and without
a thought of drowning, plunged breast-deep into the water.  Some lifted
the crystal liquid in their palms; others, more impatient, bent down,
and ducking their faces in the flood, drank _a la mode du cheval_.

I noticed that the trappers behaved less recklessly than the rest;
before going down to drink, the eyes of both were directed, with
instinctive caution, along the banks, and into the timber.

Close to where we had halted, I observed a crossing, where numerous
tracks of animals formed in the soil a deep, well-beaten path.  Rube's
eyes were upon it, and I saw that they were glistening with unusual
excitement.

"Told 'ee so!" cried he, after a short survey: "yanner's thur
trail--_war-trail_, by the Eturnal!"



CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE.

THE "INDIOS BRAVOS."

You may be asking, what the trapper meant by a war-trail?  It has been a
phrase of frequent occurrence with us.  It is a phrase of the frontier.
Even at the eleventh hour, let me offer its explanation.

For half a century--ay, for three centuries and more--even since the
conquest itself--the northern frontier of Mexico has been in, what is
termed in old-fashioned phraseology, a "disturbed state."  Though the
semi-civilised Aztecs, and the kindred races of town-dwelling Indians,
easily yielded to the sword of the Spanish conquerors, far different has
been the history of the wild tribes--the free hunters of the plains.
Upon those mighty steppes that occupy the whole central area of the
North American continent, dwell tribes of Indians--nations they might be
called--who neither know, nor ever have known, other rule than that of
their own chieftains.  Even when Spain was at her strongest, she failed
to subjugate the "Indios bravos" of her frontiers, who to the present
hour have preserved their wild freedom.  I speak not of the great
nations of the northern prairies--Sioux and Cheyenne--Blackfeet and
Crow--Pawnee and Arapahoe.  With these the Spanish race scarcely ever
came in contact.  I refer more particularly to the tribes whose range
impinges upon the frontiers of Mexico--Comanche, Lipan, Utah, Apache,
and Navajo.

It is not in the annals of Spain to prove that any one of these tribes
ever yielded to her conquering sword; and equally a failure has been the
attempt to wheedle them into a fanatical civilisation by the
much-boasted conquest of the _mission_.  Free, then, the prairie Indians
are from white man's rule, and free have they been, as though the keels
of Columbus had never ploughed the Carib Sea.

But although they have preserved their independence for three centuries,
for three centuries have they never known peace.  Between the red Indian
and the white Iberian, along the frontier of Northern Mexico, a
war-border has existed since the days of Cortez to the present hour--
constantly shifting north or south, but ever extended from east to west,
from ocean to ocean, through wide degrees of longitude.  North of this
border ranges the "Indio bravo;" south of it dwells his degenerate and
conquered kinsman, the "Indio manso"--not in the "tents," but in the
towns of his Spanish conqueror--the former, free as the prairie wind;
the latter, yoked to a condition of "peon" vassalage, with chains as
strong as those of slavery itself.  The neutral belt of hostile ground
lies between--on the one side half defended by a line of garrisoned
forts (_presidios_); on the other, sheltered from attack by the wild and
waterless desert.

I have stated that this war-border has been constantly shifting either
northward or southward.  Such was its history up to the beginning of the
present cycle.  Since then, a remarkable change has been going forward
in the relative position of Indian and Iberian; and the line of hostile
ground has been moving only in one direction--continually _towards the
south_!  To speak in less metaphorical phrase, the red man has been
encroaching upon the territory of the white man--the so-called savage
has been gaining ground upon the domain of civilisation.  Not slowly or
gradually either, but by gigantic strides--by the conquest of whole
provinces as large as England ten times told!

I shall make the announcement of a fact, or rather a hypothesis--
scarcely well known, though strange enough.  It may interest, if not
surprise, the ethnologist.  I assert, then, that had the four tribes of
North Mexican Indians--Comanche, Lipano, Apache, and Navajo--been left
to themselves, _in less than another century they would have driven the
degenerate descendants of the conquerors of Cortez from the soil of
Anahuac_!  I make this assertion with a full belief and clear conviction
of its truthfulness.  The hypothesis rests upon a basis of realities.
It would require but very simple logic to prove it; but a few facts may
yield illustration.

With the fall of Spanish rule in Mexico, ended the predominance of the
Spaniard over the Indian.  By revolution, the presidios became shorn of
their strength, and no longer offered a barrier even to the weakest
incursion.  In fact, a neutral line no more exists; whole provinces--
Sonora, Chihuahua, Tamaulipas, Cinaloa, and Leon--are no better than
neutral ground, or, to speak more definitely, form an extended territory
conquered and desolated by the Indians.  Even beyond these, into the
"provincias internas," have the bold copper-coloured freebooters of late
carried their forays--even to the very gates of Durango.  Two hundred
Comanche warriors, or as many Apaches, fear not to ride hundreds of
miles into the heart of civilised Mexico--hesitate not to attack a city
or a settlement--scruple not to drag from hearth and home lovely maids
and tender children--_only_ these--and carry them slave and captive to
their wild fastnesses in the desert!  And this is no occasional foray,
no long gathering outburst of revenge or retaliation; but an _annual_
expedition, forming part of the regular routine of the year, and
occurring at the season when the buffalo have migrated to the north--
occurring in that month in the calendar of these aboriginal brigands
jocosely styled the "Mexican moon!"

Upon whose head falls the blow thus periodically repeated?  Upon the
poor and unprotected?  No doubt you will fancy so.

A single fact may serve to undeceive you.  Only a few years ago, Trias,
a man of "first family" in Mexico and governor of the large state of
Chihuahua, lost one of his sons by an Indian foray.  The boy was taken
prisoner by the Comanches; and it was only after years of negotiation
and payment of a large sum, that the father recovered his child.  Thus
the governor of a province, with means and military at his command, was
not powerful enough to cause the surrender of his captive son: he was
forced to _buy_ him!

It is computed that at this moment there are three thousand white
captives in the hands of the North Mexican Indians--nearly all of them
of Spanish descent.  They are mostly females, and live as the
slave-wives of their captors--if such connexion may be dignified by the
name.  There are white men, too, among the Indians--prisoners taken in
their youth; and strange as it may appear, few of them--either of the
men or women--evince any desire to return to their former life or homes.
Some, when ransomed, have refused the boon.  Not uncommon along the
frontier has been witnessed that heart-rending scene--a father who had
recovered his child from the savages, and yet unable to reclaim its
affection, or even to arouse it to a recognition of its parentage.  In a
few years--sometimes only months--the captives forget their early ties,
and become wedded to their new life--become _Indianised_!

But a short time before, an instance had come under our own observation.
The wounded brave taken in the skirmish at the mound was a full-blooded
Mexican--had been carried off by the Comanches, some years before, from
the settlements on the Lower Rio Grande.  In consideration of this, we
gave him his liberty--under the impression that he would gladly avail
himself of the opportunity to return to his kindred.

He proved wanting in gratitude as in natural affection.  The same night
on which he was set free, he took the route back to the prairies,
mounted upon one of the best horses of our troop, which he had stolen
from its unfortunate owner!

Such are the "Cosas de Mexico"--a few of the traits of frontier-life on
the Rio Bravo del Norte.

But what of the war-trail?  That is not yet explained.

Know, then, that from the country of the Indians to that of the Mexicans
extend many great paths, running for hundreds of miles from point to
point.  They follow the courses of streams, or cross vast desert plains,
where water is found only at long intervals of distance.  They are
marked by the tracks of mules, horses, and captives.  Here and there,
they are whitened by bones--the bones of men, of women, of animals, that
have perished by the way.  Strange paths are these!  What are they, and
who have made them?  Who travel by these roads that lead through the
wild and homeless desert?

Indians: they are the paths of the Comanche and Caygua--the roads made
by their warriors during the "Mexican moon."

It was upon one of these that the trapper was gazing when he gave out
the emphatic utterance--

"War-trail, by the Eturnal!"



CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX.

ON THE WAR-TRAIL.

Scarcely staying to quench my thirst, I led my horse across the stream,
and commenced scrutinising the trail upon the opposite bank.  The
faithful trackers were by my side--no fear of them lagging behind.

I had won the hearts of both these men; and that they would have risked
life to serve me, I could no longer doubt, since over and over again
they _had_ risked it.  For Garey strong, courageous, handsome in the
true sense, and noble-hearted, I felt real friendship, which the young
trapper reciprocated.  For his older comrade, the feeling.  I had was
like himself--indefinable, indescribable.  It was strongly tinctured
with admiration, but admiration of the intellectual rather than the
moral or personal qualities of the man.

Instead of intellectual, I should rather say instinctive--for his keen
intuitive thoughts appeared more like instincts, than the results of a
process of ratiocination.

That the old trapper admired me--in his own phraseology, "liked me
mightily"--I was aware.  He was equally zealous as the younger in my
service; but too free an exhibition of zeal was in his eyes a weakness,
and he endeavoured to conceal it.  His admiration of myself was perhaps
owing to the fact that I neither attempted to thwart him in his humours
nor rival him in his peculiar knowledge--the craft of the prairie.  In
this I was but his pupil, and behaved as such, generally deferring to
his judgment.

Another impulse acted upon the trackers--sheer love of the part they
were now playing.  Just as the hound loves the trail, so did they; and
hunger, thirst, weariness, one or all must be felt to an extreme degree
before they would voluntarily forsake it.

Scarcely staying, therefore, to quench their thirst, they followed me
out of the water; and all three of us together bent our attention to the
sign.

It was a _war-trail_--a true war-trail.  There was not the track of a
dog--not the drag of a lodge-pole upon it.  Had it been a moving
encampment of peaceable Indians, these signs would have been visible;
moreover, there would have been seen numerous footsteps of Indian
women--of squaws; for the slave-wife of the lordly Comanche is compelled
to traverse the prairies _a pied_, loaded like the packhorse that
follows at her heels!

But though no foot-prints of Indian women appeared, there _were_ tracks
of women, scores of them, plainly imprinted in the soil of the
river-bank.  Those slender impressions, scarcely a span in length,
smoothly moulded in the mud, were not to be mistaken for the footsteps
of an Indian squaw.  There was not the wide divergence at the heels with
the toes turned inward; neither was there the moccasin-print.  No: those
tiny tracks must have been made by women of that nation who possess the
smallest and prettiest feet in the world--by women of Mexico.

"Captives!" we exclaimed, as soon as our eyes rested upon the tracks.

"Ay, poor critters!" said Rube sympathisingly; "the cussed niggurs hev
made 'em fut it, while thur's been spare hosses a plenty.  Wagh! a good
wheen o' weemen thur's been--a score on 'em at the least.  Wagh!  I pity
'em, poor gurls! in sech kumpny as they've got into.  It ur a life
they've got to lead.  Wagh!"

Rube did not reflect how heavily his words were falling upon my heart.

There were the tracks of more than a hundred horses, and as many mules.
Some of both were iron-shod; but for all that, we knew they had been
either ridden or driven by Indians: they, too, were captives.

The sign helped my companions to much knowledge, that would have been
unintelligible to me.  It was certainly the path of a war-party of
Indians _on the back-track_.  They were laden with plunder, and driving
before them, or forcing to follow, a crowd of captives--horses, mules,
and women--children, too, for we saw the tiny foot-marks of tender age.
The trail was significant of all this--even to me.

But my comrades saw more; they no longer doubted that the Indians were
Comanches--a moccasin had been picked up, a castaway--and the leathern
tassel attached to the heel declared the tribe to which its wearer
belonged to be the Comanche.

The trail was quite fresh; that is, but a few hours had intervened since
the Indians passed along it.  Notwithstanding the dryness of the
atmosphere, the mud on the river-edge had not yet become "skinned," as
the trappers expressed it.  The Indians had forded the stream about the
time the prairie was set on fire.

The horses, we had been following across the burnt plain, were those of
a party who had gone out in pursuit of the steed.  Just at the ford,
they had overtaken the main body, who carried along the spoil and
captives.  From that point, all had advanced together.

Had they done so?  This was our first object of inquiry.  It was almost
too probable to admit of a doubt; but we desired to be certain about a
matter of such primary importance, and we looked for the hoof with the
piece chipped from its edge--easily to be identified by all of us.

In the muddy margin of the stream we could not find it; but the steed
may have been led or ridden in front of the rest, and his tracks
trampled out by the thick drove that followed.

At this moment, Stanfield came up and joined us in the examination.  The
ranger had scarcely bent his eyes on the trail, when a significant
exclamation escaped him.  He stood pointing downward to the track of a
shod horse.

"My horse!" cried he; "my horse Hickory, by Gosh!"

"Your horse?"

"May I never see Kaintuck if it ain't."

"Yur sure o' it, ole hoss? yur sure it's yurn?"

"Sure as shootin'; I shod him myself.  I kid tell that ere track on a
dry sand-bar.  I know every nail thar; I druv 'em wi' my own hand--it's
him sartin."

"Wheeo-o!" whistled Rube in his significant way, "thet makes things a
leetle plainer, I reck'n; an so I thort all along--an so I thort--
ye-es--so I thort.  The durned rennygade niggur!" he added with angry
emphasis, "I know'd we dud wrong to let 'im go; we oughter served 'im as
I perposed; we oughter cut his durnation throat, an scalped 'im the
minnut we tuk 'im: cuss the luck thet we didn't!  Wagh!"

Rube's words needed no interpretation.  We knew whose throat he would
have cut--that of the Indianised Mexican taken at the mesa; and I
remembered that at the time of his capture such had been Rube's advice,
overruled, of course, by the more merciful of his comrades.  The trapper
had assigned some reason: he knew something of the man's history.

He now repeated his reasons:

"He ur a true rennygade," said he; "an thur ain't on all the parairas a
wusser enemy to whites than thet ur--more partiklurly to Texan whites.
He wur at the massacree o' Wilson's family on the clur fork o' the
Brazos, an wur conspik'us in the skrimmige: a' more too--it ur thort he
toated off one o' Wilson's gurls, an made a squaw o' her, for he's
mighty given thet way I've heern.  Wagh! he ur wuss than a Injun, for
the reezun thet he unerstans the ways o' the whites.  I never know'd
sich a foolitch thing as ter let 'im git clur.  'Ee may thank yur luck,
Mister Stannafeel, thet he didn't take yur har at the same time when he
tuk yur hoss.  Wagh! thet ye may!"

It was Stanfield's horse that had bee a stolen by the renegade, and the
tracks now identified by the ranger were those of that animal--no doubt
with the freebooter upon his back.

This new discovery let in a flood of light.  Beyond a doubt, the
war-party was the same we had met by the mound, with perhaps a
reinforcement; the same that had just plundered the Mexican town; the
same who had paid their hurried visit to the hacienda, and this
renegade--

Ha!  Strange remembrances were crowding into my brain.  I remembered
meeting this semi-savage skulking about the road, after we had granted
him his parole; I remembered, upon one occasion, seeing him while riding
out with _her_; I remembered the rude expression with which he had
regarded my companion--the glance half-fierce, half-lustful; I
remembered that it made me angry; that I rebuked and threatened him--I
now remembered all.

Wild thoughts came rushing into my mind--worse thoughts than ever.

I sprang to my saddle; and, calling out some half-coherent orders, rode
rapidly along the trail.



CHAPTER SEVENTY SEVEN.

THE WRITING ON THE MAGUEY.

The skill of the trackers was no longer called in need; the war-trail
was as easily followed as a toll-road: a blind man could have guided
himself along such a well-trodden highway.

Our rate of speed was now ruled by the capacity of our horses.  Alas!
their power was nearly at an end.  They had been two days and a night
under the saddle, with but a few hours to refresh themselves by food or
rest: they could not hold out much longer.

One by one they began to lag, until the greater number of them followed
with tottering step hundreds of yards in the rear.

It was in vain to contend against nature.  The men were still willing,
though they too were wearied to death; but their horses were quite done
up--even whip and spur could force them no farther.  Only my own
matchless steed could have continued the journey.  Alone I might have
advanced, but that would have been madness.  What could I have
accomplished alone?

Night was fast coming down: it was already twilight.  I saw by the
clouded sky we should have no moon.  We might follow the trail with our
waxen torches--not yet burnt out--but that would no longer be safe.  For
myself, I was reckless enough to have risked life in any way, but the
lives of my comrades were not mine.  I could not give them--I should not
wastefully fling them away.

Reluctantly I glided from my saddle, gave my steed to the grass, and sat
down upon the earth.

My followers coming up, said not a word, but picketing their horses,
seated themselves around me.  One by one they stretched themselves along
the sward, and in ten minutes all were asleep.

I alone could not sleep; the fever of unrest was upon me; the demon of
thought would not let me close my eyes.  Though my orbs ached with the
long protracted vigil, I thought that "not all the drowsy syrups of the
world" could have given me repose at that moment.  I felt as one who
suffers under delirium, produced by the intoxicating cup, the fearful
_mania-a-potu_.  I could neither sleep nor rest.

I could not even remain seated.  I rose to my feet and wandered around,
without heed of where I was going; I strode over the recumbent forms of
my sleeping companions; I went among the horses; I paced backwards and
forwards along the banks of the stream.

There _was_ a stream--a small arroyo or rivulet.  It was this that had
caused me to halt in that particular spot; for wild as were my thoughts,
I had enough of reason left to know that we could not encamp without
water.  The sight of the arroyo had decided my wavering resolution, and
upon its banks, almost mechanically, I had drawn bridle and dismounted.

I once more descended to the bed of the stream, and, raising the water
in the palms of my hands, repeatedly applied it to my lips and temples.
The cool liquid refreshed me, and seemed to soothe both my nerves and my
spirit.

After a time, both felt calmer, and I sat down upon the bank, and
watched for a while the clear rivulet rippling past over its bed of
yellow sand and glistening pebbles of quartz.  The water was perfectly
diaphanous; and, though the sun was no longer shining, I could see tiny
silver fish, of the genus _hyodon_, sporting themselves in the lowest
depths of the pool.  How I envied them their innocent gambols, their
life of crystal purity and freedom!  Here, in this remote prairie
stream, dwelt not the alligator, nor the ravenous garfish; here came no
dolphin or shark to chase them, no tyrant of the waters to put them in
fear.  To be envied, indeed, such an _insouciant_, happy existence!

I watched them for a long while, till I thought that my eyes were
growing heavy, and, after all, I might seep.  The murmur of the arroyo
helped to increase this inclination to repose, and, perhaps, I might
have slept; but at that moment chancing to look around, my eyes rested
upon an object that again drove sleep far away, and I was soon as
wakeful as ever.

Close to where I had seated myself grew a large plant of the Mexican
aloe (_agave Americana_).  It was the wild maguey, of course, but of a
species with broad fleshy leaves of dark-green colour, somewhat
resembling the maguey of cultivation.  I noticed that one of the great
blades of the plant was bruised down, and the spine, which had
terminated it, torn off.

All this would not have drawn my attention: I was already aware that the
Indians had made a halt where we were encamped, and their sign was
plenteous around--in the tracks of their animals, and the broken
branches of trees.  One of their horses or mules might have munched at
the maguey in passing; and, viewing the bruised blade from a distance, I
should have hazarded just such a conjecture.  But my eyes were close to
the plant, and, to my astonishment, I observed that there _was writing
upon the leaf_!

I turned over upon my knees, and seizing the huge blade, bent it down
before me, so as to obtain a better view of its surface.  I read:--

"_Captured by Comanches_--_a war-party with many captives_--_women and
children_--_ay de mi! pobres ninas! north-west from this place.  Saved
from death; alas!  I fear_--"

The writing ended abruptly.  There was no signature, but it needed not
that.  I had no doubts about who was the writer; in fact, rude as was
the chirography--from the materials used--I easily identified the hand.
It was Isolina de Vargas who had written.

I saw that she had torn off the terminal spine, and using it as a
stylus, had graven those characters upon the epidermis of the plant.

Sweet subtle spirit! under any guise I could have recognised its
outpourings.

"Saved from death"--thank Heaven for that!--"alas!  I fear."  Oh, what
feared she?  Was it worse than death? that terrible fate--too terrible
to think of?

She had broken off, without finishing the sentence.  Why had she done
so?

The sheet was broad--would have held many more words--why had she not
written more?  Did she dread to tell the cause of her fear? or had she
been interrupted by the approach of some of her tyrant captors?  O
merciful Heaven! save me from thought!

I re-read the words over and over: there was nothing more.  I examined
the other leaves of the plant--on both sides, concave and convex, I
examined them--not a word more could I find.  What I had read was all
she had written.



