The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

“I hain’t answered him yet,” was the prompt reply: “but hyar’s the answer!”

I saw Garey’s arm raised, with his huge fist clenched; I saw it descend like a trip-hammer upon the face of the Mexican, who under the blow fell heavily to the earth.

Chapter Thirty Two.

A Dead Shot

The unexpected closing of the conference elicited an angry shout from the Mexican horsemen; and, without waiting for orders, they galloped up to their chief.

Halting at long-range, they fired their carbines and escopettes; but their bullets cut the grass far in front of us, and one or two that hurtled past were wide of the mark.

The lieutenant, who had been only stunned, soon recovered his legs, but not his temper. His wrath overbalanced his prudence, else the moment he found his feet he would have made the best of his way to his horse and comrades.

Instead of doing so, he turned full front towards us, raised his arm in the air, shook his clenched fist in a menacing manner, accompanying the action with a torrent of defiant speech.

Of what he said, we understood but the concluding phrase, and that was the bitter and blasphemous carajo! that hissed through his teeth with the energetic aspiration of rage and revenge.

That oath was the last word he ever uttered; his parting breath scarcely carried it from his lips ere he ceased to live. I heard the fierce word, and almost simultaneously the crack of a rifle, fired close to my ear. I saw the dust puff out from the embroidered spencer of the Mexican, and directly over his heart; I saw his hand pass rapidly to the spot, and the next moment I saw him fall forward upon his face!

Without a groan, without a struggle, he lay as he had fallen, spread, dead, and motionless upon the prairie!

“Thur now, an damn yur carajo!” cried a voice at my shoulder; “ee won’t bid for me agin, ye skunk – thet yur won’t!”

Though I turned involuntarily to the speaker it was not for an explanation. Of course, it was Rube who spoke. His rifle was smoking at the muzzle, and he was proceeding to reload it.

“Wa-hoo – woop!” continued he, uttering his wild war-cry; “thet shortens thur count, I reck’n. Another nick for Targuts! Gi’ me her for a gun. Wagh! a long pull it wur for the ole weepun; an the glint in my eyes too! The niggur riled me, or I wudn’t a risked it. Hold yur hosses, boys!” he continued in a more earnest tone: “don’t fire till I’m loaded – for yur lives, don’t!”

“All right, Rube!” cried Garey, who hastily passing under the belly of his horse, had re-entered the square, and once more handled his rifle. “All right, old boy! Ne’er a fear! we’ll wait for ye.”

Somewhat to our surprise, Rube was allowed ample time to reload, and our three barrels once more protruded over the shoulders of Garey’s horse. Our animals still held their respective positions. Three of them were too well used to such scenes, to be startled by the detonation of a rifle; and the fourth, fastened as he was, kept his place perforce.

I say, to our surprise we were allowed time to get into our old vantage-ground; for we had expected an immediate charge from the guerrilla.

Vengeance for the death of their comrade would give them courage enough for that; so thought we; but we were mistaken, as their ire only vented itself in fierce yells, violent gestures, and ejaculations.

They had now clustered around their chief without order or formation, though they seemed to pay but slight regard to his authority. Some appeared to be urging him to lead them on! Others came galloping nearer, and fired their carbines or shook their lances in a threatening manner; but one and all were careful to keep outside that perilous circle, whose circumference marked the range of our rifles. They seemed, even less inclined for close quarters than ever; the fate of their comrade had awed them.

The dead man lay about half-way between them and us, glittering in his picturesque habiliments. They were weaker by his loss – for not only had he been one of their leaders, but one of their best men. They saw he was dead, though none had dared to approach him. They knew the Texan rifle of old – these spangled heroes; they knew, moreover, that we were armed with revolvers, and the fame of this terrible weapon had been already carried beyond the frontier of the Rio Grande.

Notwithstanding all that, men of our race, under similar circumstances, would have charged without hesitation. So, too, would men of theirs three centuries ago.

Perhaps in that band was an Alvarado, a Sandoval, a Diaz, or De Soto! only in name. O Cortez! and you conquistadores! could you have beheld your degenerate descendants!

