Майн Рид
The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse
But my eyes soon returned to the earth, and once more taking up the trace of the steed, I rode on.
I had advanced near the summit. The tracks were quite recent; the branches that had been touched by the flanks of the horse had not yet ceased to vibrate; the rider could not be far in advance. I fancied I heard the hoof-stroke.
Silently I pressed on, expecting every moment to catch the gleam of the scarlet manga, or the white sheen of the steed.
A few paces farther, and both were under my eyes, glittering through the feathery frondage of the mimosas. I had followed the true track. The rider was Isolina.
I saw that she had halted. She had reached the top of the hill, where the growth of timber ceased. An opening of about an acre there was, surrounded on all sides by the flowery woods – the very beau-idéal of a summer glade. The open summit commanded a view of the surrounding country – for the hill was a high one – while the charming spot itself enjoyed perfect privacy and repose.
In this glade, she had drawn up, and was sitting silently in the saddle as if to enjoy the warbling of birds, the hum of the bees, and the fragrance of flowers.
I myself drew rein, and remained for some moments in a state of hesitancy, as to whether I should ride forward or go back. A feeling of shame was upon me, and I believe I would have turned my horse and stolen gently away, but just then I saw the fair rider draw forth from her bosom something that glittered in the sun. It was a watch, and she appeared to note the time. I observed that she looked anxiously over the tops of the low trees, in the direction of the plain below.
These circumstances, trivial as they might appear, produced within me a quick sense of pain. I felt as if hot steel was passing through my heart. I had ridden to my ruin – I had followed to be present at an assignation. Thus only could I explain the solitary ride, and by such difficult and devious paths; thus only could I account for the oft-repeated anxious glance, the ear acutely bent. Beyond a doubt, she was listening for the footsteps of a lover!
The rein fell from my fingers. I sat irresolute – I scarcely breathed – my heart felt cold and feeble – the birds mocked me – the parrots screeched his name – the aras in hoarse concert cried out “Ijurra!”
The name nerved me, as blood knits the sinews of the tiger. Once more my fingers closed upon my bridle, my feet became firm in the stirrups, and heart and arm swelled to their full strength. ’Twas but a light rapier that hung against my thigh – no matter; he might be no better weaponed; but even armed from head to heel, I feared him not. Three passions – hatred, jealousy, and revenge – supplied an arm of treble strength, and under the influence of these I felt bold and sure of conquest. Yes, I felt at that moment, as though I could have slain my hated rival with my naked hands.
I was no longer troubled with scruples of etiquette. No; this monster owed me satisfaction – life itself: he had striven to take mine; and now his should be forfeit to my vengeance. On that spot – even in her presence – should he die, or I myself become the victim. The two of us should never go thence alive. “Oh, that he may reach the ground while my blood is thus hot, and my hand ready!”
The fierce thoughts stirring within me must have roused my horse, for at that moment he tossed his head and neighed wildly. A response came like an echo from the glade, and the instant after, a voice called out. —
“Hola! quien va?”
Concealment was no longer possible. I saw that I was observed; and, spurring my horse into the open ground, I rode up, and halted face to face with Isolina.
Chapter Forty Six.
A Declaration on Horseback
Face to face with my beautiful brunette. Her eyes flashed upon me with an expression of surprise. I felt abashed by the glance; my conduct was not en règle.
I bethought me of an apology. What excuse could I offer for such unceremonious intrusion? Accident? She would not believe it; the time and the place were against such a supposition. With an intellect like hers, it would be idle to adopt so shallow an artifice. No; I would not dissemble; I would boldly avow the truth. Jealousy had rendered me reckless of the result.
“Adios, cavallero!” said she, interrupting my hurried reflections. “Carrambo! where is your guide? How have you found this place?”
“Easily enough, señorita; I followed the tracks of your horse.”
“But so soon – I did not expect you – ”
“No; you expected another?”
“Certainly. I thought Cyprio would arrive before you – ”
“Cyprio!”