CHAPTER SEVENTY EIGHT.

THE SOUTHERN SAVAGE.

I need not tell how deeply I was affected by the unexpected
communication.  All at once were decided a variety of doubts; all at
once was I made aware of the exact situation.

Isolina still lived--that was no longer doubtful; and the knowledge
produced joy.  More than this: she was still uninjured--able to think,
to act, to write--not only living, but well.  The singular "billet" was
proof of all this.  Another point--her hands must have been free--her
hands at least, else how could she have traced those lines? and with
such a pencil?  It argued indulgence--perhaps kind treatment on the part
of her captors.

Another point yet.  _She knew I was in pursuit_.  She _had_ seen me,
then, as I galloped after.  It _was_ her cry I had heard as the steed
dashed into the chapparal.  She had recognised, me, and called back.
She knew I would still be following; she knew I was following, and for
me was the writing meant.  Sweet subtle spirit!

Once more I devoured the welcome words; but my heart grew heavy as I
pondered over them.  What had caused her to break off so abruptly?  What
was it her intention to have said?  Of what was she in fear?  It was
thinking about this that caused the heaviness upon my heart and forced
me to give way to horrid imaginings.

Naturally my thoughts reverted to her captors; naturally I reflected
upon the character of the prairie savage--so different from that of the
forest Indian, opposite as is the aspect of their homes--and perhaps
influenced by this very cause, though there are many others.  Climate--
contact with Spanish civilisation, so distinct from Saxon--the horse--
conquest over white foes--concubinage with white and beautiful women,
the daughters of the race of Cortez: all these have combined to produce
in the southern Indian a spiritual existence that more resembles
Andalusia than England--more like Mexico than Boston or New York.

Psychologically speaking, there is not so much difference between Paris
and the prairies--between the _habitat_ of the Bal Mabille and the
horse-Indian of the plains.  No cold ascetic this--no romantic savage,
alike celebrated for silence and continence--but a true voluptuary, gay
of thought and free of tongue--amorous, salacious, immoral.  In nine
cases out of ten, the young Comanche is a boastful Lothario as any
_flaneur_ that may be met upon the Boulevards; the old, a lustful
sinner--women the idol of both.  Women is the constant theme of their
conversation, their motive for every act.  For these they throw the
prairie dice; for these they race their swift mustangs.  To win them,
they paint in hideous guise; to buy them, they steal horses; to capture
them, they go to war!

And yet, with all their wanton love, they are true tyrants to the sex.
Wife they have none--for it would be sheer sacrilege to apply this noble
title to the "squaw" of a Comanche.  Mistress is scarcely a fitter
term--rather say _slave_.  Hers is a hard lot indeed; hers it is to hew
the wood and draw the water; to strike the tent and pitch it; to load
the horse and pack the dog; to grain the skin and cure the meat; to
plant the maize, the melon, squash; to hoe and reap them; to wait
obsequious on her lounging lord, anticipate his whim or wish, be true to
him, else _lose her ears or nose_--for such horrid forfeiture is, by
Comanche custom, the punishment of conjugal infidelity!

But hard as is the lot of the native wife, harder still is that of the
white captive.  'Tis hers to endure all the ills enumerated, with still
another--the hostility of the squaw herself.  The white captive is truly
the slave of a slave, the victim of a treble antipathy--of race, of
colour, of jealousy.  Ofttimes is she beaten, abused, mutilated; and
rarely does the apathetic lord interfere to protect her from this
feminine but fiend-like persecution.

These were not imaginings; they were not fancies begot in my own brain.
Would they had been so!  Too well did I know they were facts--horrid
realities.

Can you wonder that sleep was shaken from my eyelids?--that I could not
think of rest or stay, till I had delivered my loved one--my betrothed--
from the danger of such a destiny?

All thought of sleep was banished--even weariness forsook me.  I felt
fresh as if I had slept; my nerves were strung for emprise.  It was but
the excitement renewed by what I had read--the impatience of a new and
keen apprehension.

I would have mounted and gone forward, spurning rest and sleep;
regardless of danger, would I have followed; but what could I do alone?

Ay, and what with my few followers?

Ha!  I had not thought of this; up to that moment, I had not put this
important question, and I had need to reflect upon the answer.  What if
we should overtake this band of brigands?  Booty-laden as they were, and
cumbered with captives, surely we could come up with them, by night or
by day; but what then?  Ay, what then?

There were nine of us, and we were in pursuit of a war-party of at least
one hundred in number!--one hundred braves armed and equipped for
battle--the choice warriors of their tribe--flushed with late success,
and vengeful against ourselves on account of former defeat.  If
conquered, we need look for no mercy at their hands; _if_ conquered--how
could it be otherwise?  Nine against a hundred!  How could _we_ conquer?

Up to this moment, I say, I had not thought of the result I was borne
along by only one impulse--the idea of overtaking the steed, and
rescuing his rider from her perilous situation.  It was only within the
hour that her peril had assumed a new phase; only an hour since we had
learned that she had escaped from one danger to be brought within the
influence of another.

At first had I felt joy, but the feeling was of short existence, for I
now recognised in the new situation a greater peril than that she had
outlived.  She had been rescued from death to become the victim of
dishonour!



CHAPTER SEVENTY NINE.

A SUBTERRANEAN FIRE.

In the midst of my meditations, night descended upon the earth.  It
promised to be a moonless night.  A robe of sable clouds formed a sombre
lining to the sky, and through this neither moon nor stars were visible.

It grew darker apace, until in the dim light I could scarcely
distinguish the forms of my companions--neither men nor horses, though
both were near me.

The men were still asleep, stretched along the grass in various
attitudes, like so many bodies upon a battle-field.  The horses were too
hungry to sleep--the constant "crop-crop" told that they were greedily
browsing upon the sward of gramma-grass that, by good fortune, grew
luxuriantly around.  This would be the best rest for them, and I was
glad to think that this splendid provender would in a few hours recruit
their strength.  It was the _chondrosium foeneum_, the favourite food of
horses and cattle, and in its effects upon their condition almost equal
to the bean or the oat.  I knew it would soon freshen the jaded animals,
and make them ready for the road.  At least in this there was some
consolation.

Notwithstanding the pre-occupation of my thoughts, I began to be
sensible of a physical discomfort, which, despite their low latitude, is
often experienced upon the southern prairies--cold.  A chill breeze had
set in with the night, which in half-an-hour became a strong and violent
wind, increasing in coldness as in strength.

In that half-hour the thermometer must have fallen at least fifty
Fahrenheit degrees; and such a phenomenon is not rare upon the plains of
Texas.  The wind was the well-known "_norther_" which often kills both
men and animals, that chance to be exposed to its icy breath.

I have endured the rigour of a Canadian winter--have crossed the frozen
lakes--have slept upon a snow-wreath amidst the wild wastes of Rupert's
Land; but I cannot remember cold more intensely chilling than that I
have suffered in a Texan norther.

This extreme does not arise from the absolute depression of the
thermometer--which at least is but a poor indicator of either heat or
cold--I mean the sensation of either.  It is more probably the contrast
springing from the sudden change--the exposure--the absence of proper
clothing or shelter--the state of the blood--and other like
circumstances, that cause both heat and cold to be more sensibly felt.

I had ofttimes experienced the chill blast of the norther, but never
more acutely than upon that night.  The day had been sweltering hot--the
thermometer at noon ranging about the one-hundredth Fahrenheit degree,
while in the first hour of darkness it could not have been far above the
twentieth.  Had I judged by my sensations, I should have put it even
lower.  Certainly it had passed the freezing-point, and sharp sleet and
hail were borne upon the wings of the wind.

With nerves deranged from want of rest and sleep--after the hot day's
march--after the perspiration produced by long exposure upon the heated
surface of the burnt prairie--I perhaps felt the cold more acutely than
I should otherwise have done.  My blood seemed to stagnate and freeze
within my veins.

I was fain to wrap around my body a buffalo-robe, which some careless
savage had dropped upon the trail.  My followers were not so well
furnished; starting as we had done, without any thought of being absent
for the night, no preparation had been made for camping out.  Only a
portion of them chanced to have their blankets strapped upon the cantles
of their saddles.  These were now the fortunate ones.

The norther had roused all of them from their slumbers--had awaked them
as suddenly as a douche of cold water would have done; and one and all
were groping about in the darkness--some seeking for their blankets--
others for such shelter as was afforded by the lee-side of the bushes.

Fortunately there were some saddle-blankets, and these were soon dragged
from the backs of the horses.  The poor brutes themselves suffered
equally with their owners; they stood cowering under the cold, with
their hips to the cutting blast, their limbs drawn close together, and
their flanks shaggy and shivering.  Some of them half sheltered
themselves behind the bushes, scarce caring to touch the grass at their
feet.

It would have been easy enough to make a fire; there was dry wood in
plenty near the spot, and of the best kind for burning--the large
species of mezquite.  Some of the men were for kindling fires at once,
regardless of consequences; but this design was overruled by the more
prudent of the party.  The trappers were strongly against it.  Cold as
was the night, and dark, they knew that neither the norther nor the
darkness would deter Indians from being abroad.  A party might be out
upon the prowl; the very buffalo-skin we had picked up might bring a
squad of them back; for it was the grand robe of some brave or chief,
whose whole life-history was delineated in hieroglyphical painting upon
its inner surface.  To have made a fire, might have cost us our lives;
so alleged the trappers, Rube and Garey.  It would be better to endure
the cold, than risk our scalps; so counselled they.

But for all that, Rube had no idea of being starved to death.  He could
kindle a fire, and burn it upon an open prairie, without the least fear
of its being seen; and in a few minutes' time he had succeeded in making
one, that could not have been discovered by the most sharp-sighted
Indian in creation.  I had watched the operation with some interest.

He first collected a quantity of dead leaves, dry grass, and short
sticks of the mezquite-tree--all of which he placed under his
saddle-blanket, to prevent the rain and sleet from wetting them.  This
done, he drew out his bowie-knife, and with the blade "crowed" a hole
into the turf, about a foot deep, and ten inches or a foot in diameter.
In the bottom of this hole he placed the grass and leaves, having first
ignited them by means of his flint, steel, and "punk" tinder--all of
which implements formed part of the contents of Rube's pouch and
possible sack--ever present.  On the top of the now blazing leaves and
grass he placed the dry sticks--first the smaller ones, and then those
of larger dimensions--until the hole was filled up to the brim--and over
all he laid the piece of sod, originally cut from the surface, and which
fitted as neatly as a lid.

His furnace being now finished and in full blast, the old trapper
"hunkered" down close to its edge--in such a position as to embrace the
fire between his thighs, and have it nearly under him.  He then drew his
old saddle-blanket over his shoulders, allowing it to droop behind until
he had secured it under the salient points of his lank angular hips.  In
front he passed the blanket over his knees, until both ends, reaching
the ground, were gripped tightly between his toes.  The contrivance was
complete; and there sat the earless trapper like a hand-glass over a
plant of spring rhubarb--a slight smoke oozing through the apertures of
the scant blanket, and curling up around his "ears" as though he was
hatching upon a hotbed.  But no fire could be seen, though Rube shivered
no longer.

He soon found imitators.  Garey had already constructed a similar
furnace; and the others were soon warming themselves by this simple but
ingenious device.

I did not disdain to avail myself of the extra "shaft" which the
kind-hearted Garey had sunk for my accommodation; and having placed
myself by its side, and drawn the ample robe over my shoulders, I felt
as warm as if seated in front of a sea-coal fire!

Under other circumstances, I might have joined in the merriment produced
among my companions by the ludicrous spectacle which we presented.  A
comic spectacle indeed; nine of us squatted at intervals over the
ground, the blue smoke escaping through the interstices of our robes and
blankets, and rising around our heads, as though one and all of us were
on fire!

Wind, sleet, and darkness, continued throughout the whole night--cold
wind, sharp icy sleet, and black darkness, that seemed palpable to the
touch.  Ever so eager, ever so fresh, we could not have advanced along
the trail.  Grand war-trail as it was, it could not have been traced
under that amorphous obscurity, and we had no means of carrying a light,
even had it been safe to do so.  We had no lantern, and the norther with
one blast would have whisked out a torch of pitch-pine.

We thought no more of going forward, until either the day should break
or the wind come to a lull.

At midnight we replenished our subterranean fires, and remained on the
ground.  Hail, rain, wind, and darkness.

My companions rested their heads upon their knees, or nodding slept.  No
sleep for me--not even the repose of thought.  Like some fevered
sufferer on his wakeful couch.  I counted the hours--the minutes.  The
minutes seemed hours.

Rain, hail, sleet, and wind seemed, like darkness itself, to belong to
the night.  As long as night lasted, so long continued they.  When it
came to an end, all vanished together--the norther had exhausted its
strength.

A wild turkey--killed before nightfall--with some steaks of the
peccary-pork, furnished us with an ample breakfast.

It was hastily cooked, and hastily eaten; and as the first streak of
dawn appeared along the horizon, we were in our saddles, and advancing
upon the trail.



CHAPTER EIGHTY.

A RED EPISTLE.

The trail led north-west, as written upon the maguey.  No doubt Isolina
had heard her captors forespeak their plans.  I knew that she herself
understood something of the Comanche language.  The accomplishment may
appear strange--and not strange either, when it is known that her mother
could have spoken it well: with her it was a _native tongue_.

But even without this knowledge she might still have learned the designs
of the savages--for these southern Comanches are accomplished linguists;
many of them can speak the beautiful language of Andalusia!  There was a
time when a portion of the tribe submitted to the teaching of the
mission padres; besides, a few among them might boast--which they do
not--of Iberian blood!

No doubt, then, that the captive in their midst had overheard them
discussing their projects.

We had ridden about two hours, when we came upon the ground where the
Indians had made their night-camp.  We approached it warily and with
stealth, for we were now travelling with great caution.  We had need.
Should a single savage, straggling behind, set eyes upon us, we might as
well be seen by the whole band.  If discovered upon the war-trail, our
lives would not be worth much.  Some of us might escape; but even if all
of us survived our plan would be completely frustrated.

I say plan, for I had formed one.  During the long vigil of the night,
my thoughts had not been idle, and a course of action I had traced out,
though it was not yet fully developed in my mind.  Circumstances might
yet alter it, or aid me in its execution.

We approached their night-encampment, then, warily and with stealth.
The smoke of its smouldering fires pointed out the place, and warned us
from afar.

We found it quite deserted--the gaunt wolf and coyote alone occupying
the ground, disputing with each other possession of the hide and bones
of a horse--the debris of the Indian breakfast.

Had we not known already, the trappers could have told by the sign of
the camp to what tribe the Indians belonged.  There were still standing
the poles of a tent--only one--doubtless the lodge of the head chief.
The poles were temporary ones--saplings cut from the adjacent thicket.
They were placed in a circle, and meeting at the top, were tied together
with a piece of thong--so that, when covered, the lodge would have
exhibited the form of a perfect cone.  This we knew was the fashion of
the Comanche tent.

"Ef 't hed 'a been Kickapoo," said Rube, who took the opportunity of
displaying his knowledge, "th'ud 'a bent thur poles in'ard, so's to make
a sort o' a roun top, d'ee see; an ef 't hed 'a been Wacoes or
Witcheetoes, thu'd 'a left a hole at the top, to let out thur smoke.
Delawurs an Shawnee wud 'a hed tents, jest like whites; but thet ur
ain't thur way o' makin a fire.  In a Shawnee fire, the logs 'ud 'a been
laid wi' one eend turned in an the tother turned ut, jest like the star
on a Texas flag, or the spokes o' a wagon-wheel.  Likeways Cherokee an
Choctaw wud 'a hed reg'lar tents, but thur fire wud 'a been alser
diff'rint.  They'd 'a sot the logs puralell, side by side, an lit' em
only at one eend, an then pushed 'em up as fast as they burn'd.  Thet's
thur way.  'Ee see these hyur logs is sot diff'rint--thur lit in the
middle, an thet's Kimanch for sartint--it ur."

Rube's "clairvoyance" extended further.  The savages had been astart as
early as ourselves.  They had decamped about daylight, and were now
exactly two hours ahead of us on the trail.

Why were they travelling so rapidly?  Not from fear of pursuit by any
enemy.  The soldiers of Mexico--had these been regarded by them--were
too busy with the Saxon foe, and _vice versa_.  They could hardly be
expecting _as_ upon an expedition to rob them of their captives.
Perhaps they were driving forward to be in time for the great herds of
buffalo, that, along with the cold northers, might now be looked for in
the higher latitudes of the Comanche range.  This was the explanation
given by the trappers--most probably the true one.

Under the influence of singular emotions, I rode over the ground.  There
were other signs besides those of the savage--signs of the plunder with
which they were laden--signs of civilisation.  There were fragments of
broken cups and musical instruments--torn leaves of books--remnants of
dresses, silks and velvets--a small satin slipper (the peculiar
_chaussure_ of the Mexican manola) side by side with a worn-out
mud-stained moccasin--fit emblems of savage and civilised life.

There was no time for speculating on so curious a confusion.  I was
looking for signs of her--for traces of my betrothed.

I cast around me inquiring glances.  Where was it probable she had
passed the night?  Where?

Involuntarily my eyes rested upon the naked poles--the tent of the
chief.  How could it be otherwise?  Who among all the captives like her?
grandly beautiful to satisfy the eye even of a savage chieftain--
grandly, magnificently beautiful, how could she escape his notice?
There, in his lodge, shrouded under the brown skins of buffaloes--under
hideous devices--in the arms of a painted, keel-bedaubed savage--his
arms brawn and greasy--embraced--oh!--

"Young fellur!  I ain't much o' a skollur; but I'd stake a pack o'
beaver plew agin a plug o' Jeemes River, thet this hyur manurscrip wur
entended for yurself, an nob'dy else.  Thur's writin' upon it--thet's
clur, an mighty kew'rous ink I reck'n thet ur.  Oncest ov a time I kud
'a read write, or print eythur, as easy as fallin' off a log; for thur
wur a Yankee fellur on Duck Crik thet kep a putty consid'able school
thur, an the ole 'oman--thet ur Mrs Rawlins--hed this child put thro' a
reg'lar coorse o' Testy mint.  I remembers readin' 'bout thet ur cussed
niggur as toated the possible sack--Judeas, ef I reccol'ex right, war
the durned raskul's name--ef I kud 'a laid claws on him, I'd a raised
his har in the shakin' o' a goat's tail.  Wagh! thet I wild."

Rube's indignation against the betrayer having reached its climax,
brought his speech to a termination.

I had not waited for its finale.  The object which he held between his
fingers had more interest for me, than either the history of his own
early days or the story of the betrayal.

It was a paper--a note actually folded, and addressed "Warfield!"  He
had found it upon the grass, close to where the tent had stood, where it
was held in the crotch of a split reed, the other end of which was
sticking in the ground.

No wonder the trapper had remarked upon the ink, there was no mistaking
the character of that livid red: the writing was _in blood_!

Hastily unfolding the paper, I read:

"_Henri!  I am still safe, but in dread of a sad fate_--_the fate of the
poor white captive among these hideous men.  Last night I feared it, but
the Virgin shielded me.  It has not come.  Oh!  I shall not submit_--_I
shall die by my own hand.  A strange chance has hitherto saved me from
this horrid outrage.  No! it was not chance, but Heaven that interposed.
It is thus: Two of my captors claim me_--_one, the son of the
chief_--_the other, the wretch to whom you granted life and freedom.
Would to God it had been otherwise!  Of the two, he of white blood is
the viler savage_--_bad, brutal_--_a very demon.  Both took part in the
capture of the steed, therefore both claim me as their property?  The
claim is not yet adjusted; hence have I been spared.  But, alas!  I fear
my hour is nigh.  A council is to be held that will decide to which of
these monsters I am to be given.  If to either, it is a horrid fate;
if to neither, a doom still more horrible.  Perchance, you know their
custom: I should be common property_--_the victim of all.  Dios de mi
alma!  Never_--_never!  Death_--_welcome death_!

"_Fear not, Henri, lord of my heart! fear not that I shall dishonour
your love.  No_--_sacred in my breast, its purity shall be preserved,
even at the sacrifice of my life.  I shall bathe it with my blood.  Ah
me! my heart is bleeding now!  They come to drag me away.  Farewell!
farewell_!"

