The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

At this crisis a new thought came into my mind. More than once in my life had I witnessed a spectacle similar to that now under my eyes – more than once had I looked upon it with dread. That serried line was an old acquaintance: it was a band of Indian warriors on their midnight march – upon the war-trail!

The actions of the spy were explained: he was an Indian runner. The party to whom he belonged was about to approach the mesa – perhaps with the design of encamping there – he had been sent forward to reconnoitre the ground.

What effect his tale would have, I could not guess. I could see that the horsemen were halted – perhaps awaiting the return of their messenger. They were too distant to be seen by the Mexicans; and the minute after, they were also invisible to my eyes upon the darkly-shadowed prairie.

Before communicating with Garey, I resolved to wait for another gleam of moonlight, so that I might have a more distinct story to tell.

Chapter Forty Two.

The Caballada

It was nearly a quarter of an hour before the cloud moved away; and then, to my surprise, I saw a clump of horses – not horsemen– upon the prairie, and scarcely half-a-mile distant from the mesa! Not one of them was mounted, and, to all appearance, it was a drove of wild-horses that had galloped up during the interval of darkness, and were now standing silent and motionless.

I strained my eyes upon the distant prairie, but the dim horsemen were no longer to be seen. They must have ridden off beyond the range of vision?

I was about to seek my comrade and communicate to him what had passed, when, on rising to my feet, I found him standing by my side. He had been all around the summit without seeing aught, and had returned to satisfy himself that the guerrilla were still quiet.

“Hillow!” he exclaimed, as his eyes fell upon the caballada. “What the darnation’s yonder? A drove o’ wild hosses? It’s mighty strange them niggers don’t notice ’em! By the etarnal – ”

I know not what Garey meant to have said. His words were drowned by the wild yell that broke simultaneously from the Mexican line; and the next moment the whole troop were seen springing to their saddles, and putting themselves in motion.

We of course supposed that they had just discovered the caballada of wild-horses, and it was that that was producing this sudden stampede.

What was our astonishment on perceiving that we ourselves were the cause of the alarm; for the guerrilleros, instead of fronting to the plain, rode closer up to the cliff, and screaming wildly, fired their carbines at us! Among the rest, we could distinguish the great gun of El Zorro, and the hiss of its leaden bullet, as it passed close to our ears!

We were puzzled at first to know how they had discovered us. A glance explained that the moon had risen higher in the heavens, and the shadow cast by the mound had been gradually foreshortened. While gazing out at the caballada, we had incautiously kept our feet; and our figures, magnified to gigantic proportions, were thrown forward upon the plain directly under the eyes of our enemies. They had but to look up to see us where we stood.

Instantly we knelt down among the bushes, clutching our rifles.

The surprise occasioned by our appearance upon the cliff seemed to have deprived our enemies, for the moment, of their habitual prudence, as several of them rode boldly within range. Perhaps they were some of the late arrivals. In the dark shadow, we could not make out their forms; but one had the misfortune to be mounted on a white horse, and that guided the trapper’s aim. I saw him glancing along his barrel, and heard the sharp crack. I fancied I heard a stifled groan from below, and the next moment the white horse was seen galloping out into the moonlight, but the rider was no longer upon his back.

Another cloud passed over the moon, and the plain was again shrouded from our sight. Garey was proceeding to reload, when a cry arose amidst the darkness, that caused him to pause and listen. The cry was again repeated, and then uttered continuously with that wild intonation which can alone proceed from the throat of the savage. It was not the guerrilla that was uttering that cry; it was the yell of the Indian warrior.

“Comanche war-hoop!” cried Garey, after listening a moment. “Comanche war-hoop! by the etarnal! Hooraw! the Injuns are upon ’em!”

Amidst the cries, we could hear the rapid trampling of horses, and the ground appeared to vibrate under the quick heavy tread.

Each moment the strokes sounded nearer. The savages were charging the guerrilla!

The moon shot forth from the cloud. There was no longer a doubt. The wild-horses were mounted; each carried an Indian naked to the waist – his painted body glaring red in the moonlight, and terrible to behold.

By this time the Mexicans had all mounted and faced, towards the unexpected foe, but with evident signs of irresolution in their ranks. They would never stand the charge – no, never. So said Garey; and he was right.

The savages had advanced within less than a hundred paces of the Mexican line, when they were observed to pull suddenly up. It was but a momentary halt – just time enough to enable them to mark the formation of their foes, and send a flight of arrows into their midst. That done, they dashed onward, uttering their wild yells, and brandishing their long spears.

The guerrilleros only waited to discharge their carbines and escopettes; they did not think of reloading.

Most of them flung away their guns as soon as they had fired, and the retreat began. The whole troop turned its back upon the enemy, and spurring their horses to a gallop, came sweeping round the base of the mesa in headlong flight.

The Indians, uttering their demoniac yells, followed as fast. They were rendered more furious, that their hated foe was likely to escape them. The latter were indebted to us for having put them upon the alert. But for that circumstance, the Indians would have charged them while dismounted, and far different might have been their fate. Mounted and ready for flight, most of them would probably get clear.

The moment we saw the direction the chase was about to take, Garey and I rushed across the summit to the other side.

On arriving at the brow of the precipice, our view was perfect, and we could see both parties as they passed along, its base directly below us. Both were riding in straggling clumps, and scarcely two hundred paces separated the rearmost of the pursued from the headmost of the pursuers. The latter still uttered their war-cry, while the former now rode in silence – their breath bound, and their voices hushed in the deathlike stillness of terror.