“Cyprio – yes, Cyprio.”
“Señorita! if this be another name for your Protean cousin, I have to say it will be better for him he should not arrive at all.”
“My cousin? – better not arrive? Holy Trinity, capitan! I do not comprehend you!”
Her large brown eyes were rolling in astonishment. I was as much puzzled as she, but I had begun my explanation, and was determined to carry it to the end.
“Then, Señorita de Vargas, I shall be more explicit. If Rafael Ijurra appear upon this ground, either he or I leave it not alive. He has attempted my life, and I have vowed to take his, whenever and wherever I may meet him.”
“Pray heaven you may keep your vow!”
“Your cousin?”
“My cousin – Rafael Ijurra – my worst foe – the direst enemy of our house!”
“Ha! and were you not waiting him?”
“Awaiting him! Ha, ha, ha! No. Little timid though I be, I should not desire to be here alone with Rafael Ijurra.”
“Lady! you astonish me; pray explain – ”
“Por dios! gallant capitan, ’tis you who need explain. I sought this interview to thank you for your noble gift. You meet me with anger in your eye, and bitter words upon your tongue.”
“You sought this interview? – say you so, lady?”
“Certainly I did. For reasons already known to you, I dared not invite you to our house; so I have chosen this pretty glade for my drawing-room. How do you like it, cavallero?”
“In your society, señorita, the rudest spot would appear a paradise.”
“Again the poet’s tongue! Ah, capitan, remember the yellow domino! No more flattery, I pray; we are no longer en masque. Face to face, let us be candid with each other.”
“With all my heart I accept the conditions. Candour is the very thing I desire, for, to say the truth, I came prepared for a confession.”
“A confession!”
“Precisely so; but since you are an advocate for candour, may I first ask a question?”
“Ho! you wish to play the confessor with me?”
“I do, señorita.”
“Bravo, capitan! Proceed! I shall answer you in all sincerity.”
“Then, lady, what I would ask first – Who is this Cyprio whom you expected?”
“Cyprio! Ha, ha, ha! Who should Cyprio be but my mozo; he who carried my message to you. Why do you put such a question?”
“He who carried your message to me?”
“Of course. Yonder is the muchaco himself. Hola, Cyprio! you may return to the house. Carrambo capitan! both he and you must have sped well. I did not expect you for half-an-hour; but you soldiers are soon in the saddle. So much the better, for it is getting late, and I have a great deal to say to you.”
A light had broken upon me. ’Twas Cyprio I had passed in the forest shade; the boy was the bearer of a message – hence his having hailed me. ’Twas I who was expected to keep the assignation; ’twas I for whom the timepiece had been consulted – for whom those earnest glances had been given!
The bitter moments were past, and my heart swelled anew with proud and pleasant emotions.
As yet she knew not that I had come without invitation. Cyprio, at the word of command, had gone off without making any reply, and my prompt appearance upon the ground was still unexplained.
I was about to account for it, and offer some apology for my brusque behaviour, when I was challenged to the confession I had just promised.
Minor thoughts gave way before the important purpose I had formed, and to which the banter now recalled me. So fair an opportunity might never offer again. In the vicissitudes of a soldier’s life, the chance of to-day should not be disregarded – to-morrow may bring change either in the scene or the circumstances; and I was skilled enough in love-lore to know that an hour unimproved is often followed by an age of regrets.
But, in truth, I do some wrong to my character; I was but little under the influence of such cunning cognisance at that moment. I acted not by volition, but rather under pressure of a passion that held complete mastery over my will, and compelled me to the declaration I was about to make.
It was simple enough – three little words in either of the two sweet tongues in which we understood each other. I chose the one – of all others most attuned to the tones of the loving heart – and bending low to that fair face, and gazing into the liquid depths of those large inquiring eyes, I whispered the sweet, though oft-repeated phrase —
“Yo te amo.”