Such were the contents of the page--the fly-leaf of a torn missal.  Upon
the other side was a vignette--a picture of Dolores, the weeping saint
of Mexico!  Had it been chosen, the emblem could scarcely have been more
appropriate.

I thrust the red writing into my bosom; and, without waiting to exchange
a word with my companions, pressed forward upon the trail.



CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE.

MORE WRITING IN RED.

The men followed as before.  We needed no trackers to point out the way;
the path was plain as a drover's road--a thousand hoofs had made their
mark upon the ground.

We rode at a regular pace, not rapidly.  I was in no hurry to come up
with the savages; I desired to get sight of them just after nightfall,
not before, lest they might also get sight of us.

The plan I proposed to myself for the rescue of my betrothed, could not
be accomplished in the daytime; darkness alone could avail me in
carrying it out, and for nightfall must I wait.

We could easily have overtaken the Indians before night.  They were but
two short hours in the advance of us, and would be certain--as is their
custom on the war-trail--to make a noon-halt of several hours' duration.
Even Indian horses require to be rested.

We calculated the rate at which they were travelling--how many miles to
the hour.  The prairie-men could tell to a furlong, both the gait and
the distance.

The tracks of the poor captives were still seen along the trail.  This
showed that the party could not have been going faster than a walk.

The prairie-men alleged there were many horses without riders--led or
driven; many mules, too--the product of the foray.  Why were the poor
captives not permitted to ride them?

Was it sheer cruelty, or brutal indifference on the part of their
captors?  Did the inhuman monsters gloat over the sufferings of these
unfortunates, and deny them even the alleviation of physical pain?  The
affirmative answer to all these questions was probably the true one,
since hardly better--no better, indeed--is the behaviour of these
savages towards the women of their own blood and kind--their own squaws.

Talk not to me of the noble savage--of the simplicity and gentleness of
that condition falsely termed a "state of nature."  It is not nature.
God meant not man to be a wild Ishmaelite on the face of the earth.  Man
was made for civilisation--for society; and only under its influence
does he assume the form and grace of true nobility.  Leave him to
himself--to the play of his instincts--to the indulgence of his evil
impulses--and man becomes a brute, a beast of prey.  Even worse--for
wolf and tiger gently consort with their kind, and still more gently
with their family: they feel the tenderness of the family tie.  Where is
the savage upon all the earth who does not usurp dominion, and practise
the meanest tyranny, over his weaker mate?  Where can you find him?  Not
on the blood-stained karoos of Africa, not upon the forest-plains of the
Amazon, not by the icy shores of the Arctic Sea, certainly not upon the
prairies of North America.

No man can be noble who would in wrath lay his finger upon weaker woman;
talk not, then, of the noble savage!--fancy of poets, myth of romancers!

The tracks of riderless horses, the footsteps of walking women--tender
girls and children--upon that long tiresome trail, had for me a cruel
significance--those slender tiny tracks of pretty feet--_pobres ninas_!

There was one that fixed my attention more than the rest: every now and
then my eyes were upon it; I fancied I could identify it.  It was
exactly the size, I thought.  The perfect symmetry and configuration,
the oval curve of the heel, the high instep, the row of small graduated
globes made by the impression of the toes, the smooth surface left by
the imprint of the delicate epidermis--all these points seemed to
characterise the footprint of a lady.

Surely it could not be hers?  Oh, surely she would not be toiling along
that weary track?  Cruel as were the hearts of her captors, brutal as
were their natures, surely they would not inflict this unnecessary pain?
Beauty like hers should command kinder treatment, should inspire
compassion even in the breast of a savage!  Alas!  I deemed it doubtful.

We rode slowly on, as already said, not desirous of yet overtaking the
foe: we were allowing them time to depart from their noon halting-place.
We might have stopped there a while longer, but I could not submit to
the repose of a halt.  Motion, however slow, appeared progress, and in
some measure hindered me from dwelling upon thoughts that only produced
unnecessary pain.

Notwithstanding the incumbrance of their spoils, the Indians must have
been travelling faster than we.  They had no fear of foes to retard
them; nought to require either spies or caution.  They were now in their
own country--in the very heart of the Comanche range--and in dread of no
enemy.  They were moving freely and without fear.  We, on the contrary,
had to keep our scouts in the advance; every bend of the road had to be
reconnoitred by them, every bush examined, every rise of the ground
approached with extreme care and watchfulness.  These manoeuvres
occupied time, and we moved slowly enough.

It was after mid-day when we arrived at the noon-camp of the savages.
The smoke, as before, warned us, and approaching under cover, we
perceived that they were gone.  They had kindled fires and cooked flesh.
The bones, clean picked, were easily identified, and the mid-day meal
showed that there had been no change in the diet of these hippophagists:
dinner and dejeuner had been alike--drawn from the same larder.

Again I searched the ground; but, as before, the eyes of the trapper
proved better than mine.

"Hyur's a other billy-dux, young fellur," said he, handing me the paper.

Another leaf from the missal!

I seized it eagerly--eagerly I devoured its contents!  This time they
were more brief:

"_Once more I open my veins.  The council meets to-night.  In a few
hours it will be decided whose property I am--whose slave--whose--
Santissima Maria!  I cannot write the word.  I shall attempt to escape.
They leave my hands free, but my limbs are tightly bound.  I have tried
to undo my fastenings, but cannot.  O, if I but had a knife!  I know
where one is kept; I may contrive to seize it, but it must be in the
last moment--it will not do to fail.  Henri, I am firm and resolute; I
do not yield to despair.  One way or the other, I shall free myself from
the hideous embrace of--They come--the villain watches me--I must_--"

The writing ended abruptly.  Her jailers had suddenly approached.

The paper had evidently been concealed from them in haste; it had been
crumpled up and flung upon the grass--for so was it when found.

We remained for a while upon the spot, to rest and refresh our horses;
the poor brutes needed both.  There was water at the place; and that
might not be met with again.

The sun was far down when we resumed our march--_our last march along
the war-trail_.



CHAPTER EIGHTY TWO.

AN "INJUN ON THE BACK-TRACK."

We had advanced about a mile farther, when our scouts--who, as usual,
had gone forward to reconnoitre--having ascended a swell of the prairie,
were observed crouching behind some bushes that grew upon its crest.

We all drew bridle to await the result of their reconnoissance.  The
peculiar attitude in which they had placed themselves, and the apparent
earnestness with which they glanced over the bushes, led us to believe
that some object was before their eyes of more than common interest.

So it proved.  We had scarcely halted, when they were seen to retire
suddenly from the cover, and rising erect, run at full speed back down
the hill--at the same time making signals to us to conceal ourselves in
the timber.

Fortunately, there was timber near; and in a few seconds we had all
ridden into it, taking the horses of the trappers along with us.

The declivity of the hill enabled the scouts to run with swiftness; and
they were among the trees almost as soon as we.

"What is it?" inquired several in the same breath.

"Injun on the back-track," replied the panting trappers.

"Indians!--how many of them?" naturally asked one of the rangers.

"Who slayed Injuns?  We saved a Injun," sharply retorted Rube.  "Damn
yur palaver! thur's no time for jaw-waggin'.  Git yur rope ready, Bill.
'Ee durned greenhorns! keep down yur guns--shootin' won't do hyur--yu'd
hev the hul gang back in the flappin' o' a beaver's tail.  You, Bill,
rope the redskin, an let the young fellur help--he knows how; an ef both
shed miss 'im, I ain't agwine.  'Ee hear me, fellurs?  Don't ne'er a one
o' ye fire: ef a gun ur wanted, Targuts 'll be surfficient, I guess.
For yur lives don't a fire them ur blunderboxes o' yourn till ees see me
miss--they'd be heerd ten mile off.  Ready wi' yur rope, Billee?  You,
young fellur?  All right; mind yur eyes both an snare the durned niggur
like a swamp-rabbit.  Yanner he comes, right inter the trap, by the
jumpin Geehosophat!"

The pithy chapter of instructions above detailed was delivered in far
less time than it takes to read it.  The speaker never paused till he
had uttered the final emphatic expression, which was one of his
favourite phrases of embellishment.

At the same instant I saw, just appearing above the crest of the ridge,
the head and shoulders of a savage.  In a few seconds more, the body
rose in sight; and then the thighs and legs, with a large piebald
mustang between them.  I need scarcely add that the horse was going at a
gallop; it is a rare sight when a horse-Indian rides any other gait.

There was only one.  The scouts were sure of this.  Beyond the swell
stretched an open prairie, and if the Indian had had companions or
followers, they would have been seen.  He was alone.

What had brought him back on the trail?  Was he upon the scout?

No; he was riding without thought, and without precaution.  A scout
would have acted otherwise.

He might have been a messenger; but whither bound?  Surely the Indians
had left no party in our rear?

Quickly these inquiries passed among us, and quick conjectures were
offered in answer.  The voyageur gave the most probable solution.

"Pe gar! he go back for ze sheel."

"Shield! what shield?"

"Ah, you no see 'im.  I see 'im wiz me eye; he vas cache dans les
herbes--von larzge sheel--bouclier tres gros--fabrique from ze peau of
de buffle--ze parfleche--et garnie avec les scalps--frais et sanglants--
scalps Mexicaines.  Mon Dieu!"

The explanation was understood.  Le Blanc had observed a shield among
the bushes where we had halted--like enough left behind by some of the
braves.  It was garnished with scalps, fresh Mexican scalps--like
enough.  The Indian had forgotten both his armour and his trophies; he
was on his way to recover them--like enough.

There was no time either for further talk or conjecture; the red
horseman had reached the bottom of the hill; in ten seconds more, he
would be lazoed or shot!

Garey and I placed ourselves on opposite sides of the path, both with
our lazoes coiled and ready.  The trapper was an adept in the use of
this singular weapon, and I too understood something of its management.
The trees were in our way, and would have prevented the proper winding
of it; but it was our intention to spur clear of the timber--the moment
the Indian came within range--and "rope" him on the run.

Rube crouched behind Garey, rifle in hand, and the rangers were also
ready, in case both the lazoes and Rube's rifle should miss.

It would not do to let the Indian either go on or go back; in either
case he would _report_ us.  Should he pass the spot where we were, he
would observe our tracks in a minute's time--even amidst the thousands
of others--and would be certain to return by another route.  Should he
escape from us, and gallop away, still worse.  He must not be permitted
either to go on or go back; he must be captured or killed!

For my part, I desired that the former should be his destiny.  I had no
feeling of revenge to gratify by taking the life of this red man; and
had his capture not been absolutely necessary to our own safety, I
should willingly have let him come and go as he listed.

Some of my comrades were actuated by very different motives.  Killing a
Comanche Indian was, by their creed, no greater crime than killing a
wolf, a panther, or a grizzly bear; and it was not from any motives of
mercy that the trapper had cautioned the others to hold their fire;
prudence alone dictated the advice--he had given his reason--the reports
of our guns might be heard.

Through the leaves, I looked upon the horseman as he advanced.  A
fine-looking fellow he was--no doubt one of the distinguished warriors
of his tribe.  What his face was I could not see, for the war-paint
disfigured it with a hideous mask; but his body was large, his chest
broad and full, his limbs symmetrical, and well turned to the very toes.
He sat his horse like a centaur.

I had no opportunity for prolonged observation.  Without hesitating, the
Indian galloped up.

I sprang my horse clear of the timber.  I wound the lazo around my head,
and hurled it towards him; I saw the noose settling over his shoulders,
and falling down to his hips.

I spurred in the opposite direction; I felt the quick jerk, and the taut
rope told me I had secured the victim.

I turned in my saddle, and glanced back; I saw the rope of Garey around
the neck of the Indian's mustang, tightened, and holding him fast.
Horse and horseman--both were ours!



CHAPTER EIGHTY THREE.

MY PLAN.

The savage did not yield himself up without resistance.  Resistance with
an Indian is instinctive, as with a wild animal.  He flung himself from
his horse, and drawing his knife, with a single cut severed the thong
that bound him.

In another instant, he would have been off among the bushes; but before
he could move from the spot, half-a-dozen strong arms were around him;
and in spite of his struggles, and the dangerous thrusts of his long
Spanish knife, he was "choked" down and held fast.

My followers were for making short work with him.  More than one had
bared their blades to finish him upon the spot, and would have done so,
had I not interfered.  I was averse to spilling his blood; and by my
intercession, his life was spared.

To prevent him from giving us further trouble, however, we tied him to a
tree in such a manner that he could not possibly free himself.

The mode of securing him was suggested by Stanfield, the backwoodsman:
it was simple and safe.  A tree was chosen, whose trunk was large enough
to fill the embrace of the Indian, so that the ends of his fingers just
met when his arms were drawn to their full stretch around it.  Upon his
wrists, thongs of raw hide were firmly looped, and then knotted
together.  His ankles were also bound by similar cords--the ends of
which were staked, so as to hinder him from worming around the tree, and
perchance wearing off his thongs, or chafing them, so that they might
break.

The ligature was perfect; the most expert jail-breaker could not have
freed himself from such a fastening.

It was our intention to leave him thus, and _perhaps_ set him free upon
our return, if we should return by that way--a doubtful hypothesis.

I thought not at the time of the cruelty we were committing.  We had
spared the Indian's life--a mercy at the moment--and I was too much
concerned about the future of others, to waste reflection on his.

We had taken the precaution to leave him at some distance from the place
of his capture; others of his party might come after, and discover him,
soon enough to interfere with our plans.  His prison had been chosen far
off in the depth of the woods; even his shouts could not have been heard
by any one passing along the trail.

He was not to be left entirely alone: a horse was to be his companion--
not his own--for one of the rangers had fancied an exchange.
Stanfield--not well mounted--had proposed a "swop," as he jocosely
termed it, to which the savage had no alternative but consent; and the
Kentuckian, having "hitched" his worn-out nag to a tree, led off the
skew-bald mustang in triumph, declaring that he was now "squar wi' the
Indyens."  Stanfield would have liked it better had the "swop" been made
with the renegade who had robbed him.

We were about to leave the place and move on, when a bright idea
suddenly came into my head: it occurred to me that I too might effect a
profitable exchange with our new-made captive--a swop, not of horses,
but of men--in short, an exchange of persons--of identities!  In truth,
a bright idea it was, and one that promised well.

I have said that I had already conceived a plan for the rescue of my
betrothed: I had done so during the night; and all along the route, in
my mind I had been maturing it.  The incident that had just transpired
had given rise to a host of new ideas--one, above all, that promised to
aid me in facilitating the execution of my design.  The capture of the
savage, which had at first given me uneasiness, I now regarded in a very
different light--as a fortunate circumstance.  I could not help thinking
that I recognised in it the finger of Providence, and the thought
inspired me with hope.  I felt that I was not forsaken.

The plan I had proposed to myself was simple enough; it would require
more of courage than stratagem; but to the former I was sufficiently
nerved by the desperate circumstances in which we had become involved.
I proposed to enter the Indian camp in the night--of course, by stealth
and under cover of the darkness--to find the captive, if possible--set
her limbs free--and then trust to chance for the escape of both of us.

If once inside the encampment, and within reach of her, a sudden _coup_
might accomplish all this: success was not beyond possibility, nor
probability neither; and the circumstances admitted of no plan that
promised so fairly.

To have attempted fight with my few followers against such a host--to
have attacked the Indian camp, even under the advantage of an alarm--
would have been sheer madness.  It must have resulted not only in our
immediate defeat, but would have destroyed our last chance of rescuing
the captive.  The savages, once alarmed and warned, could never be
approached again.  Isolina would be lost for ever.

My followers agreed with me upon the imprudence of an attack.  Folly
they termed it--and not from any motives of fear: they were willing to
risk all; and had I so ordered, would have charged with me, rifle in
hand, into the very midst of the enemy's lines.  I knew they would,
every man of them.  Even the voyageur--the least brave of the party--
would not have flinched; for, in the midst of brave men, cowards cease
to be.

But such a course would indeed have been folly--madness.  We thought not
of adopting it; all approved of the plan I had formed, and which I had
already laid before them as we tarried by the noon halting-place.

Several had volunteered to be my companions--to venture along with me
into the camp of the savage; to share with me the extreme of the danger;
but for several reasons I was determined to go alone.  Should even one
of them be along with me, I saw it would double the risk of detection.
In this matter, stratagem, not strength, was needed, and speed in the
last moments would be worth both.

Of course, I did not think to get the captive clear without being
observed and pursued--such an expectation would have been preposterous;
she would be too well watched by the savages--not only by her jailers,
but by the jealous eyes of those rival claimants of her body.

No; on the contrary, I anticipated pursuit--close and eager.  It might
be strife; but I trusted to my own swiftness of foot, and to hers--for
well knew I her bold heart and free limb: it was no helpless burden I
should have to bring away.

I trusted to my being able to baffle their pursuit--to keep them back
while she ran forward.  For that purpose, I should take with me my knife
and revolvers--I trusted to these, and much to chance, or, perhaps, I
should rather say, to God.  My cause was good--my heart firm and
hopeful.

Other precautions I intended to take: horses ready as near as they might
be brought; men also ready in their saddles, rifle in hand--ready for
fight, or flight.

Such was the enterprise upon which I was resolved.  Success or death was
staked upon the issue.  If not successful, I cared not to survive it.



CHAPTER EIGHTY FOUR.

"PAINTING INJUN."

Withal, I was not reckless.  If not sanguine, I was far from despondent;
and as I continued to dwell upon it, the prospect seemed to brighten,
and success to appear less problematical.

One of the chief difficulties I should have to encounter would be
_getting into_ the camp.  Once inside the lines--that is, among the
camp-fires and tents, if there should be any--I should be comparatively
safe.  This I knew from experience; for it would not be my first visit
to an encampment of prairie-Indians.  Even in their midst, mingling with
the savages themselves, and under the light of their glaring fires, I
should be less exposed to the danger of detection than while attempting
to cross their lines.  First, I should have to pass the outlying
pickets: then within these the horse-guards; and within these, again,
the horses themselves!

You may smile when I assert that the last was to me a source of
apprehension as great as either of the others.  An Indian horse is a
sentinel not to be despised.  He is as much the enemy of the white man
as his master; and partly from fear, and partly from actual antipathy,
he will not permit the former to approach him.  The human watcher may be
negligent--may sleep upon his post--the horse never.  The scent of a
white man, or the sight of a skulking form, will cause him to snort and
neigh; so that a whole camp will either be _stampeded_ or put upon the
alert in a few minutes.  Many a well-planned attack has been defeated by
the warning-snort of the sentinel mustang.

It is not that the prairie-horse feels any peculiar attachment for the
Indian; strange if he did--since tyrant more cruel to the equine race
does not exist; no driver more severe, no rider more hard, than a
horse-Indian.

It is simply the faithfulness which the noble animal exhibits for his
companion and master, with the instinct which tells him when that master
is menaced by danger.  He will do the same service for a white as for a
red man; and often does the weary trapper take his lone rest, with full
confidence that the vigil will be faithfully kept by his horse.

Had there been dogs in the Indian camp, my apprehensions would have been
still more acute--the danger would have been more than doubled.  Within
the lines, these cunning brutes would have known me as an enemy: the
disguise of garments would not have availed me by the scent, an Indian
dog can at once tell the white from the red man; and they appear to hold
a real antipathy against the race of the Celt or Saxon.  Even in time of
truce, a white man entering an Indian camp can scarcely be protected
from the wolfish pack.

I knew there were no dogs--we saw tracks of none.  The Indians had been
upon the war-trail; and when they proceed on these grand expeditions,
their dogs, like their women, are left "at home."  I had reason to be
thankful that such was their custom.

Of course it was my intention to go disguised; it would have been
madness to have gone otherwise.  In the darkest night, my uniform would
have betrayed me; but necessarily, in my search for the captive, I
should be led within the light of the fires.

It was my design, therefore, to counterfeit the Indian costume; and how
to do this had been for some time the subject of my reflections.  I had
been congratulating myself on the possession of the buffalo-robe.  That
would go far towards the disguise; but other articles were wanting to
complete my costume.  The leggings and moccasins--the plumed head-dress
and neck ornaments--the long elfin locks--the bronze complexion of arms
and breast--the piebald face of chalk, charcoal, and vermilion--where
were all these to be obtained?  There was no _costumerie_ in the desert.

In the moment of excitement that succeeded the capture of the savage, I
had been thinking of other things.  It was only when we were about to
part from him that the idea jumped into my mind--that bright idea--that
_he_ could _furnish_ me--the very man.

I turned back to reconnoitre his person.

