The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

Rube, however, was far from sharing our indifference as to her fate. He would almost as soon have parted with one of his “claws” as that same faithful companion; and we had heard him expressing his hopes that no harm would come to her.

Or course, we had concluded that she would either be shot or lazoed by one of the guerrilleros.

It appeared, however, that this was not to be her fate just then. Resolving not to be parted from her master so easily, she had galloped after us. Being slow, she soon fell behind, and for a while was mixed up with the horses of the guerrilleros. Of course the men had noticed her, but seeing that she was a worthless brute, had not deigned to make a capture of her.

In due time she fell into the rear of the whole troop; but even that did not turn her from her original intention, and at the moment of Rube’s exclamation, she was just breaking through the line of deployment on her way to join her master. From the manner in which her nose was held as she ran, she appeared to be trailing him by the scent!

Seeing her pass, one of the guerrilleros dashed after to capture her; perhaps because there was an old saddle with some of Rube’s traps buckled upon it.

Mare, saddle, and all, were scarcely worth the fling of lazo, and so the man appeared to think; for instead of using his lazo, he rode forward with the intention of seizing the mare by the bridle.

The feat proved not so easy of accomplishment. As the fellow bent down to grasp the rein, the old mare uttered one of her wild squeals, slewed her hind-quarters about, and raising her heels high in air, delivered them right upon the ribs of the Mexican.

The heavy “thud” was heard by all of us; and the man swayed from his saddle, and fell to the ground – to all appearance badly hurt, and most probably with a pair of broken ribs.

The squeal of the mare was echoed by a shrill laugh from the throat of her delighted master; and not until she had galloped up to him, did he cease to make the locks ring with his wild cachinnations.

“Wa-hoo – woop! yur thur, ole gal!” he shouted as the animal halted before him. “You gin ’im a sockdolloger —you did. Yeeup! ole blue-skin! yur welkum back! an ye’ve fotched my saddle too! Hooray! Ain’t she a beauty, Bill? She’s wuth her weight in beaver-plew. Wagh! that ’ee ur, ole beeswax! Kum hyur this away – thur now!”

And the speaker proceeded, after some more apostrophising, to draw the animal closer up to the cliff, placing her body as an additional barricade in front of his own.

Our involuntary mirth was of short duration; it was interrupted by an object that filled our hearts with new apprehension.

Chapter Thirty Five.

El Zorro

The new object of dread was a large gun, which had been brought upon the ground by one of those lately arrived. In all probability, it belonged to El Zorro, as it was in his hands we first observed it. It appeared to be a long musket, or elephant-gun, such as the “roers” in use among South African hunters.

Whatever sort of weapon it was, we soon found to our annoyance that it pitched an ounce of lead nearly twice as far as any of our rifles, and with sufficient precision to make it probable that, before the sun had set, El Zorro would be able to pick off our horses, and perhaps ourselves, in detail.

It would be half-an-hour before darkness should screen us with its friendly shelter, and he had already commenced practice. His first shot had been fired. The bullet struck the cliff close to my own head, scattering the fragments of gypsum rock about my ears, and then fell, flattened like a Spanish dollar, at my feet.

The report was far louder than that of either carbine or escopette; and an ejaculation from Rube, as he saw the effect of the shot, followed by his usual ominous whistle, told that the old trapper was not disposed to make light of this new piece of ordnance. Neither was Garey. His look testified to what all three of us were thinking – which was, that this mode of attack was likely to put us in a more awkward dilemma than we had yet been placed in. El Zorro might shoot us down at his leisure. With our rifles, we could neither answer his fire, nor silence it. Our peril was obvious.

The salteador had delivered his first shot “off hand,” for we had seen him level the piece. Perhaps it was fortunate for us he had not taken aim over a “lean;” but fortune from that source was not going to favour us any farther; for we now observed Ijurra stick two lances obliquely in the ground, so that they crossed each other at a proper height, thus forming as perfect a rest as marksman could have desired.

As soon as the gun was reloaded, El Zorro knelt behind the lances, placed his barrel in the fork, and once more took aim.

I felt satisfied he was aiming at me, or my horse. Indeed, the direction of the long dark tube would have told me so; but I saw Ijurra directing him, and that made me sure of it.

I had little fear for myself. I was sheltered sufficiently, but I trembled for the brave horse that shielded me.

I waited with anxious heart. I saw the blaze of the priming as it puffed upward; the red flame projected from the muzzle, and simultaneously I felt the shock of the heavy bullet striking upon my horse.

Splinters of wood flew about my face; they were fragments of the saddle-tree. The ball had passed through the pommel, but my noble steed was untouched! It was a close shot, however – too close to allow of rejoicing, so long as others of the like were to follow.

I was getting as “riled” as Rube himself, when, all at once, a significant shout from the old trapper drew my attention from El Zorro and his gun.

Rube was on my right, and I saw that he was pointing along the bottom of the cliff to some object in that direction I could not see what it was, as his horses were in the way; but the next moment I observed him hurrying them along the cliff, at the same time calling to Garey and myself to follow.

I lost no time in putting my horse in motion, and Garey as hastily trotted after.

We had not advanced many paces, before we comprehended the strange behaviour of our companion.

Scarcely twenty yards from where we had first halted, a large rock rested upon the plain. It was a fragment that had fallen from the cliff, and was now lying several feet from its base; it was of such size, and in such a position, that, there was ample space behind it to shelter both men and horses – room for us all!

We were only astonished we had not observed it sooner; but this was not to be wondered at, for its colour corresponded exactly with that of the cliff, and it was difficult, even at twenty yards’ distance, to distinguish it from the latter. Besides, our eyes, from the moment of our halting, had been turned in another direction.

