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 alcaldé 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 métier 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 mêlée.
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!