Dismounting, I scanned him from head to foot.  With delight my eyes
rested upon his buckskin-leggings, his bead-embroidered moccasins, his
pendent collar of javali-tusks, his eagle-plumes stained red, and the
ample robe of jaguar-skins that draped his back--all pleased me much.

But that we were bent on an errand of peril, the last-mentioned article
would not have been left there.  My followers had eyed it with avidity,
and more than one of them had been desirous of removing it; but the
prospect of proximate peril had damped the ardour for spoil; and the
splendid robe had been permitted to remain, where so gracefully it hung,
upon the shoulders of the savage.

It soon replaced the buffalo robe upon mine; my boots were cast aside,
and my legs encased in the scalp-fringed leggings; my hips were swathed
in the leathern "breech-clout;" and my feet thrust into the foot-gear of
the Comanche, which, by good fortune, fitted to a hair.

There was yet much required to make me an Indian.  Comanches upon the
war-trail go naked from the waist upward--the tunic-shirt is only worn
by them, when hunting, or on ordinary occasions.  How was I to
counterfeit the copper skin--the bronzed arms and shoulders?--the
mottled breast--the face of red, and white, and black?  Paint only could
aid me; and where was paint to be procured?  The black we could imitate
with gunpowder, but--

"Wagh!" ejaculated Rube, who was seen holding in his hands a wolf-skin,
prettily trimmed and garnished with quills and beads--the medicine-bag
of the Indian.  "Wagh!  I thort we'd find the mateeruls in the niggur's
possible-sack--hyur they be!"

Rube had dived his hand to the bottom of the embroidered bag; and, while
speaking, drew it triumphantly forth.  Several little leathern packets
appeared between his fingers, which, from their stained outsides,
evidently contained pigments of various colours; whilst a small shining
object in their midst proved, on closer inspection, to be a
looking-glass!

Neither the trappers nor myself were astonished at finding these odd
"notions" in such a place; on the contrary, it was natural we should
have looked for them there.  Seldom in peace, but never in time of war,
does the Indian ride abroad without his rouge and his mirror!

The colours were of the right sort, and corresponded exactly with those
that glittered upon the skin of the captive warrior.

Under the keen edge of a bowie, my moustaches came off in a twinkling: a
little grease was procured; the paints were mixed; and placing myself
side by side with the Indian, I stood for _his_ portrait.  Rube was the
painter--a piece of soft buckskin his brush--the broad palm of Garey his
palette.

The operation did not last a great while.  In twenty minutes it was all
over; and the Indian brave and I appeared the exact counterparts of each
other.  Streak by streak, and spot by spot, had the old trapper imitated
those hideous hieroglyphics--even to the red hand upon the breast, and
the cross upon the brow.  In horrid aspect, the copy quite equalled the
original.

One thing was still lacking--an important element in the metamorphosis
of disguise: I wanted the long snaky black tresses that adorned the head
of the Comanche.

The want was soon supplied.  Again the bowie blade was called upon to
serve as scissors; and with Garey to perform the tonsorial feat, the
_chevelure_ of the Indian was shorn of its flowing glories.

The savage winced as the keen blade glistened around his brow; he had no
other thought than that he was about to be scalped alive!

"'Tain't the way I'd raise his har, the dodrotted skunk!" muttered Rube,
as he stood watching the operation.  "Fotch the hide along wi' it, Bill!
It 'll save bother--'ee'll hev to make a wig ef 'ee don't; skin 'im,
durn 'im!"

Of course Garey did not give heed to this cruel counsel, which he knew
was not meant for earnest.

A rude "scratch" was soon constructed, and being placed upon my head,
was attached to my own waving locks.  Fortunately, these were of dark
colour, and the hue corresponded.

I fancied I saw the Indian smile when he perceived the use we were
making of his splendid tresses.  It was a grim smile, however; and from
the first moment to the last, neither word nor ejaculation escaped from
his lips.

Even I was forced to smile; I could not restrain myself.  The odd
travestie in which we were engaged--the strange commingling of the comic
and serious in the act--and above all, the ludicrous look of the captive
Indian, after they had close cropped him--was enough to make a stone
smile.  My comrades could not contain themselves, but laughed outright.

The plume-bonnet was now placed on my head.  It was fortunate the brave
had one--for this magnificent head-dress is rarely worn on a
war-expedition; fortunate, for it aided materially in completing the
counterfeit.  With it upon my head, the false hair could hardly have
been detected under the light of day.

There was no more to be done.  The painter, hairdresser, and costumier,
had performed their several offices--I was ready for the masquerade.



CHAPTER EIGHTY FIVE.

THE LAST HOURS ON THE TRAIL.

More cautiously than ever, we now crept along the trail--advancing only
after the ground had been thoroughly "quartered" by the scouts.  Time
was of the least consequence.  The fresh sign of the Indians told us
they were but a short way ahead of us: we believed we could have ridden
within sight of them at any moment.

We did not wish to set eyes on them before sunset.  It could be no
advantage to us to overtake them on the march, but the contrary.  Some
lagging Indian might be found in the rear of the band; we might come in
contact with him, and thus defeat all our designs.

We hung back, therefore--allowing sufficient time for the savages to
pitch their camp, and for their stragglers to get into it.

On the other hand, I did not desire to arrive late.  The council was to
be held that night--so she had learned--and after the council would come
the _crisis_.  I must be in time for both.

At what hour would the council take place?

It might be just after they had halted.  The son of a chief, and a chief
himself--for the white renegade was a leader of red men--a question
between two such men would not remain long undecided.  And a question of
so much importance--involving such consequence--property in body and
soul--possession of the most beautiful woman in the world!

Oh!  I wondered!  Could these hideous, ochre-stained, grease-bedaubed
brutes appreciate that peerless beauty?  Impossible, I thought.  The
delicate lines of her loveliness would be lost upon their gross eyes and
coarse sensual hearts.  That pearl beyond price--paste would have
satisfied them as well--they could not distinguish the diamond from
common glass.

And yet the Comanche is not without love-craft.  Coarse as might be the
passion, no doubt they loved her--both loved her--red savage and white
savage.

For this very reason, the "trial" would not be delayed; the question
would be speedily decided--in order that the quarrel of the chiefs might
be brought to an end.  For this very reason, the crisis might be
hastened, the council take place at an early hour; for this very reason,
I too must needs be early upon the spot.

It was my aim to arrive within sight of the Indian encampment just
before night--in the twilight, if possible--that we might be able to
make reconnoissance of the ground before darkness should cover it from
our view.  We were desirous of acquainting ourselves with the lay of the
surrounding country as well--so that, in the event of our escape, we
should know which was the best direction to take.

We timed our advance by the sign upon the trail.  The keen scouts could
tell, almost to a minute, when the latest tracks were made; and by this
we were guided.  Both glided silently along, their eyes constantly and
earnestly turned upon the ground.

Mine were more anxiously bent upon the sky; from that quarter I most
feared an obstacle to the execution of my purpose.  What a change had
come over my desires!--how different were they from those of the two
preceding nights!  The very same aspect of the heavens that had hitherto
chagrined and baffled me, would now have been welcome.  In my heart, I
had lately execrated the clouds; in that same heart, I was now praying
for cloud, and storm, and darkness!

Now could I have blessed the clouds, but there were none to bless--not a
speck appeared over the whole face of the firmament--the eye beheld only
the illimitable ether.

In another hour, that boundless blue would be studded with millions of
bright stars; and, silvered by the light of a resplendent moon, the
night would be as day.

I was dismayed at the prospect.  I prayed for cloud and storm, and
darkness.  Human heart! when blinded by its own petty passions,
unreasoning and unreasonable; my petition was opposed to the unalterable
laws of nature--it could not be heard.

I can scarcely describe how the aspect of that bright sky troubled and
pained me.  The night-bird, which joys only in deepest darkness, could
not have liked it less.  Should there be moonlight, the enterprise would
be made more perilous--doubly more.  Should there be moonlight--why need
I form an hypothesis?  Moonlight there _would_ be to a certainty.  It
was the middle of the lunar month, and the moon would be up almost as
the sun went down--full, round, and almost as bright as he--with no
cloud to cover her face, to shroud the earth from her white light.
Certainly there would be moonlight!

Well thought of was that disguise--well spent our labour in making it so
perfect.  Under the moonlight, to it only could I trust; by it only
might I expect to preserve my incognito.

But the eye of the Indian savage is sharp, and his perception keen--
almost as instinct itself.  I could not rely much upon my borrowed
plumes, should speech be required from me.  Just on account of the
cunning imitation, the perfectness of the pattern, some friends of the
original might have business with me--might approach and address me.  I
knew but a few words of Comanche--how should I escape from the colloquy?

Such thoughts were troubling me as we rode onward.

Night was near; the sun's lower limb rested on the far horizon of the
west: the hour was an anxious one to me.

The scouts had been for some time in the advance, without returning to
report: and we had halted in a copse to wait for them.  A high hill was
before us, wooded only at the summit; over this hill the war-trail led.
We had observed the scouts go into the timber.  We kept our eyes upon
the spot, waiting for their return.

Presently one of them appeared just outside the edge of the wood--Garey,
we saw it was.  He made signs to us to come on.

We rode up the hill, and entered among the trees.  After going a little
farther, we diverged from the trail.  The scout guided us through the
trunks over the high summit.  On the other side, the wood extended only
a little below; but we did not ride beyond it; we halted before coming
to its edge, and dismounting, tied our horses to the trees.

We crept forward on our hands and knees till we had reached the utmost
verge of the timber; through the leaves we peered, looking down into the
plain beyond.  We saw smokes and fires, and a skin-lodge in their midst;
we saw dark forms around--men moving over the ground, and horses with
their heads to the grass: we were looking upon the camp of the
Comanches.



CHAPTER EIGHTY SIX.

THE COMANCHE CAMP.

We had reached our ground just at the moment I desired.  It was
twilight--dark enough to render ourselves inconspicuous under the
additional shadow of the trees--yet sufficiently clear to allow a full
reconnoissance of the enemy's position.  Our point of view was a good
one--under a single _coup-d'oeil_ commanding the encampment, and a vast
extent of country around it.  The hill we had climbed--a sort of
isolated _butte_--was the only eminence of any considerable elevation
for miles around; and the site of the camp was upon the plain that
stretched away from its base--apparently beyond limit!

The plain was what is termed a "pecan" prairie--that is, a prairie half
covered with groves, copses, and lists of woodland--in which the
predominating tree is the pecan--a species of hickory (_carya
olivaeformis_), bearing an oval, edible nut of commercial value.
Between the groves and _mottes_ of timber, single trees stood apart,
their heads fully developed by the free play given to their branches.
These park-looking trees, with the coppice-like groves of the pecan,
lent an air of high civilisation to the landscape; and a winding stream,
whose water, under the still lingering rays, glistened with the sheen of
silver, added to the deception.  Withal, it was a wilderness--a
beautiful wilderness.  Human hands had never planted those groves--human
agency had nought to do with the formation or adornment of that lovely
landscape.

Upon the bank of the stream, and about half a mile from the base of the
hill, stood the Indian camp.  A glance at the position showed how well
it had been chosen--not so much for defence, as to protect it against a
surprise.

Assuming the lodge--there was but one--as the centre of the camp, it was
placed upon the edge of a small grove, and fronting the stream.  From
the tent to the water's edge, the plain sloped gently downward, like the
glacis of a fortification.  The smooth sward, that covered the space
between the trees and the water, was the ground of the camp.  On this
could be seen the dusky warriors, some afoot, standing in listless
attitudes, or moving about; others reclining upon the grass, and still
others bending over the fires, as if engaged in the preparation of their
evening meal.

A line of spears, regularly placed, marked the allotment of each.  The
slender shafts, nearly five yards in length, rose tall above the turf--
like masts of distant ships--displaying their profusion of pennons and
bannerets, of painted plumes and human hair.  At the base of each could
be seen the gaudy shield, the bow and quiver, the embroidered pouch and
medicine-bag of the owner; and grouped around many of them appeared
objects of a far different character--objects that we could not
contemplate without acute emotion.  They were women: enough of light
still ruled the sky to show us their faces; they were white women--the
captives.

Strange were my sensations as I regarded those forms and faces; but they
were far off--even a lover's eye was unequal to the distance.

Flanking the camp on right and left were the horses.  They occupied a
broad belt of ground--for they were staked out to feed--and each was
allowed the length of his lazo.  Their line converged to the rear, and
met behind the grove--so that the camp was embraced by an arc of
browsing animals, the river forming its chord.  Across the stream, the
encampment did not extend.

I have said that the spot was well selected to guard against a surprise.
Its peculiar adaptability consisted in the fact, that the little grove
that backed the camp was the only timber within a radius of a thousand
yards.  All around, and even on the opposite side of the stream, the
plain was treeless, and free from cover of any kind.  There were no
inequalities of ground, neither "brake, bush, nor scaur," to shelter the
approach of an enemy.

Had this position been chosen, or was it accidental?  In such a place
and at such a time, it was not likely they had any fear of a surprise;
but with the Indian, caution is so habitually exercised, that it becomes
almost an instinct; and doubtless under such a habit, and without any
forethought whatever, the savages had fixed upon the spot where they
were encamped.  The grove gave them wood; the stream, water; the plain,
pabulum for their horses.  With one of these last for their own food,
they had all the requisites of an Indian camp.

At the first glance, I saw the strength of their position--not so much
with the eye of a soldier, as with that of a hunter and bush-fighter did
I perceive it.  In a military sense, it offered no point of defence; but
it could not be approached by stratagem, and that is all the
horse-Indian ever fears.  Alarm him not too suddenly--give him five
minutes' warning, and he cannot be attacked.  If superior in strength,
you may chase him; but you must be better mounted than he to bring him
to close combat.  Retreat, not defence, is generally the leading idea of
Comanche strategy, unless when opposed to a Mexican foe.  Then he will
stand fight with the courage of a master.

As I continued to gaze at the Indian encampment, my heart sank within
me.  Except under cover of a dark night--a very dark night--it could not
be entered.  The keenest spy could not have approached it: it appeared
unapproachable.

The same thought must at that moment have occupied the minds of my
companions; I saw the gloom of disappointment on the brows of all as
they knelt beside me silent and sullen.  None of them said a word; they
had not spoken since we came upon the ground.



CHAPTER EIGHTY SEVEN.

NO COVER.

In silence I continued to scrutinise the camp, but could discover no
mode of approaching it secretly or in safety.

As I have said, the adjacent plain, for nearly a thousand yards' radius,
was a smooth grass-covered prairie.  Even the grass was short: it would
scarcely have sheltered the smallest game--much less afford cover for
the body of a man--much less for that of a horse.

I should willingly have crawled on hands and knees, over the half-mile
that separated us from the encampment; but that would have been of no
service; I might just as well have walked erect.  Erect or prostrate, I
should be seen all the same by the occupants of the camp, or the guards
of the horses.  Even if I succeeded in effecting an entrance within the
lines, what then?  Even should I succeed in finding Isolina, what then?
what hope was there of our getting off?

There was no probability of our being able to pass the lines unseen--not
the least.  We should certainly be pursued, and what chance for us to
escape?  It was not probable we could run for a thousand yards with the
hue and cry after us?  No; we should be overtaken, recaptured, speared
or tomahawked upon the spot!

The design I had formed was to bring my horse as close as possible to
the camp; to leave him under cover, and within such a distance as would
make it possible to reach him by a run; then mounting with my betrothed
in my arms, to gallop on to my comrades.  The men, I had intended,
should be placed in ambush, as near to the camp as the nature of the
ground would permit.

But my preconceived plan was entirely frustrated by the peculiar
situation of the Indian encampment.  I had anticipated that there would
be either trees, brushwood, or broken ground in its neighbourhood, under
shelter of which we might approach it.  To my chagrin, I now saw that
there was none of the three.  There was no timber nearer than the grove
in which we were lying--the copse excepted--and to have reached this
would have been to enter the camp itself.

We appeared to have advanced to the utmost limit possible that afforded
cover.  A few feet farther would have carried us outside the margin of
the wood, and then we should have been as conspicuous to the denizens of
the camp, as they now were to us.  Forward we dared not stir--not a step
farther.

I was puzzled and perplexed.  Once more I turned my eyes upon the sky,
but I drew not thence a ray of hope; the heavens were too bright; the
sun had gone down in the west; but in the east was rising, full, round,
and red, almost his counterpart.  How I should have welcomed an eclipse!
I thought of Omnipotent power; I thought of the command of the
Israelitish captain.  I should have joyed to see the shadow of the
opaque earth pass over that shining orb; and rob it of its borrowed
light, if only for a single hour!

Eclipse or cloud there was none--no prospect of one or other--no hope
either from the earth or the sky.

Verily, then, must I abandon my design, and adopt some other for the
rescue of my betrothed?  What other?

I could think of none: there was no other that might be termed a plan.
We might gallop forward, and openly attack the camp?  Sheer desperation
alone could impel us to such a course, and the result would be ruin to
all--to her among the rest.  We could not hope to rescue _her_--nine to
a hundred--for we saw and could now count our dusky foemen.  They would
see us afar off; would be prepared to receive us--prepared to hurl their
masses upon us--to destroy us altogether.  Sheer desperation!

What other plan?--what--

Something of one occurred to me at that moment: a slight shadow of it
had crossed my mind before.  It seemed practicable, though fearfully
perilous; but what of peril?  It was not the time, nor was I in the
mood, to regard danger.  Anything short of the prospect of certain death
had no terror for me then; and even this I should have preferred to
failure.

We had along with us the horse of the captive Comanche.  Stanfield had
brought the animal, having left his own in exchange.  I thought of
mounting the Indian horse, and riding him into the camp.  In this
consisted the whole of the scheme that now presented itself.

Surely the idea was a good one--a slight alteration of my original plan.
I had already undertaken to play the _role_ of an Indian warrior, while
within the camp; it would only require me to begin the personation
outside the lines, and make my _entree_ along with my _debut_.  There
would be more dramatic appropriateness, with a proportionate increase of
danger.

But I did not jest thus; I had no thought of merriment at the time.  The
travesty I had undertaken was no burlesque.

The worst feature of this new scheme was the increased risk of being
brought in contact with the friends of the warrior of the red hand--of
being accosted by them, and of course expected to make reply.  How could
I avoid meeting them--one or more of them?  If interrogated, how shun
making answer?  I knew a few words of the Comanche tongue, but not
enough to hold a conversation in it.  Either my false accent or my voice
would betray me!  True, I might answer in Spanish.  Many of the
Comanches speak this language; but my using it would appear a suspicious
circumstance.

There was another source of apprehension: I could not confide in the
Indian horse.  He had endeavoured to fling Stanfield all along the way--
kicking violently, and biting at his Saxon rider while seated upon his
back.  Should he behave in a similar manner with me while entering the
camp, it would certainly attract the attention of the Indian guards.  It
would lead to scrutiny and suspicion.

Still another fear: even should I succeed in the main points--in
entering the camp, finding the captive, and wresting her from the hands
of her jailers--how after?  I could never depend upon this capricious
mustang to carry us clear of the pursuit--there would be others as
swift, perhaps swifter than he, and we should only be carried back to
die.  Oh! that I could have taken my own steed near to the line of
yonder guard--oh! that I could have hidden him there!

It might not be; I saw that it could not be; and I was forced to abandon
the thoughts of it.

I had well-nigh made up my mind to risk all the chances of my assumed
character, by mounting the Indian horse.  To my comrades I imparted the
idea, and asked their counsel.

All regarded it as fraught with danger; one or two advised me against
it.  They were those who did not understand my motives--who could not
comprehend the sentiment of love--who knew not the strength and courage
which that noble passion may impart.  Little understood they how its
emotions inspire to deeds of daring--how love absorbs all selfishness--
even life becoming a secondary consideration, when weighed against the
happiness or safety of its object.  These rude men had never loved as I.
I gave no ear to their too prudent counsels.

Others acknowledged the danger, but saw not how I could act differently.
One or two had in their life's course experienced a touch of tender
feeling akin to mine.  These could appreciate; and counselled me in
consonance with my half-formed resolution.  I liked their counsel best.

One had not yet spoken--one upon whose advice I placed a higher value
than upon the combined wisdom of all the others.  I had not yet taken
the opinion of the earless trapper.



CHAPTER EIGHTY EIGHT.

RUBE CONSULTING HIS ORACLE.

