The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

“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.

The design of our enemy was now manifest: they had no intention of making an immediate attack upon us; they saw that our retreat was impossible, and had resolved to hold us in siege, perhaps till thirst and hunger should force us to surrender.

Their calculation was founded on probability. If their valour was weak, their cunning was strong and subtle.

Rube was now greatly “out of sorts.” When he saw the guerrilleros “fixing” themselves in the manner described, he seemed to regret that we had taken our stand there.

“We’re hyur!” he exclaimed peevishly, “an how are we to git clur agin? Scalp me, Bill! ef we hedn’t better a fit ’em on the paraira, afore we gits weak wi’ hunger. Wagh! I kud eat a griskin now, an a good chunk o’ a one. Ay, smoke away!” (some of the Mexicans had lighted their cigars, and were coolly puffing at them) – “smoke away, durn yur! yur yeller-skinned skunks! I’ll make some o’ ye smoke afore mornin, or my name ain’t Rube Rawlins. Gi’s a bit o’ bacca, Bill; maybe it’ll take the edge off o’ my stummuk. Wagh! I feel as holler about the kidneys as my ole mar – Geehosophat! See the mar!”

The emphatic utterance of the last words caused Garey and myself to look towards the speaker, and then in the direction in which he pointed. A spectacle came before our eyes, that, spite the depression of our spirits, caused both of us to break into loud laughter.

The “ole mar,” that for many long years had carried Rube over the mountains and prairies, was a creature that scarce yielded to himself in peculiarity.

She was a lank, bare-ribbed, high-boned animal, long-eared like all of her race – for she belonged to the race of Rosinante. The long ears caused her to look mulish, and at a distance she might have been mistaken for a mixed breed; but it was not so – she was a true mustang, and, spite of her degenerate look, a pure Andalusian. She seemed to have been, at an earlier period of her life, of that dun yellowish colour known as “clay-bank” – a common hue among Mexican horses – but time and scars had metamorphosed her, and grey hairs predominated, particularly about the head and neck. These parts were covered with a dirty grizzle of mixed colour. She was badly wind-broken, and at stated intervals, of several minutes each, her back, from the spasmodic action of the lungs, heaved up with a jerk, as though she was trying to kick, and couldn’t. Her body was as thin as a rail, and her head habitually carried below the level of her shoulders; but there was something in the twinkle of her solitary eye – for she had but one – that told you she had no intention of giving up for a long time to come. As Rube often alleged, “she was game to the backbone.”

Such was the “ole mar,” and it was to her that our attention was now so suddenly called.

Having parted from her on the prairie, in the wild gallop that followed, we had thought no more of the creature, not caring – that is, Garey and myself – what became of her.