And yet not all of them were cowards; some, I dare say, were brave enough, for there are brave men among the Mexicans. A few were evidently willing to make the attack, but they wanted combination – they wanted a leader: he who acted as such appeared to be endowed with more prudence than valour.

Meanwhile we kept our eyes fixed upon them, listening to their varied cries, and closely watching their movements.

In perfect coolness, we regarded them – at least so much can I say for my comrades. Though life or death rested upon the issue, both were as cool at that moment as if they had been only observing the movements of a gang of buffaloes! There was no sign of trepidation – hardly a symptom of excitement visible in the countenance of either. Now and then, a half-muttered ejaculation, a rapid exchange of thought – relating to some fresh movement of the enemy – alone told that both were alive to the peril of the situation.

I cannot affirm that I shared with them this extreme and perfect sang froid; though upon my nerves, less indifferent to danger, their example had its effect, and inspired me with courage sufficient for the occasion. Besides, I drew confidence from another source. In case of defeat, I had a resource unshared by my companions – perhaps unthought of by them. Trusting to the matchless speed of my horse, as a last resort, I might possibly escape. I could have ridden off at that moment without fear of being overtaken, but the craven thought was not entertained for an instant. By my honour, no! I should have accepted death upon the spot rather than desert the brave men who stood by my side. To them I was indebted for my life. ’Twas for me that theirs were now in peril; and from the first moment I had determined to stand by them to the end, and sell my blood at its dearest. In the event of both falling before me, it would then be time enough to think of flight.

Even this contingency had the effect of strengthening my courage, and at that moment I viewed the vengeful foe with a coolness and freedom from fear that now, in the retrospect, surprises me.

During the interval of inaction that followed, I was cool enough to reflect upon the demand which the guerrilla leader had made – the surrender of my person. Why was I singled out? We were all enemies alike – all Americans or Texans – on Mexican soil, and armed for strife. Why did they want me alone?

Was it because I was superior in rank to my companions? But how knew they this? – how knew they I was a “ranger-captain”? Ha! they must have known it before; they must have come out specially in search of me!

A light flashed suddenly into my mind – a suspicion strong almost as certainty. But for the sun glancing in my eyes, I might have earlier obtained an explanation of the mystery.

I drew down the visor of my forage-cap, stretching it to its full extent; I increased the shade with my flattened palms, and from under them strained my eyes upon the leader of the band. Already his voice, while in conversation with Garey, had aroused a faint recollection within me. I had heard that voice only once, but I thought I remembered it. Guided by my suspicion, I now scrutinised more closely the countenance of the man. Fortunately the face was turned towards me, and, despite the dazzling of the sunbeams, despite the slouched sombrero, I recognised the dark features of Rafael Ijurra! In that glance I comprehended the situation. He it was who wanted the “ranger-captain!”

There was doubt no longer. My suspicion was a certainty; but with the next throb of my heart rose another, a thousand times more painful – a suspicion of —

With an effort, I stifled my emotions; a movement was perceptible among the guerrilleros; the moment of action had arrived!

Chapter Thirty Three.

A Running-Shot

Though our enemies were once more in motion, we no longer anticipated a direct attack; the time for that had passed. The fate of their comrade had evidently checked their ardour, and too much shouting and bravado had cooled, rather than heightened, their enthusiasm.

We could tell by their manoeuvring that some new mode of assault had been planned, and was about to be practised.

“Cowardly skunks!” muttered Rube; “they hain’t the pluck to charge us! Who ever heerd o’ fair fight in a Mexikin? Damn ’em, thur arter some trick,” he continued, in a more serious tone. “What do ’ee think it be, Billee?”

“I’m thinkin’, old boy,” replied Garey, whose keen grey eye had been for some time fixed on the movements of the guerrilla – “I’m thinkin’ thar a-goin to gallup roun, an try a shot at us Injun fashion.”

“Yur right,” assented Rube; “thet’s thur game! Scalp me ef ’taint! Look yanner! – thur they go!”

The horsemen were no longer in line, nor formed in any fashion. Irregularly grouped, they exhibited a “clump” upon the prairie, some standing still, others in motion.

As Rube uttered the last words, one of them was seen to shoot out from the main body, spurring his steed into a gallop as he parted from the crowd.