He was standing apart from the rest--leaning, I should rather say, for
his body was not erect, but diagonal.  In this attitude it was propped
by his rifle, the butt of which was steadied against the stump of a
tree, whilst the muzzle appeared to rest upon the bridge of Rube's own
nose.

As the man and the piece were about of a length, the two just placed in
juxtaposition presented the exact figure of an inverted V, and the small
close-capped skull of the trapper formed a sufficiently tapering apex to
the angle.  Both his hands were clasped round the barrel, near its
muzzle, his fingers interlocking, while the thumbs lay flat--one upon
each side of his nose.

At first glance, it was difficult to tell whether he was gazing into the
barrel of the piece, or beyond it upon the Indian camp.

The attitude was not new to him nor to me; it was not the first time I
had observed him in a posture precisely similar.  I knew it was his
favourite _pose_, when any question of unusual difficulty required all
the energy of his "instincts."  He was now, as often of yore, consulting
his "divinity," presumed to dwell far down within the dark tube of
"Targuts."

After a time, all the others ceased to speak, and stood watching him.
They knew that no step would be taken before Rube's advice had been
received; and they waited with more or less patience for him to speak.

Full ten minutes passed, and still the old trapper neither stirred nor
spoke.  Nor lip nor muscle of him was seen to move; the eyes alone could
be detected in motion, and these small orbs, scintillating in their deep
sockets, were the only signs of life which he showed.  Standing rigid
and still, he appeared, not a statue, but a scarecrow, propped up by a
stick; and the long, brown, weather-washed rifle did not belie the
resemblance.

Full ten minutes passed, and still he spoke not; his "oracle" had not
yet yielded its response.

I have said that at the first glance it was difficult to tell whether
the old man was gazing into the barrel of his gun or beyond it.  After
watching him closely, I observed that he was doing both.  Now his eyes
were a little raised, as if he looked upon the plain--anon they were
lowered, and apparently peering into the tube.  He was drawing the data
of his problem from facts--he was trusting to his divinity for the
solution.

For a long time he kept up this singular process of conjuration--
alternating his glances in equal distribution between the hollow
cylinder and the circle of vision that comprehended within its
circumference the Comanche encampment.

The others began to grow impatient; all were interested in the result,
and not without reason.  Standing upon the limits of a life-danger, it
is not strange they should feel anxiety about the issue.

Thus far, however, none had offered to interrupt or question the queer
old man.  None dared.  One or two of the party had already had a taste
of his quality when fretted or interfered with, and no one desired to
draw upon himself the sharp "talk" of the earless trapper.

Garey at length approached, but not until Rube, with a triumphant toss
of his head and a scarcely audible "wheep" from his thin lips, showed
signs that the consultation had ended, and that the "joss" who dwelt at
the bottom of his rifle-barrel had vouchsafed an answer!

I had watched him with the rest.  I liked that expressive hitch of the
head; I liked the low, but momentous sibillation that terminated the
_seance_ between him and his familiar spirit.  They were signs that the
knot was unravelled--that the old trapper had devised some feasible plan
by which the Indian camp might be entered.

Garey and I drew near, but not to question him; we understood him too
well for that.  We knew that he must be left free to develop his purpose
in his own time; and we left him free--simply placing ourselves by his
side.

"Wal, Billee!" he said, after drawing a long breath, "an yurself, young
fellur! whet do 'ee both think o' this hyur bizness: looks ugly, don't
it--eh, boyees?"

"Tarnal ugly," was Garey's laconic answer.

"Thort so meself at fust."

"Thar ain't no plan o' gettin' in yander," said the young trapper, in a
desponding tone.

"The doose thur ain't! what greenhorn put thet idee inter yur brain-pan,
Bill?"

"Wal, thar are a plan; but 'tain't much o' a one: we've been talkin it
over hyar."

"Le's hear it," rejoined Rube, with an exulting chuckle--"le's hev it,
boyee! an quick, Bill, fur time's dodrotted preecious 'bout now.  Wal?"

"It's jest this, Rube, neyther less nor more: the capt'n proposes to
take the Injun's hoss; and ride straight into thar camp."

"Straight custrut in, do 'ee?"

"Ov coorse; it 'ud be no use goin about the bush: they kin see him
a-comin' from ony side."

"I'll be durned ef they kin--thet I'll be durned.  Wagh! they cudn't 'a
see me--thet they cudn't, ef ivery niggur o' 'em hed the eyes o' an
Argoose es hed eyes all over him--thet they cudn't, Billee."

"How?"  I inquired.  "Do you mean to say that it is possible for any one
to approach yonder camp without being observed?  Is that what you mean,
Rube?"

"Thet ur preezactly whet I mean, young fellur.  No--not adzactly thet
eyther.  One o' _you_ I didn't say: whet I sayed wur, that this hyur
trapper, Rube Rawlins o' the Rocky Mountains, kud slide inter yander
campmint jest like greased lightnin through a gooseberry-bush, 'ithout
e'er an Injun seein 'im; an thet, too, ef the red-skinned vamints hed
more eyes in thur heads than they hev lice; which, accordin' to this
child's reck'nin', 'ud guv ivery squaw's son o' the gang as many peepers
es thur ur spots in a peecock's tail, an a wheen over to breed, I
kalkerlate.  No plan to git inter thur camp 'ithout bein' seed!  Wagh!
yur gettin' green, Bill Garey!"

"How can it be accomplished, Rube?  Pray, explain!  You know how
impatient--"

"Don't git unpayshint, young fellur! thet ur's no use whetsomdiver.
Yu'll need payshinse, an a good grist o' thet ur, afore ye kin warm yur
shins at yander fires; but 'ee kin do it, an in the nick o' time too, ef
yu'll go preezactly accordin' to whet old Rube tells ye, an keep yur eye
well skinned and yur teeth from chatterin': I knows yu'll do all thet.
I knows yur weasel to the back o' yur neck, an kin whip yur weight in
wild cat any day i' the year.  Now?  D'yur agree to follur my
direekshuns!"

"I promise faithfully to act according to your advice."

"Thet ur sensible sayed--durnation'd sensible.  Wal, then, I'll gi' ye
my device."

As Rube said this, he moved forward to the edge of the timber, making a
sign for Garey and myself to follow.

On reaching its outer edge--but still within cover--he dropped down upon
his knees, behind some evergreen bushes.

I imitated his example, and knelt upon his right, while Garey crouched
down on the left.

Our eyes were directed upon the Indian camp, of which, and the plain
around it, we had a good view--as good as could be obtained under the
light of a brilliant moon, alas! too brilliant!

After we had surveyed the scene for some moments in silence, the old
trapper condescended to begin the conversation.



CHAPTER EIGHTY NINE.

THE TRAPPER'S COUNSEL.

"Now, Bill Garey, an you, young fellur, jest clap yur eyes on thet 'ere
'campmint, an see ef thur ain't a road leadin inter the very heart o'
it, straight as the tail o' a skeeart fox.  'Ee see it? eh?"

"Not under kiver?" replied Garey interrogatively.

"Unner kiver--ivery step o' the way--the best o' kiver."

Garey and I once more scrutinised the whole circumference of the
encampment, and the ground adjacent.  We could perceive no cover by
which the camp could be approached.  Surely there was none.

What could Rube mean?  Were there clouds in the sky?  Had he perceived
some portent of coming darkness? and had his words reference to this?

I raised my eyes, and swept the whole canopy with inquiring glances.  Up
to the zenith, around the horizon--east, west, north, and south--I
looked for clouds, but looked in vain.  A few light cirrhi floated high
in the atmosphere; but these, even when crossing the moon's disk, cast
no perceptible shadow.  On the contrary, they were tokens of settled
weather; and moving slowly, almost fixed upon the face of the heavens,
were evidence that no sudden change might be expected.  When the trapper
talked of entering the camp under cover, he could not have meant under
cover of darkness.  What then?

"Don't see ony kiver, old hoss," rejoined Garey, after a pause; "neyther
bush nor weed."

"Bush!" echoed Rube--"weed! who's talkin 'bout weeds an bushes?  Thur's
other ways o' hidin' yur karkidge 'sides stickin' it in a bush or unner
a weed.  Yur a gettin' durnation'd pumpkin-headed, Bill Garey.  I gin to
think yur in the same purdicamint as the young fellur hisself.  Yu've
been a humbuggin' wi' one o' them ur Mexikin moochachers."

"No, Rube, no."

"Durn me, ef I don't b'lieve you hev, boy.  I heern ye tell one o'
'em--"

"What?"

"Wagh! ye know well enuf.  Didn't 'ee tell one o' 'em gurls at the
rancherie that ye loved her as hard as a mule kud kick--sartintly ye
did; them wur yur preezact words, Billee."

"I was only jokin', hoss."

"Putty jokin' thet ur 'll be when I gits back to Bent's Fort, and tell
yur Coco squaw.  He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo!  Geehosophat! thur _will_ be a
rumpus bumpus!"

"Nonsense, Rube; thar's nothin' ov it."

"Thur must 'a be: yur brain-pan's out o' order, Bill; ye hain't hed a
clur idee for days back.  Bushes! an weeds too!  Wagh! who sayed thur
wur bushes?  Whur's yur eyes? d'yur see a _bank_?"

"A bank!" echoed Garey and I simultaneously.

"Ye-es," drawled Rube--"a bank.  I guess thur's bank, right afore yur
noses, ef both o' yur ain't as blind as the kittlins o' a 'possum.  Now,
do 'ee see it?"

Neither of us made reply to the final interrogatory.  For the first
time, we began to comprehend Rube's meaning; and our eyes as well as
thoughts were suddenly directed upon the object indicated by his words--
the bank of the stream--for to that he referred.

I have stated that the little river ran close to the Indian lines, and
on one side formed the boundary of the camp.  We could tell that the
current was towards us; for the stream, on reaching the hill upon which
we were, turned sharply off, and swept round its base.  The Indian camp
was on the left bank--though upon its right when viewed up-stream, as we
were regarding it.  Any one proceeding up the left bank must therefore
necessarily pass within the lines, and through among the horses that
were staked nearest to the water.

It need not be supposed that under our keen scrutiny the stream had
hitherto escaped observation; I myself had long ago thought of it--as a
means of covering my approach--and time after time had my eyes dwelt
upon it, but without result: in its channel I could perceive no shelter
from observation.  Its banks were low, and without either rush or bush
upon them.  The green turf of the prairie stretched up to the very
brink, and scarcely twelve inches below its level was the surface of the
current water.  This was especially the case along the front of the
encampment, and for some distance above and below.

Any one endeavouring to enter the camp by stealing up the channel, must
have gone completely under the water, for a swimmer could have been
observed upon its surface; even if a man could have approached in this
way, there was no hope that a horse could be taken with him; and without
the horse, what prospect of ultimate escape?

It had seemed to me impossible.  More than once had I taken into
consideration, and as often rejected, the idea.

Not so Rube.  It was the very scheme he had conceived, and he now
proceeded to point out his practicability.

"Now, theen--ees see a bank, do 'ee?"

"'Tain't much o' a bank," replied Garey, rather discouragingly.

"No: 'tain't as high as Massoora bluffs, nor the kenyons o' Snake
River--thet nob'dy durnies; but ef 'tain't as high as it mout be, it ur
ivery minnit a gettin' higherer, I reck'n."

"Getting higher, you think?"

"Ye-es; or whet ur putty consid'able the same thing the t'other ur a
gettin' lower."

"The water, you mean?"

"The water ur a fallin'--gwine down by inches at a jump; an in an hour
from this, thur'll be bluffs afront o' the camp helf a yurd high--thet's
whet thur'll be."

"And you think I could get into the camp by creeping under them?"

"Sure o't.  Whet's to hinner ye? it ur easy as fallin' off o' a log."

"But the horse--how could I bring him near?"

"Jest the same way as yurself.  I tell yur the bed o' thet river ur deep
enuf to hide the biggest hoss in creeashun.  'Tur now full, for the
reezun thur's been a fresh in consykwince o' last night's rain: 'ee
needn't mind thet--the hoss kin wade or swim eyther, an the bank 'll
kiver 'im from the eyes of the Injuns.  You kin leave 'im in the river."

"In the water?"

"In coorse--yur hoss'll stan thur; an ef he don't, you kin tie his nose
to the bank.  Don't be skeeart, but 'ee kin take 'im as near as 'ee
please; but don't git too far to wind'ard, else them mustangs 'll smell
'im, and then it ur all up both wi' yurself an yur hoss.  About two
hundred yurds ull be yur likeliest distence.  Ef ye git the gurl clur,
ye kin easy run thet, I reck'n; put straight for the hoss; an whun yur
mounted, gallip like hell!  Put straight up higher for the timmer, whur
we'll be cached; an then, durn 'em! ef the red-skins don't catch goss
out o' our rifles.  Wagh! thet's the way to do the thing--_it_ ur."

Certainly, this plan appeared practicable enough.  The sinking of the
water was a new element; it had escaped my observation, though Rube had
noted it.  It was this that had delayed him so long in giving his
opinion; he had been watching it while leaning upon his rifle, though
none of the rest of us had thought of such a thing.  He remembered the
heavy rain of the night before; he saw that it had caused a freshet in
the little river; that its subsidence had begun; and, as in most
prairie-streams, was progressing with rapidity.  His keen eye had
detected a fall of several inches during the half-hour we had been upon
the ground.  I could myself observe, now the thing was pointed out to
me, that the banks were _higher_ than before.

Certainly, the idea of approaching by the stream had assumed a more
feasible aspect.  If the channel should prove deep enough, I might get
the horse sufficiently near: the rest would have to be left to stratagem
and chance.

"Yur ridin' in the Injun hoss," said Rube, "ud niver do: it mout, on the
wust pinch: an ef ee don't git in the t'other way, ee kin still try it;
but ye kud niver git acrosst through the cavayard 'ithout stampeedin'
'em: 'em mustangs ud be sure to make sich a snortin', and stompin', an
whigherin', as 'ud bring the hul campmint about ye; an some o' the
sharp-eyed niggurs 'ud be sartint to find out yur hide wur white.
T'other way es I've desized ur fur the safest--_it_ ur."

I was not long in making up my mind.  Rube's counsel decided me, and I
resolved to act accordingly.



CHAPTER NINETY.

TAKING TO THE WATER.

I spent but little time in preparations; these had been made already.
It remained only to tighten my saddle-girths, look to the caps of my
revolvers, and place both pistols and knife in the belt behind my back--
where the weapons would be concealed by the pendent robe of
jaguar-skins.  In a few minutes I was ready.

I still loitered a while, to wait for the falling of the water; not
long--my anxiety did not permit me to tarry long.  The hour of the
council might be nigh--I might be too late for the crisis.  Not long did
I loiter.

It was not necessary.  Even by the moonlight, we could distinguish the
dark line of the bank separating the grassy turf from the surface of the
water.  The rippling current was shining like silver-lace, and, by
contrast, the brown earthy strip that rose vertically above it, could be
observed more distinctly.  It was sensibly broader.

I could wait no longer.  I leaped into the saddle.  My comrades crowded
around me to say a parting word: and with a wish or a prayer upon their
lips, one after another pressed my hand.  Some doubted of their ever
seeing me again--I could tell this from the tone of their leave-taking--
others were more confident.  All vowed to revenge me if I fell.

Rube and Garey went with me down the hill.

At the point where the stream impinged upon the hill? there were bushes;
these continued up the declivity, and joined the timber upon the summit.
Under their cover we descended, reaching the bank just at the salient
angle of the bend.  A thin skirting of similar bushes ran around the
base of the hill, and we now perceived that by following the path on
which we had come, the ambuscade might have been brought a little nearer
to the camp.  But the cover was not so good as the grove upon the
summit, and in case of a retreat, it would be necessary to gallop up the
naked face of the slope, and thus expose our numbers.  It was decided,
therefore, after a short consultation, to leave the men where they were.

From the bend, where we stood, to the Indian camp? the river trended
almost in a straight line, and its long reach lay before our eyes like a
band of shining metal.  Along its banks, the bush extended no farther.
A single step towards the camp would have exposed us to the view of its
occupants.

At this point, therefore, it was necessary for me to take to the water;
and dismounting, I made ready for the immersion.

The trappers had spoken their last words of instruction and counsel;
they had both grasped my hand, giving it a significant squeeze that
promised more than words; but to these, too, had they given utterance.

"Don't be afeerd, capt'n!" said the younger.  "Rube and I won't be far
off.  If we hear your pistols, we'll make a rush to'rst you, and meet
you half-way anyhow; and if onything should happen amiss,"--here Garey
spoke with emphasis--"you may depend on't we'll take a bloody revenge."

"Yees!" echoed Rube, "we'll do jest thet.  Thur'll be many a nick in
Targuts afore next Krissmuss ef _you_ ur rubbed out, young fellur; thet
I swar to ye.  But don't be skeeart!  Keep yur eye sharp-skinned, an yur
claws steady, an thur's no fear but yu'll git clur.  Oncest yur clur o'
the camp, 'ee may reck'n on us.  Put straight for the timmer, an gallip
as ef Ole Scratch wur a-gruppin' at the tail o' yur critter."

I waited to hear no more, but leading Moro down the bank, at a place
where it sloped, I stepped gently into the current.  My well-trained
steed followed without hesitation, and in another instant we were both
breast-deep in the flood.

The water was just the depth I desired.  There was a half-yard of bank
that rose vertically above the surface; and this was sufficient to
shelter either my own head, as I stood erect, or the frontlet of my
horse.  Should the channel continue of uniform depth as far as the camp,
the approach would be easy indeed: and, for certain hydrographic
reasons, I was under the belief it would.

The plumes of the Indian bonnet rose above the level of the meadow-turf;
and as the feathers--dyed of gay colours--would have formed a
conspicuous object, I took off the gaudy head-dress, and carried it in
my hand.

I also raised the robe of jaguar-skin over my shoulders, in order to
keep it dry; and for the same reason, temporarily carried my pistols
above the water-line.

The making of these slight alterations occupied only a minute or so;
and, as soon as they were completed, I moved forward through the water.

The very depth of the stream proved a circumstance in my favour.  In
wading, both horse and man make less noise in deep than in shallow
water; and this was an important consideration.  The night was still--
too still for my wishes--and the plunging sound would have been heard
afar off; but fortunately there were rapids below--just where the stream
forced its way through the spur of the hill--and the hissing sough of
these, louder in the still night, was borne upon the air to the distance
of many miles.  Their noise, to my own ears, almost drowned the plashing
made by Moro and myself.  I had noted this _point d'avantage_ before
embarking upon the enterprise.

At the distance of two hundred yards from the bushes, I paused to look
back.  My purpose was to fix in my memory the direction of the hill, and
more especially the point where my comrades had been left in ambush: in
the event of a close pursuit, it would not do to mistake their exact
situation.

I easily made out the place, and observed that, for several reasons, a
better could not have been chosen.  The trees that timbered the crest of
the hill were of a peculiar kind--none more so upon the earth.  They
were a species of arborescent yucca, then unknown to botanists.  Many of
them were forty feet in height; and their thick angular branches, and
terminal fascicles of rigid leaves, outlined against the sky, formed a
singular, almost an unearthly spectacle.  It was unlike any other
vegetation upon earth, more resembling a grove of cast-iron than a wood
of exogenous trees.

Why I regarded the spot as favourable for an ambush, was chiefly this: a
party approaching it from the plain, and climbing the hill, might fancy
a host of enemies in their front; for the trees themselves, with their
heads of radiating blades, bore a striking resemblance to an array of
plumed gigantic warriors.  Many of the yuccas were only six feet in
height, with tufted heads, and branchless trunks as gross as the body of
a man, and they might readily have been mistaken for human beings.

I perceived at a glance the advantage of the position.  Should the
Indians pursue me, and I could succeed in reaching the timber before
them, a volley from my comrades would check the pursuers, however
numerous.  The nine rifles would be enough, with a few shots from the
revolvers.  The savages would fancy nine hundred under the mystifying
shadows of that spectral-like grove.

With confidence, strengthened by these considerations, I once more
turned my face up-stream; and breasting the current, waded on.



CHAPTER NINETY ONE.

UP-STREAM.

My progress was far from being rapid.  The water was occasionally deeper
or shallower, but generally rising above my hips--deep enough to render
my advance a task of time and difficulty.  The current was of course
against me; and though not very swift, seriously impeded me.  I could
have advanced more rapidly, but for the necessity of keeping my head and
that of my horse below the escarpment of the bank.  At times it was a
close fit, with scarcely an inch to spare; and in several places I was
compelled to move with my neck bent, and my horse's nose held close down
to the surface of the water.