All at once a cry arose from the guerrilla – short, quick, and despairing – the voice of some new consternation; at the same moment the whole troop were seen to pull up.

We looked for the cause of this extraordinary conduct; our eyes and ears both guided us to the explanation.

From the opposite direction, and scarcely three hundred yards distant, appeared a band of horsemen coming up at a gallop. They were right in the moon’s eye, and we could see glancing arms, and hear loud voices. The hoofs could be heard pounding the prairie, and my companion and I recognised the heavy tread of the American horse. Still more certain were we about that hoarse “hurrah.” Neither Indian nor Mexican could have uttered that well-known shout.

“Hooraw! – the rangers!” cried Garey, as he echoed the cry at the full pitch of his voice.

The guerrilleros, stupified by surprise at sight of this new enemy, had paused for a moment – no doubt fancying it was another party of Indians. Their halt was of short duration; the dim light favoured them; rifles already played upon their ranks; and, suddenly wheeling to the left, they struck out into the open plain.

The Indians, seeing them turn off, leaned into the diagonal line to intercept them; but the rangers, already close, up, had just made a similar movement, and savage and Saxon were now obliquing towards each other!

The moon, that for some minutes had been yielding but a faint light, became suddenly eclipsed by a cloud, and the darkness was now greater than ever. Garey and I saw no more of the strife; but we heard the shock of the opposing bands; we heard the war-whoop of the savage mingling with the ranger’s vengeful shout: we heard the “crack, crack, crack” of yäger rifles, and the quick detonations of revolvers – the clashing of sabre-blades upon spear-shafts – the ring of breaking steel – the neighing of steeds – the victor’s cry of triumph – and the deep anguished groan of the victim.

With anxious hearts, and nerves excited to their utmost, we stood upon the cliff, and listened to these sounds of dread import.

Not long did they last. The fierce struggle was soon over. When the moon gleamed forth again, the battle was ended. Prostrate forms, both of man and horse, were lying upon the plain.

Far to the south, a dark clump was seen disappearing over the prairie’s edge: it was the cowardly guerrilla. To the west, horsemen galloped away, alone, or in straggling groups; but the cheer of triumph that reached us from the scene of strife told us who were the masters of the ground. The rangers had triumphed.

“Whur ur ye, Bill?” cried a voice from the bottom of the cliff, which both of us easily recognised.

“Hyar I be,” answered Garey.

“Wal, we’ve gin them Injuns goss, I reck’n; but cuss the luck, the yeller-bellies hev got clur off. Wagh!”

Chapter Forty Three.

A Chapter of Explanations

The fight could not have lasted more than ten minutes. The whole skirmish had the semblance of a moonlight dream, interrupted by interludes of darkness. So rapid had been the movements of the forces engaged, that after the first fire not a gun was reloaded. As for the guerrilleros, the Indian war-cry seemed to have shaken the pieces out of their hands, for the ground where they had first broken off was literally strewed with carbines, escopettes, and lances. The great gun of El Zorro was found among the spoils.

Notwithstanding the shortness of the affair, it proved sufficiently tragical to both Mexicans and Indians; five of the guerrilleros had bit the dust, and twice that number of savage warriors lay lifeless upon the plain – their bodies glaring under the red war-paint, as if shrouded in blood. The Mexicans lay near the foot of the mesa, having fallen under the first fire of the rangers, delivered as they galloped up. The Indians were farther out upon the plain, where they had dropped to the thick rapid detonations of the revolvers, that, so long as the warriors held their ground, played upon them with fearful effect. They may have heard of this weapon, and perhaps have seen a revolver in the hands of some trapper or traveller, but, to my knowledge, it was the first time they had ever encountered a band of men armed with so terrible a power to destroy; for the rangers were indeed the first military organisation that carried Colt’s pistol into battle – the high cost of the arm having deterred the government from extending it to other branches of the service.

Nor did the rangers themselves come unscathed out of the fight; two had dropped out of their saddles, pierced by the Comanche spear; while nearly a dozen were more or less severely wounded by arrows.

While Quackenboss was climbing the cliff, Garey and I found time to talk over the strange incidents to which we had been witness. We were aided by explanations from below, but without these we had no difficulty in comprehending all.

The Indians were a band of Comanches, as their war-cry had already made known to us. Their arrival on the ground at that moment was purely accidental, so far as we or the Mexicans were concerned: it was a war-party, and upon the war-trail, with the intention of reiving a rich Mexican town on the other side of the Rio Grande, some twenty leagues from the rancheria. Their spy had discovered the horsemen by the mesa, and made them out to be Mexicans – a foe which the lordly Comanche holds in supreme contempt. Not so contemptible in his eyes are Mexican horses, silver-studded saddles, speckled serapes, mangas of fine cloth, bell-buttoned breeches, arms, and accoutrements: and it was to sweep this paraphernalia that the attack had been made; though hereditary hatred of the Spanish race – old as the conquest – and revenge for more recent wrongs, were of themselves sufficient motives to have impelled the Indians to their hostile attempt.

All this we learned from one of their braves, who remained wounded upon the ground, and who, upon closer examination, turned out to be a ci-devant Mexican captive, now completely Indianised!

Fortunately for the Mexican town, the savages, thus checked, abandoned their design, and returned to their mountain fastnesses sadly humbled.