The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

“And how, pray? – how worse?” demanded she, interrupting me.

“My pistol might have been aimed at yourself, but for a suspicion – ”

“Carrambo!” cried she, again interrupting me, “it could not have been worse! I loved that creature dearly – dearly as I do my life —as I love my father—pobre yegua—yeguita—ita—ita!”

And as she thus wildly expressed herself, she bent down, passed her arms around the neck of the mustang, and once more pressed her lips to its velvet muzzle. Then gently closing its eyelids, she rose to an erect attitude, and stood with folded arms, regarding the lifeless form with a sad and bitter expression of countenance.

I scarcely knew what to do. I was in a dilemma with my fair captive. I would have given a month of my “payroll” to have restored the spotted mustang to life; but as that was out of the question, I bethought me of some means of making restitution to its owner. An offer of money would not be delicate. What then?

A thought occurred to me, that promised to relieve me from my embarrassment. The eagerness of the rich Mexicans to obtain our large American horses —frisones, as they term them – was well known throughout the army. Fabulous prices were often paid for them by these ricos, who wanted them for display upon the Paseo. We had many good half-bred bloods in the troop; one of these, thought I, might be acceptable even to a lady who had lost her pet.

I made the offer as delicately as I could. It was rejected with scorn!

“What, señor!” cried she, striking the ground with her foot till the rowels rang – “what? A horse to me? —Mira!” she continued, pointing to the plain: “look there, sir! There are a thousand horses; they are mine. Now, know the value of your offer. Do I stand in need of a horse?”

“But, señorita,” stammered I apologisingly, “these are horses of native race. The one I propose to – ”

“Bah!” she exclaimed, interrupting me, and pointing to the mustang; “I would not have exchanged that native for all the frisones in your troop. Not one of them was its equal!”

A personal slight would not have called forth a contradiction; yet this defiance had that effect. She had touched the chord of my vanity – I might almost say, of my affection. With some pique I replied —

“One, señorita?”

I looked towards Moro as I spoke. Her eyes followed mine, and she stood for some moments gazing at him in silence. I watched the expression of her eye; I saw it kindle into admiration as it swept over the gracefully curving outlines of my noble steed. He looked at the moment superb; the short skurry had drawn the foam from his lips, and flakes of it clung against his neck and counter, contrasting finely with the shining black of his skin; his sides heaved and fell in regular undulations, and the smoke issued from his blood-red nostrils; his eye was still on fire, and his neck proudly arched, as though conscious of his late triumph, and the interest he was now exciting.

For a long while she stood gazing upon him, and though she spoke not a word, I saw that she recognised his fine points.

“You are right, cavallero,” she said at length, and thoughtfully; “he is.”

Just then a series of reflections were passing through my mind, that rendered me extremely uncomfortable; and I felt regret that I had so pointedly drawn her attention to the horse. Would she demand him? That was the thought that troubled me. I had not promised her any horse in my troop, and Moro I would not have given for her herd of a thousand; but on the strength of the offer I had made, what if she should fancy him? The circumstances were awkward for a refusal; indeed, under any circumstances refusal would have been painful. I began to feel that I could deny her nothing. This proud beautiful woman already divided my interest with Moro!

My position was a delicate one; fortunately, I was relieved from it by an incident that carried our thoughts into a new current: the troopers who had followed me at that moment rode up.

She seemed uneasy at their presence; that could not be wondered at, considering their wild garb and fierce looks. I ordered them back to their quarters. They stared for a moment at the fallen mustang with its rich blood-stained trappings, at its late rider, and her picturesque garments; and then, muttering a few words to one another, obeyed the order. I was once more alone with my captive.

Chapter Six.

Isolina De Vargas

As soon as the men were out of hearing, she said interrogatively, “Tejanos?”

“Some of them are Texans – not all.”

“You are their chief?”

“I am.”

“Capitan, I presume?”

“That is my rank.”

“And now, Señor Capitan, am I your captive?”

The question took me by surprise, and, for the moment, I did not know what answer to make. The excitement of the chase, the encounter, and its curious developments – perhaps above all other things, the bewitching beauty of my captive – had driven out of my mind the whole purpose of the pursuit; and for some minutes I had not been thinking of any result. The interrogatory reminded me that I had a delicate duty to perform. Was this lady a spy?

Such a supposition was by no means improbable, as my old campaigner can testify. “Fair ladies – though never one so fair as she – have, ere now, served their country in this fashion. She may be the bearer of some important dispatch for the enemy. If so, and I permit her to go free, the consequences may be serious – unpleasant even to myself.” So ran my reflections.

On the other hand, I disliked the duty of taking her back a prisoner. I feared to execute it; I dreaded her displeasure. I wished to be friends with her. I felt the influence of that mysterious power which transcends all strength – the power of beauty. I had been but ten minutes in the company of this brown-skinned maiden, and already she controlled my heart as though she had been its mistress for life!

I knew not how to reply. She saw that I hesitated, and again put the question —

“Am I your captive?”

“I fear, señorita, I am yours.”

I was prompted to this declaration, partly to escape from a direct answer, and partly giving way to the passion already fast gathering in my bosom. It was no coquetry on my part, no desire to make a pretty passage of words. Though I spoke only from impulse, I was serious; and with no little anxiety did I watch the effect of my speech.

Her large lustrous eyes rested upon me, at first with a puzzled expression; this gradually changed to one of more significance – one that pleased me better. She seemed for a moment to throw aside her indifference, and regard me with more attention. I fancied, from the glance she gave, that she was contented with what I had said. For all that, the slight curl upon her pretty lip had a provoking air of triumph in it; and she resumed her proud hauteur as she replied —

“Come, cavallero; this is idle compliment. Am I free to go?”

I wavered betwixt duty and over-politeness: a compromise offered itself.

“Lady,” said I, approaching her, and looking as seriously as I could into her beautiful eyes, “if you give me your word that you are not a spy, you are free to go: your word – I ask nothing more.”

I prescribed these conditions rather in a tone of entreaty than command. I affected sternness, but my countenance must have mocked me.

My captive broke into unrestrained laughter, crying out at intervals —

“I a spy! – a spy! Ha, ha, ha! Señor Capitan, you are jesting?”

“I hope, señorita, you are in earnest. You are no spy, then? – you bear no dispatch for our enemy?”

“Nothing of the sort, mio capitan;” and she continued her light laughter.

“Why, then, did you try to make away from us?”

“Ah, cavallero! are you not Tejanos? Do not be offended when I tell you that your people bear but an indifferent reputation among us Mexicans.”

“But your attempt to escape was, to say the least, rash and imprudent: you risked life by it.”

“Carrambo, yes! I perceive I did;” and she looked significantly at the mustang, while a bitter smile played upon her lips. “I perceive it now; I did not then. I did not think there was a horseman in all your troop could come up with me. Merced! there was one. You have overtaken me: you alone could have done it.”

As she uttered these words, her large brown eyes were once more turned upon me – not in a fixed gaze, but wandering. She scanned me from the forage-cap on my crown to the spur upon my heel. I watched her eye with eager interest: I fancied that its scornful expression was giving way; I fancied there was a ray of tenderness in the glance, I would have given the world to have divined her thoughts at that moment.

Our eyes met, and parted in mutual embarrassment – at least I fancied so; for on turning again, I saw that her head drooped, and her gaze was directed downward, as if some new thought occupied her.

For some moments, both were silent. We might have remained longer thus, but it occurred to me that I was acting rudely. The lady was still my captive. I had not yet given her permission to depart: I hastened to tender it.