The Lone Ranche

“Ah! now I think I comprehend you.”

“If he show the slightest resistance – raise but a hand – I shall have him that way.”

“Why can’t you anyhow? Surely you can deal with him as you think proper – a refugee, a rebel?”

“There you again show your want of sense. You’ve got a thick skull, teniente; and would be a bad counsellor in any case requiring skilful management. This is one of the kind, and needs the most delicate manipulation.”

“How so?”

“For several reasons. Remember, Roblez, we’re not now acting with the Horned Lizard and his painted freebooters. Our fellows here have eyes in their heads, and tongues behind their teeth. They might wag the latter to our disadvantage if we allowed the former to see anything not exactly on the square. And if we were to shoot or cut down Miranda, he not resisting, that would be a scandal I might have difficulty in suppressing. It would spread surely, go over the country, get to the ears of the Central Government, and return to New Mexico with a weight that might overwhelm me. Besides, amigo mio, it would spoil my plan in several respects – notably, that with the nina and others too numerous to mention. Of course, we’ll kill him if we can, with fair pretext for doing so. But unless he show fight, we must take him alive, his guests along with him. I hope he will.”

“I think it likely you’ll have your hopes. The two Americanos are not men to submit tamely. Remember how they fought at the attack on their waggon-train, and how they got off afterwards. They’re a rough couple, and likely to give us anything but a smooth reception.”

“The rougher the better. That would be just as wanted, and we’ll settle everything at once. If otherwise, I have my plan fixed and complete.”

“What is it, colonel?”

“Not now. I’ll tell you in the proper time. First to make experiment of what’s immediately before us. If it succeed, we shall return this way with only women as our prisoners. If it fail, we’ll have men – four of them. A word in your ear to content you for the while. Not one of the four will ever enter the prison of Albuquerque.”

“You intend sending them to some other?”

“I do.”

“Where?”

“A gaol from which there can be no escape – need I name it?”

“You need not. There’s but one will answer your description – the grave.”

With this solemn conjecture the sotto voce conversation comes to a close, the ruffians riding at the head of their troop, far extending after, its files resembling the vertebrae of some grand glittering serpent on its way to seize a victim, the two in front fair types of its protruding poisonous fangs.

Chapter Forty Seven.

A Coming Cloud

Between lovers, those who truly love, the parting is ever painful Frank Hamersley, taking leave of Adela Miranda, feels this as does Walt Wilder separating from Conchita.

There may be a difference in degree, in the intensity of their respective passions; perhaps also something in its character. Still the sentiment is the same. Both suffer at the thought of separation, feel it keenly. All the more as they reflect on what is before them – a prospect anything but cheerful. Clouds in the sky; many chances they may never see their loved ones again. No wonder they turn towards the Del Norte with gloom in their glances and dark forebodings in their breasts. Men of less loyal hearts, less prone to the promptings of humanity, would trifle and stay; spend longer time in a dalliance so surely agreeable, so truly delightful. Not so the young Kentuckian and his older companion, the Texan. Though the love of woman is enthroned in their hearts, each has kept a corner sacred to a sentiment almost as strong, and perhaps purer. The blood of their slaughtered comrades cries from the ground, from the sand through which they saw it filtering away. They cannot find peace without responding to its appeal; and for this even the fruition of their love is to be delayed. To seek retribution they must journey on to the settlements of the Del Norte; not sure of success on arrival there, but more likely to meet failure – perhaps imprisonment. In this there would be nothing new or strange. They would not be the first Americans to suffer incarceration without cause in a New Mexican calabozo, and lie there for long years without trial.

Once more Miranda represents the danger they are about to undergo. It does not daunt them.

“No matter,” is the reckless response. “Whatever be the consequences, go we will. We must.”

Thus determined to start off, after exchanging tender adieus with those left behind – two of them in tears.

According to promise, Miranda has placed his mules at their disposal, and on these they are mounted. He has, moreover, furnished them with spare dresses from his wardrobe – costumes of his native country, which will enable them to travel through it without attracting attention.

Starting at sunrise, it is still early morning when they reach the upper plain through the ravine between the two twin mountains. So far Colonel Miranda accompanies them, as also Don Prospero. There parting, the refugees return to the ranche, while the travellers strike out over the treeless waste, which spreads before their faces to the very verge of vision.

They have no landmark to guide them, neither rock nor tree; but the sky is without a cloud, and there is a sun in it gleaming like a globe of fire. To the experienced prairie man this is sufficient for telling every point of the compass, and they but want one. Their course is due west till they strike the Pecos; then along its bank to the crossing, thence west again through the Sierras, and on to Santa Fé.

Keeping the sun slightly on the left shoulder, they journey till near noon, when a dark object, seen a little to the right, attracts them. Not to surprise, for they well know what it is – a grove. They can tell, too, that the trees composing it are oaks, of the species known as black-jack. Notwithstanding their stunted growth, the black-jacks are umbrageous, and give good shade. Though the sun has not yet reached meridian, its rays are of meridian heat, and strike down with fiery fervour on the surface of the parched plain.

