Майн Рид
The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse
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 – perhaps the picket was withdrawn?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 “piñons” – 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 yäger 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!”