At intervals, I paused to rest myself--for the exertion of wading
against the current wearied me, and took away my breath.  This was
particularly the case when I required to go in a crouching attitude; but
I chose my resting-places where the channel was deepest, and where I
could stand erect.

I was all the while anxious to look up and take a survey of the camp: I
wished to ascertain its distance and position; but I dared not raise my
head above the level of the bank: the sward that crowned it was smooth
as a mown meadow, and the edge-line of the turf even and unbroken.  Had
I shown but my hand above it, it might have been seen in that clear
white light.  I dared not show either hand or head.

I had advanced I knew not how far, but I fancied I must be near the
lines.  All the way, I had kept close under the left bank--which, as
Rube had predicted, now rose a full half-yard above the water-line.
This was a favourable circumstance; and another equally so was the fact
that the moon on that--the eastern side--was yet low in the sky, and
consequently the bank flung a broad black shadow that extended nearly
half-way across the stream.  In this shadow I walked, and its friendly
darkness sheltered both myself and my horse.

I fancied I must be near the lines, and longed to reconnoitre them, but,
for the reasons already given, dared not.

I was equally afraid to make any farther advance--for that might be
still more perilous.  I had already noted the direction of the wind: it
blew _from_ the river, and _towards_ the camp; and should I bring my
horse opposite the line of the mustangs, I would then be directly to
windward of them, and in danger from their keen nostrils.  They would be
almost certain to take up the scent of my steed, and utter their warning
snorts.  The breeze was light, but so much the worse.  There was
sufficient to carry the smell, and not enough to drown the plunging
noise necessarily made by my horse moving through the water, with the
occasional hollow pounding of his hoofs upon the rocks at the bottom.

If I raised my head over the bank, there was the danger of being seen;
if I advanced, the prospect was one of equal peril of being scented.

For some moments I stood hesitating--uncertain as to whether I should
leave my horse, or lead him a little farther.  I heard noises from the
camp, but they were not distinct enough to guide me.

I looked back down the river, in the hope of being able to calculate the
distance I had come, and by that means decide where I was; but my
observation furnished no data by which I could determine my position.
With my eyes almost on a level with the surface of the water, I could
not judge satisfactorily of distance.

I turned my face up-stream again, and scrutinised the parapet line of
the bank.

Just then I saw an object over its edge that answered well to guide me:
it was the croup and hip-bones of a horse--one of the mustangs staked
near the bank.  I saw neither the head nor shoulders of the animal; its
hind-quarters were towards the stream; its head was to the grass--it was
browsing.

The sight gratified me.  The mustang was full two hundred yards above
the point I had reached.  I knew that its position marked the outer line
of the encampment.  I was in the very place where I wanted to be--about
two hundred yards from the lines.  Just at that distance I desired to
leave my horse.

I had taken the precaution to bring with me my picket-pin--one of the
essentials of the prairie traveller.  It was the work of a moment to
delve it into the bank.  I needed not to drive it with violence: my
well-trained steed never broke fastening, however slight.  With him the
stake was only required as a sign that he was not free to wander.

In a moment, then, he was staked; and with a "whisper" I parted from
him, and kept on up-stream.

I had not waded a dozen yards farther, when I perceived a break in the
line of the bank.  It was a little _gully_ that led slantingly from the
level of the prairie down to the bed of the stream.  Its counterpart I
perceived on the opposite side.  The two indicated a ford or crossing
used by buffaloes, wild-horses, and other denizens of the prairie.

At first, I viewed it with apprehension; I feared it might uncover my
body to the eyes of the enemy; but on coming opposite, my fears were
allayed: the slope was abrupt, and the high ground screened me as
before.  There would be no danger in passing the place.

As I was about moving on, an idea arrested me; and I paused to regard
the gully with a look of greater interest.  I perceived an advantage in
it.

I had been troubled about the position in which I had left my horse.
Should I succeed in getting back, of course it would be under the
pressure of a hot pursuit, and my steed was not conveniently placed; his
back was below the level of the bank.  He might easily be mounted, but
how should I get him out of the channel of the stream?  Only by a
desperate leap might he reach the plain above: but he might fail in the
effort--time might be lost, when time and speed would be most wanted.

I had been troubled with this thought; it need trouble me no longer.
The "crossing" afforded easy access either to or from the bed of the
river--the very thing I wanted.

I was not slow to profit by the discovery.  I turned back, and having
released the rein, led my horse gently up to the break.

Choosing a spot under the highest part of the bank, I fastened him as
before, and again left him.

I now moved with more ease and confidence, but with increased caution.
I was getting too near to risk making the slightest noise in the water;
a single plash might betray me.

It was my intention to keep within the channel, until I had passed the
point where the horses were staked; by so doing, I should avoid crossing
the line of the horse-guards, and, what was quite as important, that of
the horses themselves--for I was equally apprehensive of being
discovered by the latter.  Once inside their circle, they would take no
notice of me--for doubtless there would be other Indians within sight;
and I trusted to my well-counterfeited semblance of savagery to deceive
the eyes of these equine sentinels.

I did not wish to go far beyond their line; that would bring me in front
of the camp itself--too near its fires and its idle groups.

I had noticed before starting that there was a broad belt between the
place occupied by the men, and that where their horses were staked.
This "neutral" ground was little used by the camp loungers, and
somewhere on the edge of it I was desirous of making my _entree_.

I succeeded to my utmost wishes.  Closely hugging the bank, I passed the
browsing mustangs--under their very noses I glided past, for I could
hear them munching the herbage right over me--but so silently did I
steal along, that neither snort nor hoof-stroke heralded my advance.

In a few minutes, I was sufficiently beyond them for my purpose.

I raised my head; slowly and gently I raised it, till my eyes were above
the level of the prairie slope.

No one was near.  I could see the swarth savages grouped around their
fires; but they were a hundred yards off, or more.  They were capering,
and talking, and laughing; but no ear was bent, and no eye seemed turned
towards me.  No one was near.

I grasped the bank with my hands, and drew myself up.  Slowly and
silently I ascended, like some demon from the dark trap-door of a stage.

On my knees, I reached the level of the turf; and, then gently rising to
my feet, I stood erect within the limits of the Indian camp--to all
appearance as complete a savage as any upon the ground!



CHAPTER NINETY TWO.

COUP-D'OEIL OF THE CAMP.

For some minutes I stood motionless as a statue; I stirred neither hand
nor foot, lest the movement should catch the eye either of the
horse-guards or those moving around the fires.

I had already donned my plumed head-dress, before climbing out of the
channel: and after getting on the bank, my first thought was to replace
my pistols in the belt behind my back.

The movement was stealthily made; and with like stealthy action, I
suffered the mantle of jaguar-skins to drop from my shoulders, and hang
to its full length.  I had saved the robe from getting wet; and its
ample skirt now served me in concealing my soaked breech-cloth as well
as the upper half of my leggings.  These and the moccasins were, of
course, saturated with water, but I had not much uneasiness about that.
In a prairie camp, and upon the banks of a deep stream, an Indian with
wet leggings could not be a spectacle to excite suspicion; there would
be many reasons why my counterpart might choose to immerse his
copper-coloured extremities in the river.  Moreover, the buckskin--
dressed Indian-fashion--was speedily casting the water; it would soon
drip dry; or even if wet, would scarcely be observed under such a light.

The spot where I had "landed" chanced to be one of the least conspicuous
in the whole area of the camp.  I was just between two lights--the red
glare of the campfires, and the mellower beams of the moon; and the
atmospheric confusion occasioned by the meeting of the distinct kinds of
light favoured me, by producing a species of optical delusion.  It was
but slight, and I could easily be seen from the centre of the camp--but
not with sufficient distinctness for my disguise to be penetrated by any
one; therefore, it was hardly probable that any of the savages would
approach or trouble their heads about me.  I might pass for one of
themselves indulging in a solitary saunter, yielding himself to a moment
of abstraction or melancholy.  I was well enough acquainted with Indian
life to know that there was nothing _outre_ or unlikely in this
behaviour; such conduct was perfectly _en regle_.

I did not remain long on that spot--only long enough to catch the
salient features of the scene.

I saw there were many fires, and around each was grouped number of human
forms--some squatted, some standing.  The night was cold enough to make
them draw near to the burning logs; and for this reason, but few were
wandering about--a fortunate circumstance for me.

There was one fire larger than the rest; from its dimensions, it might
be termed a "bonfire," such as is made by the flattering and flunkeyish
peasantry of old-world lands, when they welcome home the squire and the
count.  It was placed directly in front of the solitary tent, and not a
dozen paces from its entrance.  Its blazing pile gave forth a flood of
red light that reached even to the spot where I stood, and flickered in
my face.  I even fancied I could feel its glow upon my cheeks.

Around this fire were many forms of men--all of them standing up.  I
could see the faces of those who were upon its farther side, but only
the figures of these on the nearer.

The former I could see with almost as much distinctness as if I had been
close beside them; I could trace the lineaments of their features--the
painted devices on their breasts and faces--the style of their
habiliments.

The sight of these last somewhat astonished me.  I had expected to see
red-skinned warriors in leggings, moccasins, and breech-cloth, with
heads naked or plumed, and shoulders draped under brown robes of
buffalo-skin.  Some such there were, but not all of them were so
costumed; on the contrary, I beheld savages shrouded in serapes and
cloaks of broadcloth, with calzoneros on their legs, and upon their
heads huge hats of black glaze--regular Mexican sombreros!  In short, I
beheld numbers of them in full Mexican costume!

Others, again, were dressed somewhat in a military fashion, with helmets
or stiff shakos, ill-fitting uniform coats of red or blue cloth, oddly
contrasting with the brown buckskin that covered their legs and feet.

With some astonishment, I observed these "fancy dresses;" but my
surprise passed away, when I reflected upon who were the men before me,
and whence they had lately come, where they had been, and on what
errand.  It was no travesty, but a scene of actual life.  The savages,
were clad in the spoils they had captured from civilisation.

I need not have been at such pains with my toilet; under any guise, I
could scarcely have looked odd in the midst of such a motley crew: even
my own uniform might have passed muster--all except the colour of my
skin.

Fortunately, a few of the band still preserved their native costume--a
few appeared in full paint and plumes--else I should have been _too
Indian_ for such a company.

It cost not a minute to note these peculiarities, nor did I stay to
observe them minutely; my eyes were in search of Isolina.

I cast inquiring glances on all sides; I scrutinised the groups around
the different fires; I saw others--women--whom I knew to be captives,
but I saw not her.

I scanned their forms and the faces of those who were turned towards me.
A glance would have been enough; I could easily have recognised her
face under the firelight--under any light.  It was not before me.

"In the tent--in the tent: she must be there?"

I determined to move away from the spot where I had hitherto been
standing.  My eye, quickened by the necessity of action, had fallen upon
the copse that stretched along the entire background of the camp.  At a
glance I detected the advantage offered by its shadowy cover.

The tent, as already stated, was placed close to the edge of the timber;
and in front of the tent was the great fire.  Plainly, this was the
gravitating point--the centre of motive and motion.  If aught of
interest was to be enacted, there would lie the scene.  In the lodge or
near it would she be found--certainly she would be there; and there I
resolved to seek her.



CHAPTER NINETY THREE.

A FRIENDLY ENCOUNTER.

Just then the shrill voice of a crier pealed through the camp, and I
observed a general movement.  I could not make out what the man said,
but the peculiar intonation told that he was uttering some signal or
summons.  Something of importance was about to transpire.

The Indians now commenced circling around the blazing pile, meeting and
passing each other, as if threading the mazes of some silent and solemn
dance.  Others were seen hastening up from distant parts of the camp--as
if to observe the actions of those around the fire, or join with them in
the movement.

I did not wait to watch them; their attention thus occupied, gave me an
opportunity of reaching the copse unobserved; and, without further ado,
I started towards it.

I walked slowly, and with an assumed air of careless indifference.  I
counterfeited the Comanche walk--not that bold free port--the
magnificent and inimitable stride, so characteristic of Chippewa and
Shawano, of Huron and Iroquois--but the shuffling gingery step of an
English jockey; for such in reality is the gait of the Comanche Indian
when afoot.

I must have played my part well.  A savage, crossing from the
horse-guards towards the great fire, passed near me, and hailed me by
name.

"_Wakono_!" cried he.

"_Que cosa_?"  (Well--what matter?)  I replied in Spanish, imitating as
well as I could the Indian voice and accent.  It was a venture, but I
was taken at a strait, and could not well remain silent.

The man appeared some little surprised at being addressed in the
language of Mexico; nevertheless, he understood it, and made rejoinder.

"You hear the summons, Wakono?  Why do you not come forward?  The
council meets; Hissoo-royo is already there."

I understood what was said--more from the Indian's gestures than his
speech--though the words "summons", "council," and the name
"Hissoo-royo," helped me to comprehend his meaning.  I chanced to know
the Comanche epithets for the two first, and also that Hissoo-royo (the
Spanish wolf) was the Indian appellation of the Mexican renegade.

Though I understood what was said, I was not prepared with a reply.  I
dared not risk the answer in Spanish; for I knew not the extent of
Wakono's proficiency in the Andalusian tongue.

I felt myself in a dilemma; and the importunate savage--no doubt some
friend of Wakono himself--appeared determined to stick to me.  How was I
to get rid of him?

A happy idea came to my relief.  Assuming an air of extreme dignity, and
as though I did not wish to be disturbed in my meditations, I raised my
hand and waved the man a parting salute: at the same time turning my
head, I walked slowly away.

The Indian accepted the _conge_, and moved off, but evidently with an
air of reluctance.  As I glanced back over my shoulder, I could see him
parting from the spot, with a hesitating step; no doubt somewhat
astonished at the strange behaviour of his friend Wakono.

I did not look back again until I had placed myself under the shadow of
the timber.  Then I turned to reconnoitre; my friend had continued on: I
saw him just entering among the crowd that circled around the great
fire.

Screened from observation by the shadow, I could now pause and reflect.
The trifling incident that had caused me some apprehension, had also
helped me to some useful knowledge: First, I had learned my own name;
second, that a council was about to take place; and thirdly, that the
renegade, Hissoo-royo, had something to do with the council.

This was knowledge of importance; combined with my previous information,
everything was now made clear.  This council could be no other than the
jury-trial between the renegade and the yet nameless chief; the same
that was to decide to which belonged the right of property in my
betrothed.  It was about to meet; it had not assembled as yet.  Then had
I arrived in time.  Neither white savage nor red savage had yet come
into possession; neither had dared to lay hand on the coveted and
priceless gem.

Isolina was still safe--thus singularly preserved from brutal contact.
These dogs in the manger--their mutual jealousy had proved her
protection!

I was consoled by the thought--strange source of consolation!

I was in time, but where was she?  From my new position I had a still
better view of the camp, its fires, and its denizens.  She was nowhere
to be seen!

"In the lodge, then--she must certainly be there--or--"

A new suspicion occurred to me: "She may be kept apart from the other
captives?--in the copse--she may be concealed in the copse until the
sentence be pronounced?"

This last conjecture brought along with it hopes and resolves.  I
determined to search the copse.  If I should find her there, my emprise
would be easy indeed; at all events, easier than I had anticipated.
Though guarded by the savages, I should rescue her from their grasp.
The lives of six men--perhaps twice that number--were under my belt.
The odds of unarmed numbers would be nothing against the deadly bullets
from my revolvers, and I perceived too that most of the savages had laid
aside their weapons, confident in the security of their camp.

But I might find her alone, or perhaps with but a single jailer.  The
meeting of the council favoured the supposition.  The men would all be
there--some to take part--others interested in the result, or merely
from curiosity to watch the proceedings.  Yes, _all_ of them would have
an interest in the issue--too surely all.  The barbarous customs of
these savage brutes at that moment came to my remembrance!

I stayed no longer to reflect; but gliding into the grove, commenced my
search for the captive.

The ground was favourable to my progress: there was not much underwood,
and the trees grew thinly; I could easily pass amongst them without the
necessity of crouching, and without making noise.  The silent tread of
the moccasin was in my favour, as also the dark shadowy foliage that
stretched overhead, hiding the sky from my view.

The chief timber of the copse was the pecan hickory--almost an
evergreen--and the trees were still in full leaf; only here and there,
where the trunks stood far apart, did the moonbeams strike through the
thick frondage.  The surface of the ground was shrouded from her light;
and the narrow aisles through which I passed were as dark as if no moon
had been shining.

There was still light enough to reveal some horrid scenes.  O Heaven! my
heart bleeds at the remembrance.

I was wrong in my conjectures.  The men had not _all_ gone to the
council; the captive women were not _all_ by the camp-fires.  I beheld
ruffian men beside their helpless victims--women--fair white women--with
drooping heads and listless air--dishevelled weeping!  O Heaven! my
heart bleeds at the remembrance!

It recoiled at the sight--it burned with indignation.  At every turn did
it prompt me to draw knife or pistol; at every step my fingers itched to
immolate a hideous paint-besmeared brute--to slay a "noble" savage.

I was restrained only by my own desperate situation--by my apprehensions
for the safety of Isolina, now more acute than ever.  What horrid
imaginings crowded into my brain, begot by the barbarous scenes that
were being enacted around me!

The monsters, too earnestly occupied with their captives, took no heed
of me; and I passed on without interruption.

I threaded the pathways of the grove one after another, gliding through
as rapidly as the path would permit; I entered every aisle and glade; I
sought everywhere, even to the farthest limits of the wood.  I saw more
men--more weeping women--more red ruffianism; I saw nought of her for
whom I searched.

"In the tent then--_she must be there_."

I turned my face towards the lodge; and, moving with stealthy step, soon
arrived among the trees that stood in the rear.

I halted near the edge; and, separating the leaves with my hands, peered
cautiously through.  I had no need to search further--Isolina was before
my eyes.



CHAPTER NINETY FOUR.

THE COUNCIL.

Yes, there was my betrothed--within sight, within hearing, almost within
reach of my hands; and I dared not touch, I dared not speak, I scarcely
dared look upon her!

My fingers trembled among the leaves--my heart rose and fell--I could
feel within my breast its strokes, rapid and irregular--I could hear its
sonorous vibration.

It was not at the first glance that I saw Isolina.  On looking through
the leaves, the _coup d'oeil_ was a scene that quite astonished me, and
for a while occupied my attention.  Since I had last gazed upon the
great fire, the grouping around it had undergone an entire change; a new
tableau was presented, that for the moment held me under a spell of
surprise.

The fire no longer blazed, or only slightly, and when stirred; the logs
had burned into coals, and now yielded a fainter light, but one more red
and garish.  It was steady, nevertheless, and the vastness of the pile
rendered it strong enough to illumine the camp-ground to its utmost
limits.

The fire was still encircled by savages, but no longer standing, nor
grouped irregularly, as I had before observed them; on the contrary,
they were seated, or rather squatted at equal distances from each other,
and forming a ring that girdled the huge mound of embers.

There were about twenty of these men--I did not count them--but I
observed that all were in their native costume--leggings, and
breech-cloth to the waist--nothing above, save the armlets and
shell-ornaments of nose, ears, and neck.  All were profusely painted
with chalk, ochre, and vermilion.  Beyond doubt, I was looking upon the
"council."

The other Indians--they in "fancy dresses"--were still upon the ground;
but they were standing behind, retired a pace or two from the circle,
and in groups of two, three, or four, talking in low mutterings.  Others
were moving about at a still greater distance from the fire.

My observation of all these features of the scene did not occupy ten
seconds of time--just so long as my eyes were getting accustomed to the
light.

At the end of that interval, my glance rested upon Isolina, and there
became fixed.

My fingers trembled among the leaves; my heart rose and fell; I could
feel within my breast its strokes, rapid and irregular; I could hear its
sonorous vibration.

In the chain of Indians that encircled the fire, there was a break--an
interval of ten or a dozen feet.  It was directly in front of the lodge,
and _above_ the fire; for the ground gently sloped from the tent towards
the stream.

In this spot the captive was seated.  Her situation was exactly between
the lodge and the fire, and a little retired behind the circle of the
council.  The tent intervening between her and my position, had
prevented me from seeing her at first.

She was half-seated, half-reclining upon a robe of wolfskins.  I saw
that her arms were free; I saw that her limbs were bound.  Her back was
to the tent, her face turned towards the council.  I could not see it.