The words quivered upon my lips, but their tone proved the sincerity in which I had spoken. No doubt it was further manifest by the earnestness of my manner as I awaited her reply.
The habitual smile had departed from her lips; the damask red deepened and mounted higher upon her cheeks; the dark fringes drooped downward, and half-concealed the burning orbs beneath: the face of the gay girl had suddenly assumed the serious air of womanhood.
At first, I was terrified by the expression, and could scarcely control my dread; but I drew hope from the flushed cheek, the roseate neck, the swelling panting bosom. Strong emotions were stirring in that breast.
Oh, what emotions! will she not speak? Will she not declare them?
There was a long interval of silence – to me, it seemed an age.
“Señor,” she said at length – ’twas the first time I had heard that voice tremble – “Señor, you promised to be candid; you have been so: are you equally sincere?”
“I have spoken from the depth of my soul.”
The long lashes were raised, and the love-light gleamed in her liquid eyes; for a moment it burned steadily, bathing my heart as with balm. Heaven itself could not have shed a brighter beam upon my spirit.
All at once a smile played upon her features, in which I detected, or fancied so, the gay insouciance that springs from indifference. To me it was another moment of pain. She continued —
“And pray, capitan, what would you have me do?”
I felt embarrassed, and replied not.
“Would you have me declare that I love you?”
“Oh! you cannot – you do not – ”
“You have not asked the question!”
“No, lady. I too much dread the answer.”
“Ho! what a coward you have grown of late! A pity I am not masked. Shall I draw this veil? Ha, ha, ha!”
It was not the manner of love. Love laughs not. My heart was heavy; I made no reply, but with eyes upon the ground, sat in my saddle, feeling like one condemned.
For some moments her laughter rang in my ears, as I fancied, in mockery. Her sweet silvery voice only grated upon my heart. Oh, that I had never listened to its siren tones!
I heard the hoof-stroke of her horse; and, looking up, saw that she was moving away from the spot. Was she going to leave me thus?
She spurred towards the centre of the glade, where the ground was higher, and there again pulled up.
“Come hither, cavallero!” she cried, beckoning to me with her small gloved hand.
Mechanically, I moved forward to the spot.
“So, gallant capitan! you who are brave enough to meet a score of foes, have not the courage to ask a woman if she loves you!”
A dismal smile was my only reply to this bitter badinage.
“Ah! capitan,” she continued, “I will not believe it; ere now you have put that dreaded interrogatory – often, I fear too often.”
I looked at her with surprise. There was a touch of bitterness in the tone. The gay smile was gone; her eyelids drooped; her look was turned upon the ground.
Was this real, or only a seeming? the prelude to some abrupt antithesis? some fresh outburst of satire?
“Señorita!” said I, “the hypothesis, whether true or false, can have but little interest for you.”
She answered me with a smile of strange intelligence. I fancied there was sadness in it. I fancied —
“We cannot recover the past,” said she, interrupting my thoughts; “no, no, no! But for the present – say again – tell me again that you love me!”
“Love you! – yes, lady – ”
“And I have your heart, your whole heart?”
“Never – can I love another!”
“Thanks! thanks!”
“No more than thanks, Isolina?”
For some moments she remained silent, her eyes averted from me; she appeared struggling with some emotion.
“Yes, more than thanks,” she replied at length; “gratitude! three things more – if they will suffice to prove my gratitude.”
“Name them!”
“Why should prudery tie my tongue? I promised to be candid. I, too, came here to make confession. Listen! Three things I have said. Look around you! – north, south, east, and west – the land you see is mine; be it yours, if you will.”
“Isolina!”
“This, too, can I bestow,” – she held forth her little hand, which I clasped with fervid emotion.
“More! more! the third?”
“The third, on second thoughts, I cannot give; ’tis yours already.”
“It is – ?”
“Mia corazon” (My heart).
