Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

Somewhat consoled by this reflection, the trapper now turned to go back in the direction of the camp-fire. He had not made a dozen steps, when the sharp report of a rifle fell upon his ear.

“It is Pepé’s!” he cried. “I know it. God grant he may have made a better shot than I have done!”

Just then a second report echoed through the woods. It sounded sadly on the ear of the Canadian – who did not recognise it – and being now the victim of a terrible uncertainty, he ran with all speed in the direction whence the sound had come.

Another report that now reached him added to the anguish of his suspense; for this time, like the last, it was not the well-known crack of his comrade’s rifle.

Almost at the same instant, however, he heard Pepé’s voice calling out:

“Come back, Fabian! come back! What is the use of – ”

A third detonation seemed to cut short the speech of the ex-coast-guard – as if he had fallen by the bullet – while no voice of Fabian was heard to make reply. A profound and frightful silence followed the last shot, which was broken only by the voice of the mock-bird, who appeared imperfectly to imitate the words that had been spoken, and then commenced chanting a plaintive song – as if mourning the death of those who had fallen by the shots.

The Canadian ran on for some moments, until – unable longer to restrain himself – he paused, and cried out, at the risk of exposing himself to some ambushed enemy:

“Hola! Pepé! – where are you?”

“Here!” answered the voice of the ex-carabinier. “We are here, straight before you – Don Fabian and myself. Come on!”

A cry of joy was all the response the Canadian could give; and the next moment another joyous shout, as he came upon the ground and perceived that both his companions were still in safety.

“The skunk ought to be wounded,” said he; “my shot caused him to tumble out of his saddle. You were perhaps more fortunate than I? I heard your piece speak – have you throwed him, Pepé?”

Pepé shook his head in the negative.

“If you mean the fellow in the yellow jacket,” said he, “I fancy the devil has him under his protection; for I had a fair sight on him – and yet he’s off! He’s not alone, however; there are four other horsemen along with him; and in one of these gentleman I have recognised him whom they here call Don Estevan de Arechiza, but who is no other than – ”

“I have seen only the fellow in the leather jacket,” interrupted the Canadian; “and here is his gun, Fabian, for you. But are you quite safe?” continued he, in an anxious tone. “You are sure you are not wounded?”

“No, no – my friend – my father!” cried Fabian, flinging himself into the trapper’s arms, as if they had just met after a long separation.

“Oh, Pepé!” cried the Canadian, his eyes filling with tears, as he pressed Fabian convulsively against his great bosom, and then held him at a distance as if to get a better view of him. “Is he not grand? Is he not beautiful? He – once my little Fabian – oh!”

“Pepé has told me all,” said Fabian. “Among these men is the murderer of my mother.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Pepé; “and by the Virgin of Atocha let us not delay here. There is no time for sentiment – the villain must not escape us. Justice, so long evaded, must now have its due.”

“As God wills!” rejoined Fabian.

The three friends now held a rapid council as to what course was best to be taken. It was concluded by their resolving to follow the horsemen as rapidly as possible along the road which these had taken – the road to Tubac.

Chapter Thirty Four

The Blood of the Medianas

After having uselessly discharged their carbines several times, from too great a distance for the balls to be dangerous, Oroche and Baraja had rejoined Cuchillo.

The outlaw was as pale as death; the ball fired at him by the Canadian had creased his head, and it was this had caused him to fall from his horse. Doubtless Bois-Rose would then have crushed him, like a venomous reptile, but for the horse. The noble animal, seeing that his master could not raise himself unaided, bent down that he might seize his mane, and so reach the saddle, and when he felt his master once more firmly seated on his back, he had set off at full gallop, and carried him away beyond the reach of Bois-Rose.

This was not the only danger run by the outlaw. When his accomplices had rejoined him and all three had come up with Don Estevan and Diaz, another danger was in store for him. The Spaniard had no need to interrogate Cuchillo in order to learn that Fabian had once more escaped. From the disappointed air of the two followers, and the paleness of the outlaw, who was still tottering in his saddle, Don Estevan guessed all.

Deceived in his expectation, the rage of the Spaniard burst out. He rode up to Cuchillo, crying, in a voice of thunder, “Cowardly and clumsy knave!” and in his blind fury, without reflecting that Cuchillo alone knew the secret of the Golden Valley, he drew his pistol. Luckily for the outlaw, Pedro Diaz threw himself quickly between him and Don Estevan, whose fury gradually subsided.

“And those men who are with him – who are they?” cried he.

“The two tiger-killers,” replied Baraja.

A short deliberation took place in a low voice between Don Estevan and Pedro Diaz, which ended by these words, pronounced aloud:

“We must destroy the bridge of the Salto de Agua, and the devil is in it if they overtake us before we reach Tubac;” and at this they all set off at full gallop.

