The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

I was chagrined, frantic, and despairing, but not surprised. This time there was no mystery about the disappearance of the steed; the chapparal explained it. Though I no longer saw him, he was yet within hearing. His footfall on the firm ground, the occasional snapping of a dead stick, the whisk of the recoiling branches, all reached my ears as I was remounting.

These sounds guided me, and without staying to follow his tracks, I dashed forward to the edge of the chapparal – at the point nearest to where I heard him moving.

I did not pause to look for an opening, but, heading in the direction whence came the sounds, I spurred forward into the thicket.

Breasting the bushes that reached around, his neck, or bounding over them, my brave horse pressed on; but he had not gone three lengths of himself before I recognised the imprudence of the course I was pursuing: I now saw I should have followed the tracks.

I no longer heard the movements of the steed – neither foot-stroke, nor snapping sticks, nor breaking branches. The noise made by my own horse, amid the crackling acacias, drowned every other sound; and so long as I kept in motion, I moved with uncertainty. It was only when I made stop that I could again hear the chase struggling through the thicket; but now the sounds were faint and far distant – growing still fainter as I listened.

Once more I urged forward my horse, heading him almost at random; but I had not advanced a hundred paces, before the misery of uncertainty again impelled me to halt.

This time I listened and heard nothing – not even the recoil of a bough. The steed had either stopped, and was standing silent, or, what was more probable, had gained so so far in advance of me that his hoof-stroke was out of hearing.

Half-frantic, angered at myself, too much excited for cool reflection, I lanced the sides of my horse, and galloped madly through the thicket.

I rode several hundred yards before drawing bridle, in a sort of desperate hope I might once more bring myself within earshot of the chase.

Again I halted to listen. My recklessness proved of no avail. Not a sound reached my ear: even had there been sounds, I should scarcely have heard them above that that was issuing from the nostrils of my panting horse; but sound there was none. Silent was the chapparal around me – silent as death; not even a bird moved among its branches.

I felt something like self-execration: my imprudence I denounced over and over. But for my rash haste, I might yet have been upon the trail – perhaps within sight of the object of pursuit. Where the steed had gone, surely I could have followed. Now he was gone I knew not whither – lost – his trail lost – all lost!

To recover the trace of him, I made several casts across the thicket. I rode first in one direction, then in another, but all to no purpose. I could find neither hoof-track nor broken branch.

I next bethought me of returning to the open prairie, there retaking the trail, and following it thence. This was clearly the wisest, – in fact, the only course in which there was reason. I should easily recover the trail, at the point where the horse had entered the chapparal, and thence I might follow it without difficulty.

I turned my horse round, and headed him in the direction of the prairie – or rather in what I supposed to be the direction – for this too had become conjecture.

It was not till I had ridden for a half-hour – for more than a mile through glade and bush – not till I had ridden nearly twice as far in the opposite direction – and then to right, and then to left – that I pulled up my broken horse, dropped the rein upon his withers, and sat bent in my saddle under the full conviction that I too was lost.

Lost in the chapparal – that parched and hideous jungle, where every plant that carries a thorn seemed to have place. Around grew acacias, mimosas, gleditschias, robinias, algarobias– all the thorny legumes of the world; above towered the splendid fouquiera with spinous stem; there nourished the “tornillo” (prosopis glandulosa), with its twisted beans; there the “junco” (koeblerinia), whose very leaves are thorns. There saw I spear-pointed yuccas and clawed bromelias (agave and dasylirion); there, too, the universal cactacese (opuntia, mamillaria, cereus, and echinocactus); even the very grass was thorny – for it was a species of the “mezquite-grass,” whose knotted culms are armed with sharp spurs!

Through this horrid thicket I had not passed unscathed; my garments were already torn, my limbs were bleeding.

My limbs – and hers?

Of hers alone was I thinking: those fair-proportioned members – those softly-rounded arms – that smooth, delicate skin – bosom and shoulders bare – the thorn – the scratch – the tear. Oh! it was agony to think!

By action alone might I hope to still my emotions; and once more rousing myself from the lethargy of painful thought, I urged my steed onward through the bushes.

Chapter Sixty Seven.

Encounter with Javall

I had no mark to guide me, either on the earth or in the heavens. I had an indefinite idea that the chase had led westward, and therefore to get back to the prairie, I ought to head towards the east.

But how was I to distinguish east from west? In the chapparal both were alike, and so too upon the sky. No sun was visible; the canopy of heaven was of a uniform leaden colour; upon its face were no signs by which the cardinal points could have been discovered.

Had I been in the midst of a forest surrounded by a northern sylva, I could have made out my course. The oak or the elm, the ash-tree or maple, the beech or sycamore – any of them would have been compass sufficient for me; but in that thicket of thorny shrubs I was completely at fault. It was a subtropical flora – or rather a vegetation of the arid desert – to which I was almost a stranger. I knew there were men skilled in the craft of the chapparal, who, in the midst of it, could tell north from south without compass or stars. Not I.

I could think of no better mode than to trust to the guidance of my horse. More than once, when lost in the thick forest or on the boundless plain, had I reposed a similar trust in his instincts – more than once had he borne me out of my bewilderment.