Those splendid steeds, like creatures of intelligence, appeared to understand what was said; they had gradually moved closer and closer, till their muzzles touched and their steel curbs rang together. At the last words, they came side by side, as if yoked in a chariot. It appeared delight to them to press their proud heaving flanks against each other, while their riders, closing in mutual clasp, leaned over and met their lips in that wild fervid kiss – the climax of love.
Chapter Forty Seven.
Strayed from the Track
We parted upon the top of the hill. It was not prudent for us to be seen riding together, and Isolina went away first, leaving me in the glade.
We had bidden adieu in that phrase of pleasant promise, “hasta la mañana” (until to-morrow). To-morrow we should meet again. To-morrow, and to-morrow, we should visit that sweet spot, repeat our burning words, renew our blissful vows.
I remained some minutes on the ground, now hallowed and holy. Within, the tumult of triumphant passion had passed, and was succeeded by the calm repose of perfect contentment. My heart’s longings had been gratified; it had found all that it desired – even to the full reciprocity of its passion. What would it more? There is no more of mundane bliss. Life has no felicity to cope with requited love; it alone can give us a foretaste of future joys; by it only may we form some idea of the angel existence of heaven.
The world without was in harmony with the spirit within. The scene around me was rose-coloured. The flowers appeared fresher in tint, and breathed a sweeter fragrance in the air; the hum of the homeward bee, laden with treasures for his love-queen, fell with a dreamy pleasance upon the ear; the voices of the birds sounded softer and more musical; even the aras and paroquets, chanting in a more subdued tone, no longer pronounced that hated name; and the tiny Mexican doves, las palomitas– scarcely so large as finches – walked with proud gait over the ground, or side by side upon the branches of the myrtles – like types of tender love – told their heart’s tale in soft and amorous cooing.
Long could I have lingered by that consecrated spot, even hasta la mañana, but duty claimed me, and its calls must not be disregarded. Already the setting sun was flinging purple beams over the distant prairie; and, heading my horse down the hill, I once more plunged under the shadows of the mimosas.
Absorbed in my supreme happiness, I took no heed of aught else; I noticed neither track nor path.
Had I left my horse to himself, most likely he would have taken the right road; but in my reverie, perhaps I had mechanically dragged upon the rein, and turned him from it. Whether or not, after a lapse of time, I found myself in the midst of thick woods, with not the semblance of a trail to guide me; and I knew not whether I was riding in the right direction. I ought rather to say that I knew the contrary – else I must long before have reached the clearings around the village.
Without much reflection, I turned in a new direction, and rode for some time without striking a trail. This led me once more into doubt, and I made head back again, but still without success. I was in a forest-plain, but I could find no path leading anywhere; and amid the underwood of palmettoes I could not see any great distance around me. Beyond a question, I had strayed far out of my way.
At an early hour of the day, this would have given me little concern; but the sun had now set, and already under the shadow of the moss-covered trees, it was nearly dark. Night would be down in a few minutes, and in all probability I should be obliged to spend it in the forest – by no means an agreeable prospect, and the less so that I was thinly clad and hungry. True, I might pass some hours in sweet reflection upon the pleasant incident of the day – I might dream rosy dreams – but, alas! the soul is sadly under the influence of the body; the spiritual must ever yield to the physical, and even love itself becomes a victim to the vulgar appetite of hunger.
I began to fear that, after all, I should have but a sorry night of it. I should be too hungry to think; too cold either to sleep or dream; besides, I was likely to get wet to the shirt – as the rain had commenced falling in large heavy drops.
After another unsuccessful effort to strike a trail, I pulled up and sat listening. My eyes would no longer avail me; perhaps my ears might do better service.
And so it chanced. The report of a rifle reached them, apparently fired some hundred yards off in the woods.
Considering that I was upon hostile ground, such a sound might have caused me alarm; but I knew from the sharp whip-like crack that the piece was a hunter’s rifle, and no Mexican ever handled a gun of that kind. Moreover, I had heard, closely following upon the shot, a dull concussion, as of some heavy body dropped from a high elevation to the ground. I was hunter enough to know the signification of this sound. It was the game – bird or beast – that had fallen from a tree.