One might have fancied he was about to ride off from the ground: but no; that was not his intention. When he had made half-a-dozen stretches over the plain, he guided his horse into a curve, evidently with the design of riding around us.

As soon as he had gained some score of yards from the troop, a second horseman followed, repeating the manoeuvre; and then another and another, until five of the band, thus deployed, galloped round us in circles. The remaining six kept their ground.

We observed that the five had left their lances behind them, and carried only their carbines.

We were not astonished at this: we divined the intention of our enemies. They were about to practise an old prairie-tactic – a stratagem of the horse-Indians – with which all three of us were familiar.

We might have been more apprehensive about the result had it been really Indians who were going to practise the manoeuvre – since in an attack of this kind, the bow, with its many missiles in a minute, is far more dangerous than either carbine or rifle. But the fact that our assailants understood the stratagem, told us we were opposed to men who had seen Indian fight – no doubt, the picked men of the frontier – and to defend ourselves would require all the courage and cunning we possessed.

It did not surprise us that only a portion of the band galloped out to effect the surround; there was design in that, and we knew it. The five who had been detached were to wheel round us in circles, dash at intervals within range, fire their carbines, kill some of our horses, keep us distracted, and if possible, draw the fire of our rifles. This purpose effected, the other six – who had already approached as near as was safe for them – would charge forward, empty their guns, and then use their lazoes with effect.

Of this last weapon my companions had more dread than of all the others carried by our foes. They had reason. They knew that our rifles once empty, the lazo could be used beyond pistol-range; and by such men, with far surer aim than either carbine or escopette!

We were allowed but scant time to entertain these doubts, fears, and conjectures, or to communicate them to one another. They passed before us like the lightning’s flash: the quicker that they were old thoughts – things familiar from experience. We were conscious that the stratagem of our enemy had increased the peril of our situation; but we thought not yet of yielding to despair.

In an instant we had altered our relative positions. The three of us no longer fronted in one direction, but stood back to back – each to guard the third of the circle before his face. Thus stood we, rifles in hand.

The five horsemen were not slow in the execution of their manoeuvre. Once or twice they galloped round us in a wide circle; and then following a spiral curve, drew nearer and nearer.

When within carbine-range, each fired his piece; and, retreating outward upon the main body, hastily exchanged his empty gun for one that was loaded, and galloped back as before.

In the first volley, most of their bullets, discharged at random, had passed over our heads. We heard them hissing in the air high above us. One, however, had been better aimed, and struck Rube’s mare in the hip, causing the old mustang to squeal and kick violently. It did but little damage, though it was an earnest of what we might expect; and it was with increased apprehension that we saw the horsemen come back on their circling career.

You will wonder why we did not return their fire? Our guns carried as far as theirs. Why did we not use them, while the horsemen were within range? Not one of the three of us thought of drawing a trigger! You will wonder at this? It requires explanation.

Know, then, that the five men who galloped round us were five of the best horsemen in the world – no doubt the picked riders of the band. Not in Arabia, not in the hippodromes of Paris or London, could they have found their superiors – perhaps not their equals – for these men literally live in the saddle. Each, as he approached the dangerous circle covered by our rifles, disappeared behind the body of his horse. A boot and spur over the hollow of the deep saddle-tree, perhaps a hand grasping the wither-lock of the horse, were all of the rider that could be seen. Presently a face might be observed, suddenly veiled by a puff of smoke from the carbine, and then ducked instantly out of sight. Perhaps the barrel of the piece might be noticed glancing along the horse’s counter, while the stream of fire pouring forth, told that the rider had taken aim under the throat of his steed, the latter all the while going at full gallop!

During these manoeuvres, sharp shots as my comrades were, and fair marksman as I was myself, there was no instant when we could have hit any one of the five horsemen. It would have been easier to have brought down a bird upon the wing. Their horses we might have killed or crippled, but that would not have repaid us for the risk of an empty rifle. We dared not waste a bullet on the horses. That was our reason for reserving our fire.

Do not fancy from this my prolixity of explanation, that we were so slow in comprehending all these points. No, we understood our situation well enough; we knew that to discharge our pieces – even though a horse should fall to every shot – was just what the enemy desired. That was the main object of their ruse; but we were too well used to the wiles of Indian warfare to be beguiled by so shallow an artifice. Words of caution passed between us, and we stood to our guns with as much patience as we could command.

