The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

“Señorita!” said I, “the hypothesis, whether true or false, can have but little interest for you.”

She answered me with a smile of strange intelligence. I fancied there was sadness in it. I fancied —

“We cannot recover the past,” said she, interrupting my thoughts; “no, no, no! But for the present – say again – tell me again that you love me!”

“Love you! – yes, lady – ”

“And I have your heart, your whole heart?”

“Never – can I love another!”

“Thanks! thanks!”

“No more than thanks, Isolina?”

For some moments she remained silent, her eyes averted from me; she appeared struggling with some emotion.

“Yes, more than thanks,” she replied at length; “gratitude! three things more – if they will suffice to prove my gratitude.”

“Name them!”

“Why should prudery tie my tongue? I promised to be candid. I, too, came here to make confession. Listen! Three things I have said. Look around you! – north, south, east, and west – the land you see is mine; be it yours, if you will.”

“Isolina!”

“This, too, can I bestow,” – she held forth her little hand, which I clasped with fervid emotion.

“More! more! the third?”

“The third, on second thoughts, I cannot give; ’tis yours already.”

“It is – ?”

“Mia corazon” (My heart).

Those splendid steeds, like creatures of intelligence, appeared to understand what was said; they had gradually moved closer and closer, till their muzzles touched and their steel curbs rang together. At the last words, they came side by side, as if yoked in a chariot. It appeared delight to them to press their proud heaving flanks against each other, while their riders, closing in mutual clasp, leaned over and met their lips in that wild fervid kiss – the climax of love.

Chapter Forty Seven.

Strayed from the Track

We parted upon the top of the hill. It was not prudent for us to be seen riding together, and Isolina went away first, leaving me in the glade.

We had bidden adieu in that phrase of pleasant promise, “hasta la mañana” (until to-morrow). To-morrow we should meet again. To-morrow, and to-morrow, we should visit that sweet spot, repeat our burning words, renew our blissful vows.

I remained some minutes on the ground, now hallowed and holy. Within, the tumult of triumphant passion had passed, and was succeeded by the calm repose of perfect contentment. My heart’s longings had been gratified; it had found all that it desired – even to the full reciprocity of its passion. What would it more? There is no more of mundane bliss. Life has no felicity to cope with requited love; it alone can give us a foretaste of future joys; by it only may we form some idea of the angel existence of heaven.

The world without was in harmony with the spirit within. The scene around me was rose-coloured. The flowers appeared fresher in tint, and breathed a sweeter fragrance in the air; the hum of the homeward bee, laden with treasures for his love-queen, fell with a dreamy pleasance upon the ear; the voices of the birds sounded softer and more musical; even the aras and paroquets, chanting in a more subdued tone, no longer pronounced that hated name; and the tiny Mexican doves, las palomitas– scarcely so large as finches – walked with proud gait over the ground, or side by side upon the branches of the myrtles – like types of tender love – told their heart’s tale in soft and amorous cooing.

Long could I have lingered by that consecrated spot, even hasta la mañana, but duty claimed me, and its calls must not be disregarded. Already the setting sun was flinging purple beams over the distant prairie; and, heading my horse down the hill, I once more plunged under the shadows of the mimosas.

Absorbed in my supreme happiness, I took no heed of aught else; I noticed neither track nor path.

Had I left my horse to himself, most likely he would have taken the right road; but in my reverie, perhaps I had mechanically dragged upon the rein, and turned him from it. Whether or not, after a lapse of time, I found myself in the midst of thick woods, with not the semblance of a trail to guide me; and I knew not whether I was riding in the right direction. I ought rather to say that I knew the contrary – else I must long before have reached the clearings around the village.

Without much reflection, I turned in a new direction, and rode for some time without striking a trail. This led me once more into doubt, and I made head back again, but still without success. I was in a forest-plain, but I could find no path leading anywhere; and amid the underwood of palmettoes I could not see any great distance around me. Beyond a question, I had strayed far out of my way.

