The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

Chapter Thirty One.

The Parley

Another chorus of vivas announced that the guerrilla captain had finished his oration, and that the attack was about to be made. We saw the chief himself, with one or two others, advance in front of the line, and head towards us, as if intending to lead the charge.

“Now!” muttered Rube, in a sharp quick tone, “guns ready, boys! no waste shots, d’yur hear? Lead counts hyur —it do. See! By the jumpin Geehosophat, thur a gwine to ride right down! Let ’em kum on, and be damned! Thur’s one o’ ’em won’t git thie fur – I mout say two – I mout say three i’deed. Durn the glint o’ thet sun! Billee!” he continued, addressing Garey, “ee ’ll shoot fust; yur gun’s furrest carry. Plug the big un on the clay-bank hoss. This child’s for Number 2 on the grey mustang. An, young fellur! ee’ll jest pick off thet niggur on the roan. I know yur wild-cat to the back-bone, but keep yur eye skinned an yur narves steady, d’yur hear?”

“Yes, yes!” I hurriedly answered, though at the time steadiness of nerves was easier promised than practised. My heart was heaving in quick pulsations at the near prospect of the terrible drama about to be enacted.

At this moment the “Forward” fell upon our ears, and with the wild notes of the bugle came the words —

“Andela! anda! Dios y Guadalupe!” (On! forward! God and Guadalupe!)

In an instant, the troop was in motion, galloping down to the charge.

They had not made many stretches before their line became broken, several of the swiftest or most courageous having forged ahead of the others.

“The three ’most!” cried Rube, in the same sharp tone – “the three fo’most! Thet’ll fotch ’em up wi’ a roun turn, or this child’s mistaken. Now, boyees! mind yur eyes! Steady! Stea–dy – stea–d–y – ”

All at once, Rube’s muttered cautions, slowly drawled out, were changed to an exclamation that betokened surprise, followed by a long low whistle of the same import!

The cause was clear! The guerrilleros had got within three hundred yards of us, still going at a gallop, but we could perceive that their pace slackened as they advanced; already it was more of an amble than the forward dash of an earnest charge. It was evident they had no stomach for the business – now that they were near enough to see the shining barrels and black hollow tubes of our levelled rifles.

Garey was waiting till the foremost should pass the artemisia-bush; for by that he had calculated the point-blank range of his rifle. Another moment, and its crack would have been heard; but the horseman, as if warned by instinct, seemed to divine the exact limit of danger. Before reaching the bush, his heart failed him, and in a wavering, irresolute manner, he drew bridle, and halted!

The others, nothing loath, followed his example, until the whole troop had pulled up within less than three hundred yards of the muzzles of our guns!

“Cowed, by God!” shouted Rube, with a derisive laugh, “Hulloo!” continued he, raising his voice still louder, and addressing the halted line: “what do ee want anyhow? Why the hell don’t ee come on?”

Whether Rube’s comical interrogatory was understood or not, it elicited a reply: —

“Amigos! somos amigos!” (We are friends!) shouted back the leader of the band.

“Friends, be damned!” exclaimed the trapper, who knew enough of Spanish to understand the signification of amigos. “Nice friends, you, i’deed! Wagh! D’yur think to bamfoozle us thet-away? Keep yur distance now!” continued he, raising his rifle in a threatening manner, as a movement was perceptible among the horsemen. “Keep yur distance, or, by the ’tarnal airthquake! I’ll plug the fust o’ ye thet rides within reach. Damn sich friends as you!”

The leader now conversed in a low tone with his lieutenant, and some new design seemed to be discussed between them. A change of tactics was evidently devised during this pause in the action.

After a while the chief again addressed us, speaking as before in Spanish.

“We are friends!” said he: “we mean you no harm. To prove it, I shall order my men to fall back upon the prairie, while my lieutenant, unarmed, will meet one of you on the neutral ground. Surely, you can have no objection to that?”

“And why such an arrangement?” inquired Garey, who spoke Spanish fluently. “We want nothing of you. What do you want from us, with all this infernal fuss?”

“I have business with you,” replied the Mexican; “and you, sir, in particular. I have something to say to you I don’t wish others to hear.”

As he said this, the speaker turned his head, and nodded significantly towards his own following. He was candid with them at least.

This unexpected dialogue took all three of us by surprise. What could the man want with Garey? The latter knew nothing of him – had never, as he declared, “sot eyes on the niggur afore;” although at such a distance – with the sun in his face, and the Mexican’s sombrero slouched as it was – Garey might be mistaken. It might be some one whom he had met, though he could not recall him to mind.

After a short consultation, we agreed that Garey should accept the proposal. No evil could result from it – none that we could think of. Garey could easily get back, before any attack could be made upon him, and Rube and I should still be ready to protect him with our pieces. If they meditated treachery, we could not perceive the advantage they were to gain from the proceeding.

The “parley” therefore was accepted, and the conditions arranged with due caution on our part.

The horsemen – with the exception of the leader and his lieutenant – were to ride back to the distance of half-a-mile; the leader was to remain where he was; and halfway between him and us, Garey and the lieutenant were to meet, both of them on foot and unarmed.

At an order from their chief, the guerrilleros fell back. The lieutenant dismounted, laid his lance along the ground, unbuckled his sabre, drew the pistols from his belt, and placing them beside the lance, advanced towards the appointed spot.

Garey had likewise disarmed himself; and leaving his weapons in charge of Rube and myself, stepped forth to meet the Mexican.

In another minute, the two stood face to face, and the “parley” began.

It was of short duration. The speaking, which appeared to be principally done by the Mexican, was carried on in a low tone; and Rube and I saw that he pointed frequently in our direction, as if we were the subject of his discourse! We observed that his harangue was suddenly interrupted by Garey, who, turning round at the same instant, cried out to us in English —

“Hillow, Rube! what do yer think the skunk wants?”

“How shed I know?” replied Rube. “What do ’e want?”

“Why, he wants” – Garey’s voice rose louder with indignation – “he wants us to give up the ranger-captain; an sez, if we do, you an me can go free. Ha, ha, ha!” and the young trapper ended his announcement with a scornful laugh.

Simultaneous with Garey’s laugh, I could hear Rube utter a low whistle, and the words, “Thet’s how the stick floats;” and then raising his voice, he called out —

“An what answer hev you gin him, Billee?”

“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.