It was tempting enough – provoking, I should rather say – thus to be fired at, without the chance of returning it; and my companions, notwithstanding their habitual coolness, chafed angrily under the infliction.

Once more the five horsemen came galloping around us, and discharged their pieces as before; but this time with more effect. A bullet struck Garey in the shoulder, tearing away a patch of his hunting-shirt, and drawing the blood; while another went whizzing past the cheek of Old Rube, creasing his catskin cap!

“Hooray!” shouted the latter, clapping his hand over the place where the lead had wounded him. “Clost enough thet wur! Cuss me, eft hain’t carried away one o’ my ears!”

And the old trapper accompanied the remark with a wild, reckless laugh.

The rent of the bullet, and the blood upon Garey’s shoulder, now fell under his eye, and suddenly changing countenance, he exclaimed —

“By the ’tarnal! yur hit, Bill? Speak, boyee!”

“It’s nothin’,” promptly replied Garey – “nothin’; only a grease. I don’t feel it.”

“Yur sure?”

“Sartin sure.”

“By the livin catamount!” exclaimed Rube, in a serious tone, “we can’t stan this no longer. What’s to be done, Billee? Think, boy!”

“We must make a burst for it,” replied Garey; “it’s our only chance.”

“Tur no use,” said Rube, with a doubtful shake of the head. “The young fellur mout git clur; but for you ’n me thur’s not the shaddy o’ a chance. They’d catch up wi’ the ole mar in the flappin’ o’ a beaver’s tail, an yur hoss ain’t none o’ the sooplest. Tur no use.”

“I tell you it are, Rube,” replied Garey impatiently. “You mount the white hoss – he’s fast enough – an let the mar slide; or you take mine, an I’ll back whitey. We mayent get clar altogether; but we’ll string the niggers out on the parairy, an take them one arter another. It’s better than stannin’ hyar to be shot down like buffler in a penn. What do you think, capt’n?” added he, addressing himself to me.

Just then an idea had occurred to me. “Why not gallop to the cliff?” I inquired, looking toward the mesa: “they can’t surround us there? With our backs to the rock, and our horses in front of us, we may defy the rabble. We might easily reach it by a dash – ”

“Scalp me! ef the young fellur ain’t right,” cried Rube, interrupting my speech. “It’s the very idee, plum centre!”

“It are!” echoed Garey – “it are! We hain’t a second to lose; they’ll be round us again in a squ’ll’s jump. Look yonder!”

This conversation had occupied but a few seconds of time. It occurred just after the five horsemen had the second time emptied their guns, and galloped back to exchange them.

Before they could return to deliver a third fire, our determination was taken, and we had hastily undone the fastenings of our horses, and were ready to mount.

This we accomplished so quietly, that it was evident the enemy had not perceived us, and therefore entertained no suspicion of our design; hence the road towards the mesa was still perfectly open to us. In another minute, however, the five riders would have been circling around us, and that would have naturally altered our situation.

“Hurry, Rube!” cried Garey – “hurry, man, and let’s be off!”

“Keep cool, Billee,” rejoined Rube, who was adjusting the bridle of Garey’s horse. “Plenty o’ time, I tell ee; they ain’t a comin’ yit. He woo! ole gal!” he continued, addressing himself to the mare – “ho-woo! we’re a-gwine to leave you ahint a bit, but I reck’n yu’ll turn up agin. They won’t eat ye, anyhow; so don’t be skeeart about thet, ole gal! Now, Billee, I’m ready.”

It was time, for the riders were again spurring forward to surround us.

Without waiting to observe further, we all three leaped simultaneously on horseback; and, plying the spur deeply, shot off in a direct line of the mesa.

A glance behind showed us the guerrilleros – the whole band coming in full tilt after us, while their cries sounded in our ears. To our satisfaction, we saw we had gained ground upon them – our sudden start having taken them by surprise, and produced in their ranks a momentary hesitation. We had no fear of being able to reach the mesa before they could overtake us.