To recognise my betrothed, I did not need to look upon her face; her
matchless form, outlined against the red embers, was easily identified.
The full round curve of the neck--the oval lines of the head--the
majestic sweep of the shoulders--the arms smooth and symmetrical--all
these were familiar to my eyes, for oft had they dwelt on them in
admiration.  I could not be mistaken; the form before me was that graven
upon my heart--it was Isolina's.

There was another salient point in this singular tableau, that could not
escape observation.  Beyond the fire, and directly opposite to where
Isolina was placed, I saw another well-known object--the white steed!

He was not staked there, but haltered and held in hand by one of the
Indians.  He must have been lately brought upon the ground, for from
neither of my former points of observation had I noticed him.  He, like
his mistress, was "on trial"--his ownership was also matter of dispute.

There was in sight one more object that interested me--not with friendly
interest did I regard it--but with disgust and indignation.

Not seated in the council ring, nor standing among the idle groups, but
apart from all, I beheld Hissoo-royo the renegade.  Savage as were the
red warriors, fiend-like as they appeared with their paint-smeared
visages, not one looked so savage or fiend-like as he.

The features of this man were naturally bad: but the paint--for he had
adopted this with every other vile custom of barbarian life--rendered
their expression positively ferocious.  The device upon his forehead was
a death's-head and cross-bones--done in white chalk--and upon his breast
appeared the well-imitated semblance of a bleeding scalp--the
appropriate symbols of a cruel disposition.

There was something unnatural in a white skin thus disfigured, for the
native complexion was not hidden: here and there it could be perceived
forming the ground of the motley elaboration--its pallid hue in strange
contrast with the deeper colours that daubed it!  It was not the canvas
for such a picture.

Yet there the picture was--in red and yellow, black, white, and blue;
there stood the deep-dyed villain.

I saw not his rival; I looked for him, but saw him not.  Perhaps he was
one of those who stood around?--perhaps he had not yet come up?  He was
the son of the head-chief--perhaps he was inside the lodge?  The last
was the most probable conjecture.

The great calumet was brought forward and lit by the fire; it was passed
around the circle, from mouth to mouth--each savage satisfying himself
with a single draw from its tube.

I knew that this was the inauguration of the council.  The trial was
about to proceed.



CHAPTER NINETY FIVE.

MEASURING THE CHANCES.

The situation in which I was placed by chance, could not have been
better had I deliberately chosen it.  I had under my eyes the council
fire and council, the groups around--in short, the whole area of the
camp.

What was of most importance, I could see without being seen.  Along the
edge of the copse there extended a narrow belt of shadow, similar to
that which had favoured me while in the channel, and produced by a like
cause--for the stream and the selvage of the grove were parallel to each
other.  The moonbeams fell obliquely upon the grove; and, under the
thick foliage of the pecans, I was well screened from her light behind--
while the lodge covered me from the glare of the fire in front.

I could not have been better placed for my purpose.  I saw the advantage
of the position, and resolved therefore to abide in it.

The observations and reflections thus given in detail occupied me but a
few minutes of time.  Thought is quick, and at that crisis mine was more
than usually on the alert.  Almost instantaneously did I perceive the
points that most interested me, or had reference to my plans; almost
instantaneously I had mastered the situation, and I next bent my mind
upon the way to take advantage of it.

I saw there was but one way to proceed: my original scheme must be
carried cut.  Under so many eyes, there was not the slightest chance
that the captive could be _stolen_ away; she must be taken openly, and
by a bold stroke.  Of this was I convinced.

The question arose, when should I make the attempt?  At that moment?

She was not ten paces from where I stood!  Could I rush forward, and
with my knife set free her limbs?  Might we then get off before the
savages could fling themselves upon us?

Hopeless--impossible!  She was too near them; she was too near the
renegade who claimed her as his property.

He was standing almost over her, within distance of a single leap.  In
his belt I saw the long triangular blade of a Spanish knife.  He could
have cut me down ere I could have severed a cord of her fastenings.  The
attempt would fail; success was hopeless--impossible.  I must wait for a
better opportunity; and I waited.

I remembered Rube's last word of counsel, not to act too hastily--and
his reasons, that if I must make a "desprit strike for it," to leave the
grand _coup_ to the last moment.  The circumstances could be no more
unfavourable then than now.

Under the influence of this idea, I checked my impatience, and waited.

I watched Hissoo-royo; I watched the squatted forms around the fire; I
watched the straggling groups behind them.  In turn, my eyes wandered
from one to the other.  At intervals, too, they rested upon Isolina.

Up to this moment I had not seen her countenance; I saw only the reverse
of that beautiful image so deeply graven upon my heart.  But even then--
under that suspense of peril--strange thoughts were passing within me.
I felt a singular longing to look upon her face; I remembered the
_herredero_.

It pleased fortune to smile upon me.  So many little incidents were
occurring in my favour, that I began to believe the fates propitious,
and my hopes of success were growing stronger apace.

Just then the captive turned her head, and her face was towards me.
There was no mark on that fair brow; that soft cheek was without a scar;
the delicate skin was intact, smooth, and diaphanous as ever.  The
herredero had been merciful!

Perhaps something had occurred to interrupt or hinder him from his
horrid work?

I prayed that the matador had met with a similar interruption!  I could
not tell--those profuse clusters covered all--neck, bosom, and
shoulders--all were hidden under the dark dishevelment.  I could not
tell, but I did not dare to hope.  Cyprio had seen the blood!

It was but a momentary glance, and her face was again turned away.

At intervals she repeated it, and I saw that she looked in other
directions.  I could note the uneasiness of her manner; I could tell why
those glances were given; I knew her design.  O for one word in her
hearing--one whisper!

It might not be; she was too closely watched.  Jealous eyes were upon
her; savage hearts were gloating over her beauty.  No word could have
reached her, that would not have been heard by others--by all around the
fire--for the silence was profound.  The "council" had not yet essayed
to speak.

The stillness was at length broken by the voice of a crier, who in a
shrill tone proclaimed that the "council was in session."

There was something so ceremonious in the whole proceedings, and every
movement was made with such regularity, that but for the open air, the
fire, the wild savage costumes, and fierce painted faces, I might have
fancied myself in the presence of a civilised court, and witnessing a
trial by jury!  It was in effect just such a trial, though judge there
was none.  The members of the jury were themselves the judges--for in
the simplicity of such primitive litigation, each was presumed to
understand the law without an interpreter.

Pleaders, too, were equally absent; each party--plaintiff and
defendant--was expected to plead his own case.  Such is the simple
fashion in the high court of the prairies--a fashion which might
elsewhere be adopted with advantage.

The name of "Hissoo-royo" pealed upon the air.  The crier was calling
him into court--another parallel with the customs of civilisation!

Three times the name was pronounced, at each repetition in louder voice
than before.

The man might have spared his breath; he who was summoned was upon the
spot, and ready to answer.

Before the echo died away, the renegade uttered a response; and,
stepping to an open space within the ring, halted, drew himself up to
his full height, folded his arms, and in this attitude stood waiting.

At that crisis the thought occurred to me, whether I should rash
forward, and at once decide the fate of myself and my betrothed.  The
seated warriors appeared to be all unarmed; and the renegade--whose hand
I most regarded--was now farther off, having gone round to the opposite
side of the fire.  The situation was favourable, and for a moment I
stood straining upon the spring.

But my eye fell upon the spectators in the background; many of them were
directly in the way I should have to take; I saw that many of them
carried weapons--either in their hands, or upon their persons--and
Hissoo-royo himself was still too near.

I could never fight my way against such odds.  I could not break such a
line--it would be madness to attempt it.  Rube's counsel was again
ringing in my ears; and once more I abandoned the rash design.



CHAPTER NINETY SIX.

THE WHITE-HAIRED CHIEF.

There was an interval of silence--a dramatic pause--that lasted for more
than a minute.

It was ended by one of the council rising to his feet, and by a gesture
inviting Hissoo-royo to speak.

The renegade began:

"Red warriors of the Hietan! brothers! what I have to say before the
council will not require many words.  I claim yonder Mexican girl as my
captive, and therefore as my own.  Who denies my right?  I claim the
white horse as mine--my prize fairly taken."

The speaker paused as if to wait for further commands from the council.

"Hissoo-royo has spoken his claim to the Mexican maiden and the white
steed.  He has not said upon what right he rests it.  Let him declare
his right in presence of the council!"

This was said by the same Indian who had made the gesture, and who
appeared to direct the proceedings.  He was not acting by any superior
authority, which he may have possessed, but merely by reason of his
being the oldest of the party.  Among the Indians, age gives precedence.

"Brothers!" continued Hissoo-royo, in obedience to the command--"my
claim is just--of that you are to be the judges; I know your true
hearts--you will not shut them against justice.  I need not read to you
your own law, that he who makes a captive has the right to keep it--to
do with it as he will.  This is the law of your tribe--of my tribe as
well, for yours is mine."

Grunts of approbation caused a momentary interruption in the speech.

"Hietans!" resumed the speaker, "my skin is white, but my heart is the
colour of your own.  You did me the honour to adopt me into your nation;
you honoured me by making me first a warrior, and afterwards a
war-chief.  Have I ever given you cause to regret what you have done?
Have I ever betrayed your trust?"

A volley of exclamations indicated a response in the negative.

"I have confidence, then, in your love of justice and truth; I have no
fear that the colour of my skin will blind your eyes, for you all know
the colour of my heart."

Fresh signs of approbation followed this adroit stroke of eloquence.

"Then, brothers! listen to my cause; I claim the maiden and the horse.
I need not tell where they were found, and how; your own eyes were
witnesses of their capture.  There has been talk of a doubt as to who
made it, for many horsemen were in the pursuit.  I deny that there is
any doubt.  My lazo was first over the head of the horse--was first
tightened around his throat--first brought him to a stand.  To take the
horse was to take the rider.  It was my deed; both are my captives.  I
claim both as my property.  Who is he that disputes my claim?  Let him
stand forth!"

Having delivered this challenge with a defiant emphasis, the speaker
fell back into his former attitude; and, once more folding his arms,
remained silent and immobile.

Another pause followed, which was again terminated by a sign from the
old warrior who had first spoken.  This gesture was directed to the
crier, who the moment after, raising his shrill voice, called out:

"_Wakono_!"

The name caused me to start as if struck by an arrow.  It was my own
appellation: I was Wakono!

It was pronounced thrice, each time louder than the preceding:

"Wakono!  Wakono!  Wakono!"

A light flashed upon me.  Wakono was the rival claimant!  He whose
breech-cloth was around my hips, whose robe hung from my shoulders,
whose plumed bonnet adorned my head, whose pigments disfigured my face--
he of the red hand upon his breast, and the cross upon his brow, was no
other than Wakono!

I cannot describe the singular sensation I felt at this discovery.  I
was in a perilous position indeed.  My fingers trembled among the
leaves.  I released the branchlets, and let them close up before my
face; I dared not trust myself to look forth.

For some moments I stood still and silent, but not without trembling.  I
could not steady my nerves under such a dread agitation.

I listened, but looked not.  There was an interval of breathless
silence--no one seemed to stir or speak--they were waiting the effect of
the summons.

Once more the voice of the crier was heard pronouncing in triple
repetition: "Wakono!  Wakono!  Wakono!"

Again followed an interval of silence; but I could hear low mutterings
of surprise and disappointment as soon as it was perceived that the
Indian did not answer to his name.

I alone knew the reason of his absence; I knew that Wakono _could_ not--
the true Wakono; that his counterfeit _would_ not come.  Though I had
undertaken to personate the savage chieftain, for this act in the drama
I was not prepared.  The stage must wait!

Even at that moment I was sensible of the ludicrousness of the
situation; so extreme was it, that even at that moment of direst peril,
I felt a half inclination for laughter!

But the feeling was easily checked; and once more parting the branches,
I ventured to look forth.

I saw there was some confusion.  Wakono had been reported "missing."
The members of the council still preserved both their seats and stoical
composure; but the younger warriors behind were uttering harsh
ejaculations, and moving about from place to place with that restless
air that betokens at once surprise and disappointment.

At this crisis, an Indian was seen emerging from the tent.  He was a man
of somewhat venerable aspect, though venerable more from age than any
positive expression of virtue.  His cheeks were furrowed by time, and
his hair white as bleached flax--a rare sight among Indians.

There was something about this individual that bespoke him a person of
authority.  Wakono was the son of the chief--the chief, then, should be
an old man.  This must be he?

I had no doubt of it, and my conjecture proved to be correct.

The white-haired Indian stepped forward to the edge of the ring, and
with a wave of his hand commanded silence.

The command was instantly obeyed.  The murmurings ceased, and all placed
themselves in fixed attitudes to listen.



CHAPTER NINETY SEVEN.

SPEECHES IN COUNCIL.

"Hietans!" began the chief, for such in reality was the old Indian, "my
children, and brothers in council!  I appeal to you to stay judgment in
this matter.  I am your chief, but I claim no consideration on that
account; Wakono is my son, but for him I ask no favour; I demand only
justice and right--such as would be given to the humblest in on tribe; I
ask no more for my son Wakono.

"Wakono is a brave warrior; who among you does not know it?  His shield
is garnished with many trophies taken from the hated pale-face; his
leggings are fringed with scalps of the Utah and Cheyenne; at his heels
drag the long locks of the Pawnee and Arapaho.  Who will deny that
Wakono--my son Wakono--is a brave warrior?"

A murmur of assent was the response to this paternal appeal.

"The Spanish wolf, too, is a warrior--a brave warrior; I deny it not.
He is stout of heart and strong of arm; he has taken many scalps from
the enemies of the Hietan; I honour him for his achievements; who among
us does not?"

A general chorus of "ughs" and other ejaculations from both council and
spectators responded to this interrogatory.  The response, both in tone
and manner, was strongly in the affirmative; and I could tell by this
that the renegade--not Wakono--was the favourite.

The old chief also perceived that such was the prevailing sentiment: and
despite his pretensions to fair-play, he was evidently nettled at the
reply.  The father of Wakono was undoubtedly no Brutus.

After a momentary pause, he resumed speech, but in a tone entirely
altered.  He was now painting the reverse side of Hissoo-royo's
portrait, and as he threw in the darker touches, it was with evident
pique and hostility.

"I honour the Spanish wolf," he continued; "I honour him for his strong
arm and his stout heart: I have said so; but hear me, Hietans--hear me,
children and brothers! there are two of every kind--there is a night and
a day--a winter and a summer--a green prairie and a desert plain, and
like these is the tongue of Hissoo-royo.  It speaks two ways that differ
as the light from the darkness--it is double--it forks like the tongue
of the rattle-serpent--it is not to be believed."

The chief ceased speaking, and the "Spanish wolf" was permitted to make
reply.

He did not attempt to defend himself from the charge of the double
tongue; perhaps he knew that the accusation was just enough, and he had
no reason to tremble for his popularity on that score.  He must have
been a great liar, indeed, to have excelled or even equalled the most
ordinary story-teller in the Comanche nation; for the mendacity of these
Indians would have been a match for Sparta herself.

The renegade did not even deny the aspersion: he seemed to be confident
in his case: he simply replied--

"If the tongue of Hissoo-royo is double, let not the council rely upon
his words! let witnesses be called! there are many who are ready to
testify to the truth of what Hissoo-royo has spoken."

"First hear Wakono!  Let Wakono be heard!  Where is Wakono?"

These demands were made by various members of the council, who spoke
simultaneously.

Once more the crier's voice was heard calling "Wakono!"

"Brothers!" again spoke the chief: "it is for this I would stay your
judgment.  My son is not in the camp; he went back upon the trail, and
has not returned.  I know not his purpose.  My heart is in doubt--but
not in fear Wakono is a strong warrior, and can take care of himself.
He will not be long absent; he must soon return.  For this I ask you to
delay the judgment."

A murmur of disapprobation followed this avowal.  The allies of the
renegade evidently mustered stronger than the friends of the young
chief.

Hissoo-royo once more addressed the council.

"What trifling would this be, warriors of the Hietan?  Two suns have
gone down, and this question is not decided!  I ask only justice.  By
our laws, the judgment cannot stand over.  The captives must belong to
some one.  I claim them as mine, and I offer witnesses to prove my
right.  Wakono has no claim, else why is he not here to avow it?  He has
no proofs beyond his own word; he is ashamed to stand before you without
proof--that is why he is now absent from the camp!"

"Wakono is not absent," cried a voice from among the bystanders; "he is
in the camp!"

This announcement produced a sensation, and I could perceive that the
old chief partook equally with the others of the surprise created.

"Who says Wakono is in the camp?" inquired he in a loud voice.

An Indian stepped forth from the crowd of spectators.  I recognised the
man, whom I had met crossing from the horse-guard.

"Wakono is in the camp," repeated he, as he paused outside the circle.
"I saw the young chief; I spoke with him."

"When?"

"Only now."

"Where?"

The man pointed to the scene of our accidental rencontre.

"He was going yonder," said he; "he went among the trees--I saw him not
after."

This intelligence evidently increased the astonishment.  It could not be
comprehended why Wakono should be upon the ground, and yet not come
forward to assert his claim.  Had he abandoned it altogether?

The father of the claimant appeared as much puzzled as any one; he made
no attempt to explain the absence of his son: he could not; he stood
silent, and evidently in a state of mystification.

Several now suggested that a search be made for the absent warrior.  It
was proposed to send messengers throughout the camp--_to search the
grove_.

My blood ran cold as I listened to the proposal; my knees trembled
beneath me.  I knew that if the grove was to be searched, I should have
no chance of remaining longer concealed.  The dress of Wakono was
conspicuous; I saw that there was none other like it: no other wore a
robe of jaguar-skins, and this would betray me.  Even the paint would
not avail: I should be led into the firelight; the counterfeit would be
detected.  I should be butchered upon the spot--perhaps tortured for the
treatment we had given the true Wakono, which would soon become known.

My apprehensions had reached the climax of acuteness, when they were
suddenly relieved by some words from the Spanish wolf.

"Why search for Wakono?" cried he; "Wakono knows his own name; it has
been called and loud enough.  Wakono has ears--surely he can hear for
himself, if he be in the camp.  Call him again, if you will!"

This proposition appeared reasonable.  It was adopted, and the crier
once more summoned the young chief by name.

The voice, as all perceived, could have been heard to the farthest
bounds of the camp, and far beyond.

An interval was allowed, during which there reigned perfect silence,
every one bending his ears to listen.

There came no answer--no Wakono appeared to the summons.

"Now!" triumphantly exclaimed the renegade, "is it not as I have said?
Warriors!  I demand your judgment."

There was no immediate reply.  A long pause followed, during which no
one spoke, either in the circle or among the spectators.

At length the oldest of the council rose, re-lit the calumet, and, after
taken a whiff from the tube, handed it to the Indian seated on his left.
This one, in like manner, passed it to the next, and he to the next,
until the pipe had made the circuit of the fire, and was returned to the
old warrior who had first smoked from it.

The latter now laid aside the pipe, and in a formal manner, but in a
voice inaudible to the spectators, proposed the question.

The vote was taken in rotation, and was also delivered _sotto voce_.
The judgment only was pronounced aloud.

The decision was singular, and somewhat unexpected.  The jury had been
moved by a strong leaning towards equity, and an amicable adjustment
that might prove acceptable to all parties.

The _horse_ was adjudged to Wakono--the _maiden_ was declared the
property of the Spanish wolf!



CHAPTER NINETY EIGHT.

A ROUGH COURTSHIP.

The decision appeared to give satisfaction to all.  A grim smile, upon
his face testified that the renegade himself was pleased.  How could he
be otherwise?  He had certainly the best of the suit--for what was a
beautiful horse to a beautiful woman, and such a woman?

Even the white-haired chief seemed satisfied!  Perhaps, of the two, the
old savage jockey preferred the horse?  It might have been different had
Wakono been upon the ground.  I was much mistaken if he would so tamely
have acquiesced in the decision.

Yes, the renegade was satisfied--more than that, he was rejoiced.  His
bearing bespoke his consciousness of the possession of a rare and
much-coveted thing.  He was unable to conceal the gratification he felt;
and with an air of triumph and exultation, he approached the spot where
the captive sat.

As soon as the sentence was pronounced, the Indians who had been seated
rose to their feet.  The council was dismissed.

Some of the members strolled off on their own business; others remained
by the great fire, mixing among their comrades--no longer with the
solemn gravity of councillors, but chatting, laughing, shouting, and
gesticulating as glibly and gaily as if they had been an assemblage of
French dancing-masters.