But whither could he take me? Back to the path by which we had come?

Probably enough, had that path led to a home; but it did not: my poor steed, like myself, had no home. He, too, was a ranger; for years had been flitting from place to place, – hundreds, ay, thousands of miles from each other. Long had he forgotten his native stall.

I surmised that if there was water near, his instinct might carry him to that – and much needed it both horse and rider. Should we reach a running stream, it would serve as a guide.

I dropped the rein upon his neck, and left him to his will.

I had already shouted in my loudest voice, in hopes of being heard by my comrades; by none other than them, for what could human being do in such a spot, shunned even by the brute creation? The horned lizard (agama cornuta), the ground rattlesnake, the shell-covered armadillo, and the ever-present coyote, alone inhabit these dry jungles; and now and then the javali (dicotyles torquatus), feeding upon the twisted legumes of the “tornillo,” passes through their midst; but even these are rare; and the traveller may ride for scores of miles through a Mexican chapparal without encountering aught that lives and moves. There reigns the stillness of death. Unless the wind be rustling among the pinnate fronds of the acacias, or the unseen locust utters its harsh shrieking amid the parched herbage, the weary wayfarer may ride on, cheered by no other sound than his own voice, or the footfall of his horse.

There was still the chance that my followers might hear me. I knew that they would not stray from the trail. Though they must have been far behind when I entered the chapparal, following the tracks, they would in time be sure to come up.

It was a question whether they would follow mine, or those of the steed. This had not occurred to me before, and I paused to consider it. If the former, then was I wrong in moving onward, as I should only be going from them, and leading them on a longer search. Already had I given them a knot to unravel – my devious path forming a labyrinthine maze.

It was more than probable they would follow me– in the belief that I had some reason for deviating from the trail of the steed, perhaps for the purpose of heading or intercepting him.

This conjecture decided me against advancing farther – at least until some time should elapse, enough for them to get up.

Out of compassion for my hard-breathing horse, I dismounted.

At intervals, I shouted aloud, and fired shots from my pistols after each I listened; but neither shot nor shout reached me in reply. They must have been distant indeed, not to hear the report of fire-arms; for had they heard them, they would have been certain to make answer in a similar manner. All of them carried rifles and pistols.

I began to think it was full time for them to have reached me. Again I fired several shots; but, as before, echo was the only reply. Perhaps they had not followed me? perhaps they had kept on upon the trail of the steed, and it might be leading them far away, beyond hearing of the reports? perhaps there was not yet time for them to have arrived?

While thus conjecturing, my ears were assailed by the screeching of birds at some distance off. I recognised the harsh notes of the jay, mingling with the chatter of the red cardinal.

From the tones, I knew that these birds were excited by the presence of some enemy. Perhaps they were defending their nests against the black snake or the crotalus.

Or it might be my followers approaching! it might be the steed – like me, still wandering in the chapparal?

I sprang to my saddle to get a better view, and gazed over the tops of the trees. Guided by the voices of the birds, I soon discovered the scene of the commotion.

At some distance off, I saw both jays and cardinals fluttering among the branches, evidently busy with something on the ground beneath them. At the same time I heard strange noises, far louder than the voices of the birds, but could not tell what was causing them. My spirits sank, for I knew they could not be produced either by my comrades or the steed.

It was not far, and I determined to satisfy myself as to what was causing such a commotion in this hitherto silent place. I rode towards the spot, as fast as my horse could make way through the bushes. I was soon satisfied.

Coming out on the edge of a little glade, I became spectator to a singular scene – a battle between the red cougar and a band of javali.

The fierce little boars were “ringing” the panther, who was fighting desperately in their midst. Several of them lay upon the ground, struck senseless or dead, by the strong paws of the huge cat; but the others, nothing daunted, had completely surrounded their enemy, and were bounding upon him with open mouths; and wounding him with their sharp shining tusks.

The scene aroused my hunter instincts; and suddenly unslinging my rifle, I set my eye to the sights. I had no hesitation about the selection of my mark – the panther, by all means – and drawing trigger, I sent my bullet through the creature’s skull, that stretched him out in the midst of his assailants.

Three seconds had not elapsed, before I had reason to regret the choice I had made of a victim. I should have let the cougar alone, and either held my fire, or directed it upon one of his urchin-like enemies; for the moment he was hors de combat, his assailants became mine – transferring their “surround” to my horse and myself, with all the savage fierceness they had just exhibited towards the panther!

I had no means of punishing the ungrateful brutes. They had not given me time to reload my rifle before commencing their attack, and my pistols were both empty. My horse, startled by the unexpected assault, as well as by the strange creatures that were making it, snorted and plunged wildly over the ground; but go where he would, a score of the ferocious brutes followed, springing up against his thighs, and scoring his shanks with their terrible tusks. Well for me I was able to keep the saddle; had I been thrown from it at that moment, I should certainly have been torn to pieces.

I saw no hope of safety but in flight; and spurring my horse, I gave him full rein. Alas! through that tangled thicket the javali could go as fast as he; and after advancing a hundred yards or so, I perceived the whole flock still around me, assailing as fiercely as ever the limbs of my steed.