We did not stay to give words to our surprise; but hurrying our horses along with us, with joyful exclamations glided behind the rock.

It was not an echo of our joy, but a cry of disappointed rage, that pealed along the line of the guerrilla. They saw at once that their long gun would no longer avail them, and both Ijurra and his marksman were now seen dancing over the ground like madmen. El Zorro’s métier was at an end.

A more perfect “harbour of refuge” could not have been found in all prairie-land. As Garey alleged, it “beat tree-timber all hollow!” A little fortress, in fact, in which we might defy even twice the number of our assailants – unless, indeed, they should wax desperately brave, and try us hand to hand.

Our sudden disappearance had created a new sensation in their ranks. From their shouts, we could tell that some of them regarded it with feelings of wonder – perhaps with emotions of a still stronger kind. We could hear the exclamations “Carrai!” “Carrambo!” with the phrase “los demonios!” passing from mouth to mouth. Indeed, from the position which they occupied, it must have appeared to them that we had gone into the cliff – for the separation of the rock from the wall behind it was not perceptible from the plain, else we should have perceived it as we rode forward.

If our enemies knew of this outlying boulder, it was strange they had left the way open to so safe a retreat – strange, since it did not correspond with the cunning they had otherwise given proofs of – and yet stranger they should be ignorant of its existence. Most of them were natives of this frontier, and must have frequently visited the mesa, which was one of the “lions” of the district.

Perhaps they had never troubled their thoughts about it. There is no people who take less interest in the rare features of their beautiful country than the Mexicans. Nature charms them not. A Mexican dwelling with a garden around it is a rarity – a lawn or a shrubbery is never seen; but indeed nature has bounteously supplied them with all these. They dwell amidst scenes of picturesque beauty; they gaze over green savannas – down into deep barrancas – up to the snow-crowned summits of mighty mountains – without experiencing one emotion of the sublime. A tortured bull, a steel-galved cock, Roman candles, and the Chinese wheel, are to them the sights of superior interest, and furnish them with all their petty emotions. So is it with nations, as with men who have passed the age of their strength, and reached the period of senility and second childhood.

But there was another, and perhaps a better, reason why none of our adversaries should be intimate with the locality. As my companions alleged, the spot was a favourite halting-place of the Comanches —they have an eye for the picturesque – but perhaps the existence of a spring that was near had more to do in guiding the preference of these “lords of the prairies.” The mesa, therefore, had for years been dangerous ground, and little trodden by the idle curious. Possibly not one of the heroes we saw before us had for years ventured so far out upon the plains.

Chapter Thirty Six.

A Plan of Escape

If our enemies were awed by our sudden disappearance, it was soon robbed of its mysterious character. Our faces, and the dark barrels of our rifles, visible around the edges of the white rock, must have dispelled all ideas of the supernatural. Having hastily disposed of our horses, we had placed ourselves thus – in case of a charge being made – though of this we had no longer any great apprehension; and still less as we watched the movements of our adversaries.

El Zorro continued for some time to fire his big gun – the bullets of which we could dodge as easily as if they had been turnips hurled at us – and the leaden missiles fell harmlessly at our feet.

Seeing this, the salteador at length ceased firing, and with another, rode off in the direction of the settlements – no doubt sent on some errand by Ijurra.

One pair of eyes was sufficient to watch the movements of the besiegers. Garey undertook this duty, leaving Rube and myself free to think over some plan of escape.

That we were not to be attacked was now certain. We had the choice, then, of two alternatives – either to keep the position we were in till thirst should force us to surrender, or attack them, and by a bold coup cut our way through their line.

As to the former, we well knew that thirst would soon compel us to yield. Hunger we dreaded not. We had our knives, and before us a plentiful stock of that food on which the prairie wanderer often sustains life. “Horse-beef” we had all eaten, and could do so again; but for the sister-appetite – thirst – we had made no provision. Our gourd-canteens were empty – had been empty for hours – we were actually pushing for the mesa spring when the enemy first came in sight. We were then athirst; but the excitement of the skirmish, with the play of passion incident thereto, had augmented the appetite, and already were we a prey to its keenest pangs. We mumbled as we talked, for each of us was chewing the leaden bullet. Thirst we dreaded even more than our armed enemy.

The other alternative was a desperate one – now more desperate than ever, from the increased number of our foes. To cut our way through them had no other signification than to fight the whole party hand to hand; and we regretted that we had not done so when only eleven were opposed to us.

A little reflection, however, convinced us that we were in a yet better position. We might make the attempt in the darkness. Night would favour us to some extent. Could we succeed by a bold dash in breaking through their deployed line, we might escape under the friendly cover of the night, and the confusion consequent upon the mêlée.

There was probability in this. The boldest was clearly the wisest course we could pursue. Desperate it appeared. One or other of us might fall, but it offered the only hope that any of us might get free, for we knew that to surrender was to be shot – perhaps worse —tortured.

We had but faint hopes of a rescue; so faint, we scarcely entertained them. I knew that my friends, the rangers, would be in search of me. Wheatley and Holingsworth would not give me up without making an effort for my recovery; but then the search would be made in a different direction – that in which I had gone, and which lay many miles from the route by the mesa. Even had they thought of sending to the mound, the search must have been already made, and the party returned from it. Too long time had elapsed to make any calculation on a chance like this. The hope was not worth holding, and we held it not.

For some time, Rube and I thought in combination, canvassing the details of the plan that had offered. After a while, we stood apart, and each pursued the train of his own reflections.