An American must have fired that shot; but who? There were only three or four of the rangers who carried the hunter-rifle – a very different weapon from the “regulation” piece – old backwoodsmen who had been indulged in their whim. It might be one of these.
Without hesitation, I headed my horse for the spot, and rode as rapidly as the underwood would permit me.
I kept on for five minutes or more without halting. I certainly must have passed the place where the shot had been fired, and yet I saw no one; but just as I was about to pull up again, a well-known voice reached me from behind with the words —
“By the jumpin Geehosophat! it ur the young fellur – the capt’n!”
Turning, I beheld my trapper comrades just emerging from the bushes, where they had cautiously cached themselves, on hearing the hoof-strokes of my horse, and lain hid till I had passed them.
Rube carried upon his shoulders a large turkey gobbler – the game I had heard drop – while upon Garey’s back I observed the choice portions of a deer.
“You have been foraging to some advantage,” I remarked as they came up.
“Yes, capt’n,” replied Garey, “we won’t want for rashuns. Not but that your rangers offered us a plenty to eat; but ye see we couldn’t in honour accept o’ it, for we promised to find for ourselves.”
“Ye-es, durn it!” added Rube, “we’re free mountainee men – ain’t a gwine to sponge on nobody – we ain’t.”
“An’, capt’n,” continued Garey, “thar don’t appear to be any great eatin’ fixins about the place for yurself neyther: if yu’ll just accept o’ the turkey, and one o’ these hyar quarters o’ the deer-meat, thar’s plenty left for Rube an’ me; ain’t thar, Rube?”
“Gobs!” was the laconic answer.
I was not loath to satisfy the wish of the hunters – for to say the truth, the village larder had no such delicacies as either wild turkey or venison – and having signified my assent, we all three moved away from the spot. With the trappers for my guides, I should soon get into the right road. They, too, were on their return to the post. They had been in the woods since noon. They were both afoot, having left their horses at the rancheria.
After winding about half-a-mile among the trees, we came out upon a narrow road. Here my companions, who were unacquainted with the neighbourhood, were at fault as well as myself: and knew not which direction to take.
It was dark as pitch, but, as on the night before, there was lightning at intervals. Unlike the preceding night, however, it was now raining as if all the sluices of the sky had been set open; and by this time we were all three of us soaking wet. The whole canopy of heaven was shrouded in black, without a single streak of light upon it – not even a star. Who could discover the direction in such a night?
As the lightning flashed, I saw Rube bending down over the road; he appeared to be examining the tracks. I noticed that there were wheel-tracks – deep ruts – evidently made by the rude block-wheels of a carreta. It was these that the trapper was scanning.
Almost as soon as a man could have read the direction from a finger-post, Rube raised himself erect, and crying out —
“All right – this-away!” set off along the road.
I was curious to know how he had determined the point, and questioned him.
“Wal, yur see, young fellur, it ur the trail o’ a Mexikin cart; an’ anybody as iver seed thet ur vamint, knows it hez got only two wheels. But thur are four tracks hyur, an’ thurfor the cart must a gone back an’ fo’th, for I seed they wur the same set o’ wheels. Now, ’tur raizonable to s’pose thet the back-track leads to the settlements, an’ thet’s thisaway.”
“But how could you tell which was the back-track?”
“Wagh! thet ur easy as fallin’ off a log. The back track ur the fresher by more’n a kupple o’ hours.”
Pondering upon the singular “instinct” that enabled our guide to distinguish the tracks, I rode on in silence.
Shortly after, I again heard the voice of Rube, who was some paces in the advance.
“I kud a knowd the way,” he said, “’ithout the wheel-tracks: they only made things more sartint sure.”
“How?” I asked. “What other clue had you?”
“The water,” replied he; “’ee see, or ’ee mout, ef you’d a looked into the tracks, thet it ur runnin’ this-away. Do ee hear thet thur?”