At an early hour of the day, this would have given me little concern; but the sun had now set, and already under the shadow of the moss-covered trees, it was nearly dark. Night would be down in a few minutes, and in all probability I should be obliged to spend it in the forest – by no means an agreeable prospect, and the less so that I was thinly clad and hungry. True, I might pass some hours in sweet reflection upon the pleasant incident of the day – I might dream rosy dreams – but, alas! the soul is sadly under the influence of the body; the spiritual must ever yield to the physical, and even love itself becomes a victim to the vulgar appetite of hunger.

I began to fear that, after all, I should have but a sorry night of it. I should be too hungry to think; too cold either to sleep or dream; besides, I was likely to get wet to the shirt – as the rain had commenced falling in large heavy drops.

After another unsuccessful effort to strike a trail, I pulled up and sat listening. My eyes would no longer avail me; perhaps my ears might do better service.

And so it chanced. The report of a rifle reached them, apparently fired some hundred yards off in the woods.

Considering that I was upon hostile ground, such a sound might have caused me alarm; but I knew from the sharp whip-like crack that the piece was a hunter’s rifle, and no Mexican ever handled a gun of that kind. Moreover, I had heard, closely following upon the shot, a dull concussion, as of some heavy body dropped from a high elevation to the ground. I was hunter enough to know the signification of this sound. It was the game – bird or beast – that had fallen from a tree.

An American must have fired that shot; but who? There were only three or four of the rangers who carried the hunter-rifle – a very different weapon from the “regulation” piece – old backwoodsmen who had been indulged in their whim. It might be one of these.

Without hesitation, I headed my horse for the spot, and rode as rapidly as the underwood would permit me.

I kept on for five minutes or more without halting. I certainly must have passed the place where the shot had been fired, and yet I saw no one; but just as I was about to pull up again, a well-known voice reached me from behind with the words —

“By the jumpin Geehosophat! it ur the young fellur – the capt’n!”

Turning, I beheld my trapper comrades just emerging from the bushes, where they had cautiously cached themselves, on hearing the hoof-strokes of my horse, and lain hid till I had passed them.

Rube carried upon his shoulders a large turkey gobbler – the game I had heard drop – while upon Garey’s back I observed the choice portions of a deer.

“You have been foraging to some advantage,” I remarked as they came up.

“Yes, capt’n,” replied Garey, “we won’t want for rashuns. Not but that your rangers offered us a plenty to eat; but ye see we couldn’t in honour accept o’ it, for we promised to find for ourselves.”

“Ye-es, durn it!” added Rube, “we’re free mountainee men – ain’t a gwine to sponge on nobody – we ain’t.”

“An’, capt’n,” continued Garey, “thar don’t appear to be any great eatin’ fixins about the place for yurself neyther: if yu’ll just accept o’ the turkey, and one o’ these hyar quarters o’ the deer-meat, thar’s plenty left for Rube an’ me; ain’t thar, Rube?”

“Gobs!” was the laconic answer.

I was not loath to satisfy the wish of the hunters – for to say the truth, the village larder had no such delicacies as either wild turkey or venison – and having signified my assent, we all three moved away from the spot. With the trappers for my guides, I should soon get into the right road. They, too, were on their return to the post. They had been in the woods since noon. They were both afoot, having left their horses at the rancheria.

After winding about half-a-mile among the trees, we came out upon a narrow road. Here my companions, who were unacquainted with the neighbourhood, were at fault as well as myself: and knew not which direction to take.

It was dark as pitch, but, as on the night before, there was lightning at intervals. Unlike the preceding night, however, it was now raining as if all the sluices of the sky had been set open; and by this time we were all three of us soaking wet. The whole canopy of heaven was shrouded in black, without a single streak of light upon it – not even a star. Who could discover the direction in such a night?

As the lightning flashed, I saw Rube bending down over the road; he appeared to be examining the tracks. I noticed that there were wheel-tracks – deep ruts – evidently made by the rude block-wheels of a carreta. It was these that the trapper was scanning.

Almost as soon as a man could have read the direction from a finger-post, Rube raised himself erect, and crying out —