The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

As we ran, my eyes fell upon a horse – a white horse. It was the steed; a man was leading him by a lazo. He was taking him from the fires towards the ground occupied by the mustangs; he was going to picket him on the grass.

Horse and man were directly in front of us, as we ran – in front of the fugitive. She was making towards them; I divined her intention.

In a few seconds he was up to the horse, and had seized the rope.

The Indian struggled, and tried to take it away from her; the red blade gleamed in his eyes, and he gave back.

He still clung to the rope; but in an instant it was cut from his hands, and, quick as thought, the heroic woman leaped upon the back of the steed, and was seen galling away!

The Indian was one of the horse-guards, and was therefore armed; he carried bow and quiver. Before the horse had galloped beyond reach, he had bent his bow, and sent an arrow from the string.

I heard the “wheep” of the shaft, and fancied I heard it strike; but the steed kept on!

I had plucked up one of the long spears, as I ran across the camp. Before the Indian could adjust another arrow to the string, I had thrust him in the back.

I drew out the spear, and, keeping the white horse in view, ran on.

I was soon in the midst of the mustangs; many of them had already stampeded, and were galloping to and fro over the ground. The guards were dismayed, but as yet knew not the cause of the alarm. The steed with his rider passed safely through their line.

I followed on foot, and as fast as I could run. Fifty savages were after me; I could hear their shouts.

I could hear them cry “Wakono,” but I was soon far in advance of all. The horse-guards, as I passed them, were shouting “Wakono!”

As soon as I had cleared the horse-drove, I again perceived the steed; but he was now some distance off. To my joy he was going in the right direction – straight for the yuccas upon the hill. My men would see and intercept him?

I ran along the stream with all speed. I reached the broken bank, and, without stopping, rushed into the gully for my horse.

What was my astonishment to find that he was gone! my noble steed gone, and in his place the spotted mustang of the Indian!

I looked up and down the channel; I looked along its banks – Moro was not in sight!

I was puzzled, perplexed, furious. I knew no explanation of the mystery – I could think of none. Who could have done it? Who? My followers must have done it. Rube must have done it? but why? In my hot haste, I could find no reason for this singular behaviour.

I had no time to reflect – not a moment.

I drew the animal from the water, and leaping upon his back, rode out of the channel.

As I regained the level of the plain, I saw mounted men, a crowd of them coming from the camp. They were the savages in pursuit; one was far ahead of the rest, and before I could turn my horse to flee, he was close up to me. In the moonlight I easily recognised him – it was Hissoo-royo the renegade.

“Slave!” shouted he, speaking in the Comanche tongue, and with furious emphasis, “it is you who have planned this. Squaw! coward! you shall die! The white captive is mine – mine, Wakono! and you – ”

He did not finish the sentence. I still carried the Comanche spear; my six months’ service in a lance-regiment now stood me in stead; the mustang behaved handsomely, and carried me full tilt upon my foe.

In another instant the renegade and his horse were parted; the former lay levelled upon the grass, transfixed with the long spear, while the latter was galloping riderless over the plain!

At this crisis I perceived the crowd coming up, and close to the spot. There were twenty or more, and I saw that I should soon be surrounded.

A happy idea came opportunely to my relief. All along I had observed that I was mistaken for Wakono. The Indians in the camp had cried “Wakono;” the horse-guards shouted “Wakono” as I passed; the pursuers were calling “Wakono” as they rode up; the renegade had fallen with the name upon his lips: the spotted horse; the robe of jaguar-skins, the plumed head-dress, the red hand, the white cross, all proclaimed me Wakono!

I urged my horse a length or two forward, and reined up in front of the pursuers. I raised my arm, and shook it in menace before their faces; at the same instant, I cried out in a loud voice —

“I am Wakono! Death to him who follows!”

I spoke in Comanche. I was not so sure of the correctness of my words – either of the pronunciation or the syntax – but I had the gratification to perceive that I was understood. Perhaps my gestures helped the savages to comprehend me – the meaning of these was not to be mistaken.

From whatever cause, the pursuers made no further advance; but one and all, drawing in their horses, halted upon the spot.

I stayed not for further parley; but, wheeling quickly round, galloped away from them, as fast as the mustang could carry me.

Chapter One Hundred.

The Last Chase

On facing towards the hill, I perceived the steed still not so distant. His white body, gleaming under the clear moonlight, could have been easily distinguished at a far greater distance. I had expected to see him much farther away; but, after all, the tilt of lances, and the menace delivered to the pursuing horsemen, had scarcely occupied a score of seconds, and he could not in the time have gone out of sight.

He was still running between myself and the foot of the hill – apparently keeping along the bank of the stream.

I put the Indian horse to his full speed. The point of my knife served for whip and spur. I was no longer encumbered with the spear; it had been left in the body of Hissoo-royo.

I kept my eyes fixed upon the steed, but he was fast closing in to the timber that skirted the base of the hill; he was nearing the bend where I had taken to the water, and would soon be hidden from my view behind the bushes.

All at once I saw him swerve, and strike away to the left, across the open plain. To my surprise I saw this, for I had conjectured that his rider was aiming to reach the cover offered by the thicket.

Without waiting to think of an explanation, I headed the mustang into the diagonal line, and galloped forward.

I was in hopes of getting nearer by the advantage thus given me; but I was ill satisfied with the creeping pace of the Indian horse so unlike the long, free stretch of my matchless Moro. Where was he? Why was I not bestriding him?

The white steed soon shot clear of the hill, and was now running upon the plain that stretched beyond it.

I saw that I was not gaining upon him; on the contrary, he was every moment widening the distance between us. Where was Moro? Why had he been taken away?

At that instant I perceived a dark horseman making along the foot of the ridge, as if to intercept me; he was dashing furiously through the thicket that skirted the base of the declivity. I could hear the bushes rattling against the flanks of his horse; he was evidently making all the haste in his power, at the same time aiming to keep concealed from the view of those upon the plain.

I recognised my horse, and upon his back the thin lank form of the earless trapper!

We met the moment after, at the point where the thicket ended.

Without a word passing between us, both simultaneously flung ourselves to the ground, exchanged horses, and remounted. Thank Heaven! Moro was at last between my knees!

“Now, young fellur!” cried the trapper, as I parted from him, “gallip like hell, an kitch up with her! We’ll soon be arter on yur trail – all right thur. Away!”

I needed no prompting from Rube; his speech was not finished, before I had sprung my horse forward, and was going like the wind.

It was only then that I could comprehend why the horses had been changed; a ruse it was – an after-thought of the cunning trappers!

Had I mounted my own conspicuous steed by the camp, the Indians would, in all probability, have suspected something, and continued the pursuit; it was the spotted mustang that had enabled me to carry out the counterfeit!

I had now beneath me a horse I could depend upon and with renewed vigour I bent myself to the chase. For the third time, the black and white stallions were to make trial of their speed – for the third time was it to be a struggle between these noble creatures.