I listened. I heard distinctly the sound of running water, as of a small stream carried down a rough rocky channel.
“Yes – I hear it, but how should the water guide you?”
“Wal,” continued the trapper, “it ur a branch made by the rain: we’re a follerin it down; an’ thurfor must kum to the river jest whur we want to git. Oncest thur, we’ll soon find our way, I reck’n. Wagh! how the durned rain kums down! It ’ud drown a muss-rat. Wagh!”
The result proved the trapper’s reasoning correct. The road-water was running in the direction we had taken; and shortly after, the brawling branch shot out from among the bushes, and crossed our path, diverging from it at an acute angle. We could see, however, as we plunged through the now swollen streamlet, that the current, in its general direction, was the same with our road: it would certainly guide us to the river.
It did so. Half a mile farther on we came out upon its banks, and struck the main road leading to the rancheria.
A few minutes’ brisk travelling carried us to the outskirts of the village, and we expected soon to be under shelter, when we were all three brought to a sudden halt by the sharp hail of the sentry, who called out the usual interrogatory —
“Who goes there?”
“Friends!” I replied; “’tis you, Quackenboss?”
I had recognised the voice of the soldier-botanist, and under the lightning saw him standing by the trunk of a tree.
“Halt! Give the countersign!” was the response in a firm, determined tone.
I did not know this masonic pass-word. On riding out, I had not thought of such a thing, and I began to anticipate some trouble. I resolved, however, to make trial of the sentry.
“We haven’t got the countersign. ’Tis I, Quackenboss. I am – ”
I announced my name and rank.
“Don’t care for all that!” was the somewhat surly rejoinder; “can’t pass ’ithout the countersign.”
“Yer durned fool! it’s yur captin,” cried Rube, in a peevish tone.
“Maybe,” replied the imperturbable sentry; “can’t let him pass ’ithout countersign.”
I now saw that we were in a real dilemma.
“Send for the corporal of the guard, or either of the lieutenants,” I suggested, thinking that that might be the shortest way to get over the difficulty.
“Hain’t got nobody to send,” came the gruff voice of Quackenboss from out the darkness.
“I’ll go!” promptly answered Garey – the big trapper thinking, in his innocence, there could be no reason why he should not carry the message to quarters – and as he spoke, he made a step or two forward in the direction of the sentinel.
“Halt there!” thundered the voice of Quackenboss; “halt! another step, and I’ll plug you with a bullet.”
“What’s thet? plug, he sez?” screamed Rube, leaping to the front. “Geezus Geehosophat! yu’ll plug ’im, eh? Yur durned mulehead, if ’ee shoot this way, it ’ll be the last time yu’ll ever lay claw to a trigger. Now then!” and Rube stood with his rifle half raised to the level, and threatening to raise it still higher.
At that moment, the lightning gleamed; I saw the sentry with his piece also at a level.
I well knew the accuracy of his aim; I trembled for the result.
In my loudest voice I called out —
“Hold, Quackenboss! hold your fire! we shall wait till some one comes;” and as I spoke, I caught both my companions, and drew them back.
Whether it was the commanding tone of my voice, which the ranger had heard before, or whether in the light he had recognised my features, I saw him, before it darkened, lower his piece, and I felt easy again.
But he still obstinately refused to let us pass.
Further parley was to no purpose, and only led to an exchange of rather rough compliments between Quackenboss and my two companions; so, after endeavouring to make peace between them, I stood still to await the chance of some one of the guard coming within hail.
Fortunately, at that moment, a ranger, somewhat the worse for aguardiente, appeared in the direction of the piazza.
Quackenboss condescended to call him up; and after a crooked palaver, he was despatched to bring the corporal of the guard.
The arrival of the latter ended our troubles, and we were permitted to reach the piazza without further hindrance; but as we passed the stern sentry, I could hear Rube mutter to him —
“Ee durned mulehead! ef I hed ye out upon the parairas, wudn’t I! Wagh!”