Fabian had heard Don Estevan say to Cuchillo, the night before, that he should only pass two hours at the hacienda before his departure; and as the last events which had taken place at Don Augustin’s must have tended to shorten his stay, there was no time to hesitate. The horse of Pepé became a precious auxiliary in following the fugitives, and, if necessary, for cutting off their retreat. It remained to be decided who should mount him, and undertake an enterprise so perilous as opposing singly the flight of five armed horsemen.

“I shall follow them,” said Fabian.

So saying, he rushed towards the animal, who recoiled in terror; but seizing the cord by which he was tethered, the young man threw a handkerchief over his eyes. Trembling in every limb, the horse remained quiet, while Fabian brought Pepé’s saddle, which he placed on his back, and then arranged the lazo so as to form at once a bridle and a snaffle. He was about to mount without removing the handkerchief, when Pepé, at a sign from Bois-Rose, interposed.

“Gently,” said he, “if any one here has a right to mount this animal, it is I – I who captured him, and to whom he belongs.”

“Do you not see,” cried Fabian, impatiently, “that he is not branded, which shows that he has never yet been mounted? if you care for the safety of your limbs, I advise you not to try him.”

“That is my business,” said Pepé, advancing; but scarcely had the animal felt his hand on the pommel, and his foot on the stirrup, than with a furious bound he threw him ten feet off. Pepé uttered an angry oath, but Fabian vaulted into the saddle without touching the stirrups.

“Stop! Fabian, stop!” cried Bois-Rose, in a tone of anguish, “you must not go alone and risk falling into their hands.”

But already Fabian had removed the handkerchief; and the noble animal, his eyes restored to the light, made furious efforts to free himself from a weight which he felt for the first time, but at last stood motionless and trembling. Bois-Rose profited by this moment to seize the bridle, but was shaken off by another furious bound, and the terrified animal rushed away with such impetuosity that it was no longer in human power to restrain him. For a few moments the Canadian watched the intrepid rider struggling with the fury of the horse, and then both disappeared from his sight.

“They will kill him,” cried he; “they are five to one. Let us follow as closely as we can, Pepé, to protect once more my lately recovered child.”

Bois-Rose threw his rifle over his shoulder, and was already taking gigantic strides after Fabian.

“The horse is difficult to manage,” cried he; “I am certain that he will not go straight! we shall perhaps arrive as soon as he. Ah! Don Estevan, your evil star has guided you to these outlaws.”

Fabian, like those legendary cavaliers whom nothing appals, passed with fearful rapidity over hillocks, ravines, and fallen trunks of trees. Pepé was not wrong; in spite of the start that the pursued had of him, Fabian would soon have overtaken them, could he have guided his horse; but luckily, or unluckily for him, the intractable animal deviated constantly from the track; and it was only after prodigious efforts that he could bring him back to the road, which wound through the wood, and on which the traces of the five fugitives were visible, and thus the pursuer constantly lost ground.

However, after an hour of this struggle, the horse began to find that he had met with his master, and that his strength was becoming exhausted; the curb, held by a vigorous hand, compressed his jaws, his speed gradually relaxed, his bounds became less violent, and he ended by obeying the hand which guided him. As if by common consent, man and horse stopped to take breath. Fabian profited by this rest to look around him; his heart began to beat less rapidly and he could both hear and see. Trampled leaves, newly broken branches and the prints of horses’ feet, were clear indications of the passage of those who fled before him.

Suddenly the sound of falling water struck upon his ear. In another moment the fugitives would have gained the rustic bridge which crossed the wide and deep bed of the torrent; their united efforts might destroy it, and then all pursuit would be useless. While he was seeking for a ford Don Estevan would escape through the vast plains which extended to Tubac. This thought aroused anew the young man’s passion; and, pressing his horse’s side he galloped along the path, the windings of which still hid his enemies from view. This time his horse had grown docile and flew along the road.

The noise of the torrent soon drowned that of the horse’s feet, but before long human voices mingled with it. This sound produced upon Fabian as powerful an effect as his repeated blows did upon his horse; a few minutes more and he would confront the enemies whom he was burning to reach. The impetuous pace of a horse excites a man to the greatest degree; horse and rider react upon each other, and Fabian in his excitement forgot the inequality of numbers, therefore the spectacle which met his eyes was one that caused him a bitter disappointment.

As already stated, a bridge composed of trunks of trees roughly cut, joined the two steep banks, between which roared the Salto de Agua. This bridge, broad enough for a horse to pass over, rested at each end on the bare rock without anything to secure it, and the strength of a few men might overturn the trees and render the crossing impossible.

Just as Fabian reached the bridge, four horses, urged on by their riders, were pulling vigorously, with ropes attached to the trees, which at that moment yielding, fell with a crash into the torrent.

Fabian uttered a cry of rage. A man turned round – it was Don Estevan, but Don Estevan separated from him by an impassable barrier, and looking triumphantly at him.

Fabian, his clothes torn to pieces by the brambles, and his face so transformed by fury as to be scarcely recognisable, rushed forward in his blind rage to cross the river. But his horse reared violently and refused to proceed.