The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

“Spy or no spy, señorita, I shall not detain you. I shall bear the risk: you are free to go.”

“Gracias I cavallero! And now, since you have behaved so handsomely, I shall set your mind at rest about the risk. Read!”

She handed me a folded paper; at a glance, I recognised the safe-guard of the commander-in-chief, enjoining upon all to respect its bearer – the Doña Isolina de Vargas.

“You perceive, mio capita I was not your captive after all? Ha! ha! ha!”

“Lady, you are too general not to pardon the rudeness to which you have been subjected?”

“Freely, capitan – freely.”

“I shudder at thought of the risk you have run. Why did you act with such imprudence? Your sudden flight at sight of our picket caused suspicion, and of course it was our duty to follow and capture you. With the safeguard, you had no cause for flight.”

“Ha! it was that very safe-guard that caused me to fly.”

“The safe-guard, señorita? Pray, explain!”

“Can I trust your prudence, capitan?”

“I promise – ”

“Know, then, that I was not certain you were Americanos; for aught I could see, you might have been a guerilla of my countrymen. How would it be if this paper, and sundry others I carry, were to fall into the hands of Caiales? You perceive, capitan, we fear our friends more than our enemies.”

I now fully comprehended the motive of her flight.

“You speak Spanish too well, mio capitan,” continued she. “Had you cried ‘Halt!’ in your native tongue, I should at once have pulled up, and perhaps saved my pet. Ah, me! —pobre yegua! pobre Zola!”

As she uttered the last exclamation, her feelings once more overcame her; and sinking down upon her knees, she passed her arms around the neck of the mustang, now stiff and cold. Her face was buried in the long thick mane, and I could perceive the tears sparkling like dew-drops over the tossed hair.

“Pobre Lolita!” she continued, “I have good cause to grieve; I had reason to love you well. More than once you saved me from the fierce Lipan and the brutal Comanche. What am I to do now? I dread the Indian foray; I shall tremble at every sign of the savage. I dare no more venture upon the prairie; I dare not go abroad; I must tamely stay at home. Mia querida! you were my wings: they are clipped – I fly no more.”

All this was uttered in a tone of extreme bitterness; and I – I who so loved my own brave steed – could appreciate her feelings. With the hope of imparting even a little consolation, I repeated my offer.

“Señorita,” I said, “I have swift horses in my troop – some of noble race – ”

“You have no horse in your troop I value.”

“You have not seen them all?”

“All – every one of them – to-day, as you filed out of the city.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed, yes, noble capitan. I saw you as you carried yourself so cavalierly at the head of your troop of filibusteros– Ha, ha, ha!”

“Señorita, I saw not you.”

“Carrambo! it was not for the want of using your eyes. There was not a balcon or reja into which you did not glance – not a smile in the whole street you did not seem anxious to reciprocate – Ha, ha, ha! I fear, Señor Capitan, you are the Don Juan de Tenorio of the north.”

“Lady, it is not my character.”

“Nonsense! you are proud of it. I never saw man who was not. But come! a truce to badinage. About the horse – you have none in your troop I value, save one.”

I trembled as she spoke.

“It is he,” she continued, pointing to Moro.

I felt as if I should sink into the earth. My embarrassment prevented me for some time from replying. She noticed my hesitation, but remained silent, awaiting my answer.

“Señorita,” I stammered out at length, “that steed is a great favourite – an old and tried friend. If you desire – to possess him, he is – he is at your service.”

In emphasising the “if,” I was appealing to her generosity. It was to no purpose.

“Thank you,” she replied coolly; “he shall be well cared for. No doubt he will serve my purpose. How is his mouth?”

I was choking with vexation, and could not reply. I began to hate her.

“Let me try him,” continued she. “Ah! you have a curb bit – that will do; but it is not equal to ours. I use a mameluke. Help me to that lazo.”

She pointed to a lazo of white horsehair, beautifully plaited, that was coiled upon the saddle of the mustang.

I unloosed the rope – mechanically I did – and in the same way adjusted it to the horn of my saddle. I noticed that the noose-ring was of silver! I shortened the leathers to the proper length.

“Now, capitan!” cried she, gathering the reins in her small gloved hand – “now I shall see how he performs.”

At the word, she bounded into the saddle, her small foot scarcely touching the stirrup. She had thrown off her manga, and her woman’s form was now displayed in all its undulating outlines. The silken skirt draped down to her ankles, and underneath appeared the tiny red boot, the glancing spur, and the lace ruffle of her snow-white calzoncillas. A scarlet sash encircled her waist, with its fringed ends drooping to the saddle; and the tight bodice, lashed with lace, displayed the full rounding of her bosom, as it rose and fell in quiet regular breathing – for she seemed in no way excited or nervous. Her full round eye expressed only calmness and courage.

I stood transfixed with admiration. I thought of the Amazons: were they beautiful like her? With a troop of such warriors one might conquer a world!

A fierce-looking bull, moved by curiosity or otherwise, had separated from the herd, and was seen approaching the spot where we were. This was just what the fair rider wanted. At a touch of the spur, the horse sprang forward, and galloped directly for the bull. The latter, cowed at the sudden onset, turned and ran; but his swift pursuer soon came within lazo distance. The noose circled in the air, and, launched forward, was seen to settle around the horns of the animal. The horse was now wheeled round, and headed in an opposite direction. The rope tightened with a sudden pluck, and the bull was thrown with violence to the plain, where he lay stunned and apparently lifeless. Before he had time to recover himself, the rider turned her horse, trotted up to the prostrate animal, bent over in the saddle, unfastened the noose, and, after coiling the rope under her arm, came galloping back.

“Superb! – magnificent!” she exclaimed, leaping from the saddle and gazing at the steed. “Beautiful! – most beautiful! Ah, Lola, poor Lola! I fear I shall soon forget thee!”

The last words were addressed to the mustang. Then turning to me, she added —

“And this horse is mine?”

“Yes, lady, if you will it,” I replied somewhat cheerlessly, for I felt as if my best friend was about to be taken from me.

“But I do not will it,” said she, with an air of determination; and then breaking into a laugh, she cried out, “Ha! capitan, I know your thoughts. Think you I cannot appreciate the sacrifice you would make? Keep your favourite. Enough that one of us should suffer;” and she pointed to the mustang. “Keep the brave black; you well know how to ride him. Were he mine, no mortal could influence me to part with him.”

“There is but one who could influence me.”

As I said this, I looked anxiously for the answer. It was not in words I expected it, but in the glance. Assuredly there was no frown; I even fancied I could detect a smile – a blending of triumph and satisfaction. It was short-lived, and my heart fell again under her light laugh.

“Ha! ha! ha! That one is of course your lady-love. Well, noble capitan, if you are as true to her as to you brave steed, she will have no cause to doubt your fealty. I must leave you. Adios!”

“Shall I not be permitted to accompany you to your home?”