The trial and its objects appeared to be at once forgotten; neither
plaintiff, defendant, nor cause, seemed any longer to occupy the
thoughts of any one.  The horse had been delivered to a friend of
Wakono--the maiden to Hissoo-royo--and the thing was settled and over.

Perhaps, here and there, some young brave, with a pain in his heart, may
have bent wistful glances upon the lovely captive.  No doubt there were
many who looked with envious thoughts upon Hissoo-royo and his fortunes.
If so, their emotions were concealed, their glances furtive.

After the council was over, no one interfered--no one seemingly took any
interest either in the renegade or his pale-faced squaw; they were left
to themselves.

And to me.  From that moment, my eyes and thoughts rested only on them;
I saw no one else; I thought of nothing else; I watched but the "wolf"
and his victim.

The old chief had retired into the tent.  Isolina was left alone.

Only a moment alone.  Had it been otherwise, I should have sprung
forward.  My fingers had moved mechanically towards my knife; but there
was not time.  In the next instant, Hissoo-royo stood beside her.

He addressed her in Spanish; he did not desire the others to understand
what was said.  Speaking in this language, there would be less fear of
them doing so.

There was one who listened to every word.  _I_ listened--not a syllable
escaped me.

"Now!" began he, in an exulting tone--"Now, Dona Isolina de Vargas! you
have heard?  I know you understand the tongue in which the council has
spoken--your _native_ tongue.  Ha, ha, ha!"

The brute was jeering her!

"You are mine--soul and body, mine; you have heard?"

"I have heard," was the reply, in a tone of resignation!

"And surely you are satisfied; are you not?  You should be.  I am white
as yourself--I have saved you from the embrace of a red Indian.  Surely
you are satisfied with the judgment?"

"I am satisfied."

This was uttered in the same tone of resignation.  The answer somewhat
surprised me.

"'Tis a lie!" rejoined the brutal monster; "you are playing false with
me, sweet senorita.  But yesterday you spoke words of scorn--you would
scorn me still?"

"I have no power to scorn you; I am your captive."

"Carrambo! you speak truth.  You have no power either to scorn or refuse
me.  Ha, ha, ha!  And as little do I care if you did; you may like me or
not at your pleasure.  Perhaps you will take to me in time, as much as I
may wish it; but that will be for _your_ consideration, sweet senorita!
Meanwhile, you are mine, body and soul, you are mine--and I mean to
enjoy my prize after my own fashion."

The coarse taunt caused my blood, already hot enough, to boil within my
veins.  I grasped the haft of my knife, and like a tiger stood cowering
on the spring.  My intent was, first to cut down the ruffian, and then
set free the limbs of the captive with the blood-stained blade.

The chances were still against me.  A score of savages were yet around
the fire.  Even should he fall at the first blow, I could not hope to
get clear.

But I could bear it no longer; and would have risked the chances at that
moment, had not my foot been stayed by some words that followed.

"Come!" exclaimed the renegade, speaking to his victim, and making sign
for her to follow him--"Come, sweet senorita!  This place is too public.
I would talk with you elsewhere: I know where there are softer spots
for that fair form to recline upon--pretty glades and arbours, choice
retreats within the shadow of the grove.  There, dearest, shall we
retire.  _Vamos_!"

Though hideous the signification of this mock-poetic speech, I joyed at
hearing it.  It arrested my hand and limb, both of which had been ready
for action.  The "choice retreats within the shadow of the grove"
promised a _better opportunity_.

With an effort, therefore, I restrained myself, and resolved to wait.

I listened for the reply of Isolina; I watched her as well; I noted her
every movement.

I saw that she pointed to her limbs--to the thong-fastenings around her
ankles.

"How can I follow you?" she inquired, in a calm voice, and in a tone of
surprise.  Surely that tone was feigned.  Surely she meditated some
design?

"True," said the man, turning back, and drawing the knife from his belt.
"Carrai!  I had not thought of that; but we shall soon--"

He did not finish the sentence; he stopped in the middle of it, and in
an attitude that betokened hesitation.

In this attitude he remained awhile, gazing into the eyes of his victim:
then, as if suddenly changing his mind, he struck the knife back into
his sheath, and at the same time cried out--

"By the Virgin!  I shall not trust you.  You are too free of limb, sweet
_margarita_! you might try to give me the slip.  This is a better plan.
Come! raise yourself up--a little higher--so.  Now we go--now for the
grove.  _Vamos_!"

While delivering the last words, the ruffian bent himself over the
half-prostrate captive; and, placing his arm underneath, wound it around
her waist.  He then raised her upward until her bosom rested upon his--
the bosom of my betrothed in juxtaposition with the painted breast of
this worse than savage!

I saw it, and slew him not; I saw it, and kept cool--I can scarcely tell
why, for it is not a characteristic of my nature.  My nerves, from being
so much played upon during the preceding hours, had acquired the
firmness of steel; perhaps this enabled me to endure the sight--this,
combined with the almost certain prospect of an improved opportunity.

At all events, I kept cool, and remained in my place though only for a
moment longer.



CHAPTER NINETY NINE.

THE CRISIS.

The renegade, having raised the unresisting captive in his arms,
proceeded to carry her from the spot.  He scarcely carried her; her
feet, naked and bound, trailed along the grass, both together.

He passed the lodge, and was going towards the copse, in an oblique
direction.  The savages who saw him made no attempt to interfere,
shouted some lewd phrases, and laughed!

I waited neither to see nor hear more.

Still keeping within the timber, I glided along its edge; with quick but
noiseless step I went, making for the same point towards which the
ruffian ravisher was tending.

I arrived first; and, stooping under the shadow of the trees, waited,
with knife in hand, firm grasped and ready.

His burden had delayed him; he had stopped midway to rest; and was now
scarcely ten paces from the edge of the grove, with the girl still in
his arms, and apparently leaning against him.

There was a momentary wavering in my mind, as to whether I should not
then rush forth, and strike the _coup_.  The chance seemed as good a one
as I might get.

I was about deciding in the affirmative, when I saw that Hissoo-royo had
again taken up his warden, and was moving towards me.  He was making
directly for the spot where I stood.  The crisis was near!

It was even nearer than I thought.  The man had scarcely made three
steps from the point of rest, when I saw him stumble and fall to the
earth, carrying the captive along with him!

The fall appealed accidental.  I might have deemed it so, but for the
wild shout with which it was accompanied.  Something more than a mere
stumble elicited that fearful cry!

There was a short struggle upon the ground--the bodies became separated.
One was seen to spring suddenly back; I saw it was Isolina!  There was
something in her hand--both moonlight and firelight gleamed upon a
crimsoned blade!

She who grasped it bent for an instant downward--its keen edge severed
the thongs from her limbs, and the moment after, she was running in full
flight across the level sward of the camp-ground!

Without reflection, I sprang out of the covert and rushed after.

I passed the renegade, who had half-regained his feet, and appeared but
slightly wounded.  Astonishment as much as aught else seemed to hold him
to the spot.  He was shouting and swearing--calling for help, and
uttering threats of vengeance.

I could have slain him, and was half-inclined to the act; but there was
no time to stay.  I only thought of overtaking the fugitive, and aiding
her in her flight.

The alarm was given--the camp was in commotion--fifty savages were
starting upon the chase.

As we ran, my eyes fell upon a horse--a white horse.  It was the steed;
a man was leading him by a lazo.  He was taking him from the fires
towards the ground occupied by the mustangs; he was going to picket him
on the grass.

Horse and man were directly in front of us, as we ran--in front of the
fugitive.  She was making towards them; I divined her intention.

In a few seconds he was up to the horse, and had seized the rope.

The Indian struggled, and tried to take it away from her; the red blade
gleamed in his eyes, and he gave back.

He still clung to the rope; but in an instant it was cut from his hands,
and, quick as thought, the heroic woman leaped upon the back of the
steed, and was seen galling away!

The Indian was one of the horse-guards, and was therefore armed; he
carried bow and quiver.  Before the horse had galloped beyond reach, he
had bent his bow, and sent an arrow from the string.

I heard the "wheep" of the shaft, and fancied I heard it strike; but the
steed kept on!

I had plucked up one of the long spears, as I ran across the camp.
Before the Indian could adjust another arrow to the string, I had thrust
him in the back.

I drew out the spear, and, keeping the white horse in view, ran on.

I was soon in the midst of the mustangs; many of them had already
stampeded, and were galloping to and fro over the ground.  The guards
were dismayed, but as yet knew not the cause of the alarm.  The steed
with his rider passed safely through their line.

I followed on foot, and as fast as I could run.  Fifty savages were
after me; I could hear their shouts.

I could hear them cry "Wakono," but I was soon far in advance of all.
The horse-guards, as I passed them, were shouting "Wakono!"

As soon as I had cleared the horse-drove, I again perceived the steed;
but he was now some distance off.  To my joy he was going in the right
direction--straight for the yuccas upon the hill.  My men would see and
intercept him?

I ran along the stream with all speed.  I reached the broken bank, and,
without stopping, rushed into the gully for my horse.

What was my astonishment to find that he was gone! my noble steed gone,
and in his place the spotted mustang of the Indian!

I looked up and down the channel; I looked along its banks--Moro was not
in sight!

I was puzzled, perplexed, furious.  I knew no explanation of the
mystery--I could think of none.  Who could have done it?  Who?  My
followers must have done it.  Rube must have done it? but why?  In my
hot haste, I could find no reason for this singular behaviour.

I had no time to reflect--not a moment.

I drew the animal from the water, and leaping upon his back, rode out of
the channel.

As I regained the level of the plain, I saw mounted men, a crowd of them
coming from the camp.  They were the savages in pursuit; one was far
ahead of the rest, and before I could turn my horse to flee, he was
close up to me.  In the moonlight I easily recognised him--it was
Hissoo-royo the renegade.

"Slave!" shouted he, speaking in the Comanche tongue, and with furious
emphasis, "it is you who have planned this.  Squaw! coward! you shall
die!  The white captive is mine--mine, Wakono! and you--"

He did not finish the sentence.  I still carried the Comanche spear; my
six months' service in a lance-regiment now stood me in stead; the
mustang behaved handsomely, and carried me full tilt upon my foe.

In another instant the renegade and his horse were parted; the former
lay levelled upon the grass, transfixed with the long spear, while the
latter was galloping riderless over the plain!

At this crisis I perceived the crowd coming up, and close to the spot.
There were twenty or more, and I saw that I should soon be surrounded.

A happy idea came opportunely to my relief.  All along I had observed
that I was mistaken for Wakono.  The Indians in the camp had cried
"Wakono;" the horse-guards shouted "Wakono" as I passed; the pursuers
were calling "Wakono" as they rode up; the renegade had fallen with the
name upon his lips: the spotted horse; the robe of jaguar-skins, the
plumed head-dress, the red hand, the white cross, all proclaimed me
Wakono!

I urged my horse a length or two forward, and reined up in front of the
pursuers.  I raised my arm, and shook it in menace before their faces;
at the same instant, I cried out in a loud voice--

"I am Wakono!  Death to him who follows!"

I spoke in Comanche.  I was not so sure of the correctness of my words--
either of the pronunciation or the syntax--but I had the gratification
to perceive that I was understood.  Perhaps my gestures helped the
savages to comprehend me--the meaning of these was not to be mistaken.

From whatever cause, the pursuers made no further advance; but one and
all, drawing in their horses, halted upon the spot.

I stayed not for further parley; but, wheeling quickly round, galloped
away from them, as fast as the mustang could carry me.



CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED.

THE LAST CHASE.

On facing towards the hill, I perceived the steed still not so distant.
His white body, gleaming under the clear moonlight, could have been
easily distinguished at a far greater distance.  I had expected to see
him much farther away; but, after all, the tilt of lances, and the
menace delivered to the pursuing horsemen, had scarcely occupied a score
of seconds, and he could not in the time have gone out of sight.

He was still running between myself and the foot of the hill--apparently
keeping along the bank of the stream.

I put the Indian horse to his full speed.  The point of my knife served
for whip and spur.  I was no longer encumbered with the spear; it had
been left in the body of Hissoo-royo.

I kept my eyes fixed upon the steed, but he was fast closing in to the
timber that skirted the base of the hill; he was nearing the bend where
I had taken to the water, and would soon be hidden from my view behind
the bushes.

All at once I saw him swerve, and strike away to the left, across the
open plain.  To my surprise I saw this, for I had conjectured that his
rider was aiming to reach the cover offered by the thicket.

Without waiting to think of an explanation, I headed the mustang into
the diagonal line, and galloped forward.

I was in hopes of getting nearer by the advantage thus given me; but I
was ill satisfied with the creeping pace of the Indian horse so unlike
the long, free stretch of my matchless Moro.  Where was he?  Why was I
not bestriding him?

The white steed soon shot clear of the hill, and was now running upon
the plain that stretched beyond it.

I saw that I was not gaining upon him; on the contrary, he was every
moment widening the distance between us.  Where was Moro?  Why had he
been taken away?

At that instant I perceived a dark horseman making along the foot of the
ridge, as if to intercept me; he was dashing furiously through the
thicket that skirted the base of the declivity.  I could hear the bushes
rattling against the flanks of his horse; he was evidently making all
the haste in his power, at the same time aiming to keep concealed from
the view of those upon the plain.

I recognised my horse, and upon his back the thin lank form of the
earless trapper!

We met the moment after, at the point where the thicket ended.

Without a word passing between us, both simultaneously flung ourselves
to the ground, exchanged horses, and remounted.  Thank Heaven!  Moro was
at last between my knees!

"Now, young fellur!" cried the trapper, as I parted from him, "gallip
like hell, an kitch up with her!  We'll soon be arter on yur trail--all
right thur.  Away!"

I needed no prompting from Rube; his speech was not finished, before I
had sprung my horse forward, and was going like the wind.

It was only then that I could comprehend why the horses had been
changed; a _ruse_ it was--an after-thought of the cunning trappers!

Had I mounted my own conspicuous steed by the camp, the Indians would,
in all probability, have suspected something, and continued the pursuit;
it was the spotted mustang that had enabled me to carry out the
counterfeit!

I had now beneath me a horse I could depend upon and with renewed vigour
I bent myself to the chase.  For the third time, the black and white
stallions were to make trial of their speed--for the third time was it
to be a struggle between these noble creatures.

Would the struggle be hard and long?  Would Moro again be defeated?
Such were my reflections as I swept onward in the pursuit.

I rode in silence; I scarcely drew breath, so keen were my apprehensions
about the result.

A long start had the prairie-horse.  My delay had thrown me far behind
him--nearly a mile.  But for the friendly light, I should have lost
sight of him altogether; but the plain was open, the moon shining
brightly, and the snow-white form, like a meteor, beaconed me onward.

I had not galloped far before I perceived that I was rapidly gaining
upon the steed.  Surely he was not running at his fleetest?  Surely he
was going more slowly than was his wont?

Oh! could his rider but know who was coming after!--could she but hear
me!

I would have called, but the distance was still too great.  She could
not have heard even my shouts; how then distinguish my voice?

I galloped on in silence.  I was gaining--constantly and rapidly
gaining.  Surely I was drawing nearer? or were my eyes playing false
under the light of the moon?

I fancied that the steed was running heavily--slowly and heavily--as if
he was labouring in the race.  I fancied--no, it was no fancy--I was
sure of it!  Beyond a doubt, he was not going at his swiftest speed!

What could it mean?  Was he broken by fatigue?

Still nearer and nearer I came, until scarcely three hundred yards
appeared between us.  My shout might now be heard; my voice--

I called aloud; I called the name of my betrothed, coupling it with my
own; but no answer came back--no sign of recognition to cheer me.

The ground that lay between us favoured a race-course speed; and I was
about putting my horse to his full stretch, when, to my astonishment, I
saw the white steed stagger forward, and fall headlong to the earth!

It did not check my career; and in a few seconds more I was upon the
spot, and halting over horse and rider, still prostrate.

I flung myself from the saddle just as Isolina disengaged herself, and
rose to her feet.  With her right hand clasping the red knife, she stood
confronting me.

"Savage! approach me not!" she cried in the Comanche tongue, and with a
gesture that told her determination.

"Isolina!  I am not--It is--"

"Henri!"

No words interrupted that wild embrace; no sound could be heard save
that made by our hearts, as they throbbed closely together.

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

Silently I stood upon the plain with my betrothed in my arms.  Moro was
by our side, proudly curving his neck and chafing the steel between his
foaming lips.  At our feet lay the prairie-horse with the barb in his
vitals, and the feathered shaft protruding from his side.  His eyes were
fixed and glassy; blood still ran from his spread nostrils; but his
beautiful limbs were motionless in death!

Horsemen were seen approaching the spot.  We did not attempt to flee
from them: I recognised my followers.

They came galloping up; and, drawing bridle, sat silent in their
saddles.

We looked back over the plain; there was no sign of pursuit; but for all
that, we did not tarry there.  We knew not how soon the Indians might be
after us; the friends of Hissoo-royo might yet come upon the trail of
Wakono!

We scarce gave a parting look to that noble form stretched lifeless at
our feet; but plying the spur, rode rapidly away.

It was near daybreak when we halted to rest, and then only after the
prairie had been fired behind us.

We found shelter in a pretty grove of acacias, and a grassy turf on
which to repose.  My wearied followers soon fell asleep.

I slept not; I watched over the slumbers of my betrothed.  Her beautiful
head rested upon my knees; her soft damask cheek was pillowed upon the
robe of jaguar-skins, and my eyes were upon it.  The thick tresses had
fallen aside, and I saw--

The matador, too, had been merciful! or had gold bribed him from his
cruel intent?  No matter which--he had failed in his fiendish duty.

There in full entirety were those delicate organs--perfect, complete.  I
saw but the trifling scar where the gold circlet had been rudely
plucked--the source of that red haemorrhage that had been noticed by
Cyprio!

I was too happy to sleep.

It was our last night upon the prairies.  Before the setting of another
sun we had crossed the Rio Grande, and arrived in the camp of our army.
Under the broad protecting wings of the American eagle, my betrothed
could repose in safety, until that blissful hour when--

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

Of the Comanches we never heard more.  The story of one only was
afterwards told--a fearful tale.  Ill-fated Wakono!  A horrid end was
his.

An oft-told tale by the prairie camp-fire is that of the skeleton of an
Indian warrior found clasping the trunk of a tree!  Wakono had horribly
perished.

We had no design of giving him to such a fate.  Without thought had we
acted; and though he may have deserved death, we had not designed for
him such terrible retribution.

Perhaps I was the only one who had any remorseful feeling; but the
remembrance of that scalp-bedecked shield--the scenes in that Cyprian
grove--those weeping captives, wedded to a woeful lot--the remembrance
of these cruel realities evermore rose before my mind, stifling the
remorse I should otherwise have felt for the doom of the ill-starred
savage.  His death, though terrible in kind, was merited by his deeds;
and was perhaps as just as punishments usually are.

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

Poetical justice demands the death of Ijurra, and by the hand of
Holingsworth.  Truth enables me to satisfy the demand.

On my return to the camp, I learned that the act was already
consummated--the brother's blood had been avenged!

It was a tragic tale, and would take many chapters in the telling.  I
may not give them here.  Let a few particulars suffice.

From that dread night, Holingsworth had found a willing hand to aid him
in his purpose of retribution--one who yearned for vengeance keenly as
himself.  Wheatley was the man.

The two, with a chosen party, had thrown themselves on the trail of the
guerrilla; and with Pedro as their guide, had followed it far within the
hostile lines.  Like sleuth-hounds had they followed it night and day,
until they succeeded in tracking the guerrilleros to their lair.

It was a desperate conflict--hand to hand, and knife to knife--but the
rangers at length triumphed; most of the guerrilleros were slain, and
the band nearly annihilated.

Ijurra fell by Holingsworth's own hand; while the death of the red
ruffian El Zorro, by the bowie knife of the Texan lieutenant, was an
appropriate punishment for the cruelty inflicted upon Conchita.  The
revenge of both was complete, though both still bore the sorrow within
their hearts.

The expedition of the two lieutenants was productive of other fruits.
In the head-quarters of the guerrilla they found many prisoners, Yankees
and Ayankieados--among others, that rare diplomatist Don Ramon de
Vargas.

Of course the old gentleman was released from captivity; and had arrived
at the American camp, just in time to welcome his fair daughter and
future son-in-law from their grand ante-hymeneal "tour upon the
prairies."