For my own part, I could soon have ridden out of sight altogether; so could Garey, mounted on the white steed, that, with only a raw-hide halter, was behaving splendidly. It was Garey’s own horse, a strong but slow brute, that delayed us; he was ridden by Rube; and it was well the chase was not to be a long one, else our pursuers would have easily overhauled him. Garey and I kept by his side.

“Don’t be afeerd, Rube!” shouted Garey, in a tone of encouragement; “we ain’t a-goin to leave you – we’ll stick thegither!”

“Yes,” added I, in the excitement of the moment, “we live or die together!”

“Hooray, young fellur!” cried Rube, in a burst of wild gratitude – “hooray for you! I know yur the stuff, an won’t leave me ahint, though I gin you the slip oncest – when you mistuk me for the grizzly. He, he, hoo! But then, you ses twur no use o’ my stickin’ to you – ne’er a bit o’ good. Wagh! them niggurs ur gettin’ nigher!”

We were riding directly for the middle of the mesa, whose cliff, like a vast wall, rose up from the level plain. We headed for its central part, as though we expected some gate to open in the rock and give us shelter!

Shouts of astonishment could be heard mingling with the hoof-strokes. Some of the expressions we heard distinctly. “Whither go they?” “Vaya! do they intend to ride up the cliff?” “Carrambo! bueno! bueno! van en la trampa!” (Good! they are going into the trap!)

Shouts of exultation followed, as they saw us thus voluntarily placing ourselves in a position from which retreat appeared impossible.

They had been apprehensive, on our first galloping off, that we might be mounted on swift horses, and meditated escaping by speed; but on discovering that this was not our intention, cries of joyful import were heard; and as we approached the cliff, we saw them deploying behind us, with the design of hemming us in. It was just the movement we had anticipated, and the very thing we desired them to do.

We galloped up close to the rocky wall before drawing bridle; then, suddenly flinging ourselves to the ground, we placed our backs to the cliff, drew our horses in front of us, and holding the bridles in our teeth, raised our rifles towards the foe.

Once more the three shining tubes were levelled, promising certain death to the first who should approach within range.

Chapter Thirty Four.

Rube’s charger

Our attitude of defence, thus suddenly assumed, produced a quick effect upon our pursuers, who pulled up simultaneously on the prairie. Some who had been foremost, and who fancied they had ridden too near, wheeled round and galloped back.

“Wagh!” ejaculated Rube; “jest look at ’em! they’ve tuk care to put plenty o’ paraira atween our guns an thur cowardly karkidges. Wagh!”

We at once perceived the advantage of our new position. We could all three show front wherever the enemy threatened. There was no longer any danger of their practising the surround. The half-circle behind us was covered by the mesa, and that could not be scaled. We had only to guard the semicircle in front – in fact, less than a semicircle, for we now perceived that the place was embayed, a sort of re-entering angle formed by two oblique faces of the cliff. The walls that flanked it extended three hundred yards on either side, so that no cover commanded our position. For defence, we could not have chosen a better situation; gallop round as they might, the guerrilleros would always find us with our teeth towards them! We saw our advantage at a glance.

Neither were our enemies slow to perceive it, and their exulting shouts changed to exclamations that betokened their disappointment.

Almost as suddenly, their tone again changed, and cries of triumph were once more heard along their line.

We looked forth to discover the cause. To our dismay, we perceived a reinforcement just joining them!

Five fresh horsemen were riding up, evidently a portion of the band. They appeared to have come from behind the mesa – from the direction of the rancheria – though, as we galloped forward, we had not observed them; the mound had concealed them from our view.

Notwithstanding this accession to their strength, their courage did not appear to gain by it, as no charge was attempted.

Almost on the instant that their new allies arrived upon the ground, the troop filed off by twos, and deployed across the mouth of the little bay in which we had taken shelter. The movement was soon completed, and six pair of them were now ranged before us at equal distances from each other. The remaining three men – Ijurra and two others – kept their places directly in front of us.

In one of the new-comers I recognised a ruffian whom I had frequently noticed at the rancheria. He was a man of large size, and, what is rare among Mexicans, red-haired; but I believe he was a Vizcaino, among whom red-haired men are not uncommon. He was familiarly known by the sobriquet of El Zorro (the Fox), probably on account of the hue of his hair; and I had heard from good authority – that of the 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.