This determines them to seek the shelter of the grove, and there make their noontide halt. It is a little but of their way; but, far as they can see ahead, no other spot offers a chance of protection against the burning beams.

The grove is a mere copse, covering scarce half an acre, and the topmost branches rise but a few feet above their heads. Still is there shade, both for them and their animals; and cover, should they require to conceal themselves – the last a fortunate circumstance, as is soon proved. Equally fortunate their not having need to kindle a fire. In their haversacks they carry provisions already cooked.

Dismounting, they lead their males in among the trees, and there make them secure by looping the bridles to a branch. Then, laying themselves along the earth, they eat their midday meal, pull out their pipes, and follow it with a smoke.

With little thought, they are burning the last bit of tobacco which remained to the refugees. At parting, their generous host, to comfort them on their journey, presented them with the ultimate ounce of his stock; with true Spanish politeness saying nothing of this.

As they lie watching the blue film curling up among the branches of the black-jacks, as little do they reflect how fortunate for them it is not the smoke of a fire, nor visible at any great distance. Were it so, there would not be much likelihood of their ever reaching the Del Norte or leaving the Llano Estacado alive.

Not dreaming of danger in that desolate place – at least none caused by human kind – they remain tranquilly pulling at their pipes, now conversing of the past, anon speculating about their plans for the future.

Three or four hours elapse; the sun having crossed the meridian, begins to stoop lower. Its rays fall less fervently, and they think of continuing their journey. They have “unhitched” the mules, led them out to the edge of the copse, and are standing by the stirrup, ready to remount, when an object catches the quick eye of the ex-Ranger, causing him to utter a sharp ejaculation.

Something seen west, the way they want to go.

Pointing it out to Hamersley, the two stand observing. No great scrutiny needed to tell them ’tis a cloud of dust, although in breadth not bigger than a blanket. But while they are regarding it it gradually spreads out, at the same time showing higher above the surface of the plain.

It may be a swirl of the wind acting on the dry sand of the desert – the first commencement of a regular whirlwind – a thing common on the table lands of New Mexico. But it has not the round pillar-like form of the molino, nor do they believe it to be one. Both are too well acquainted with this phenomenon to be deceived by its counterfeit.

If they had any doubts, as they stand gazing these are resolved. The cloud presents a dense dark head, with a nucleus of something more solid than dust. And while guessing at the true character of this opaque central part, a circumstance occurs disclosing it. A puff of wind striking the dust causes it to swirl sideways, showing underneath a body of mounted men. Men, too, in military array, marching in double file, armed, uniformed, with lances borne erect, their blades glinting in the sun.

“Sogers!” exclaims the ex-Ranger.

Chapter Forty Eight.

Dread Conjectures

It is Wilder who so emphatically proclaims the character of the cavalcade. He has no need, Hamersley having already made it out himself.

“Yes; they are soldiers,” he rejoins, mechanically, adding, “Mexican, as a matter of course. None of our troops ever stray this fair west. ’Tis out of United States territory. The Texans claim it. But those are not Texans: they are uniformed, and carry lances. Your old friends, the Rangers, don’t affect that sort of thing.”

“No,” responds Wilder, with a contemptuous toss of the head, “I shedn’t think they did. We niver tuk to them long sticks; ’bout as much use as bean-poles. In coorse they’re Mexikins, lanzeeros.”

“What can they be doing out here? There are no Indians on the Staked Plain. If there were, such a small party as that, taking it to be Mexican, would not be likely to venture after them.”

“Maybe it’s only a advance guard, and thar’s a bigger body behint. We shell soon see, as they’re ridin’ deerect this way. By the ’Tarnal, ’twon’t do to let ’em sight us; leastwise, not till we’ve seen more o’ them, an’ know what sort they air. White men tho’ they call themselves, I’d a’most as soon meet Injuns. They’d be sure to take us for Texans; and ’bout me there’d be no mistake in that. But they’d treet you the same, an’ thar treetment ain’t like to be civil. Pull yur mule well back among the bushes. Let’s blind the brutes, or they may take it into their heads to squeal.”

The hybrids are led back into the grove, tied, and zapadoed– the last operation performed by passing a blanket, mask fashion, over their eyes. This done, the two men return to the edge of the copse, keeping themselves screened behind the outstanding trees.

In their absence the moving cohort has drawn nearer, and still advances. But slowly, and, as when first sighted, enveloped in a cloud of dust. Only now and then, as the wind wafts this aside, can be distinguished the forms of the individuals composing it. Then but for an instant, the dust again drifting around them.

Still the nimbus draws nigher, and is gradually approaching the spot where the travellers had concealed themselves.

At first only surprised at seeing soldiers on the Staked Plain, they soon become seriously alarmed. The troop is advancing towards the black-jack grove, apparently intending it for a place of bivouac; if so, there will be no chance for them to escape observation. The soldiers will scatter about, and penetrate every part of the copse. Equally idle to attempt flight on their slow-footed animals, pursued by over two score of cavalry horses.