Майн Рид
The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse
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!
