Всадник без головы / The Headless Horseman

In twenty minutes the herd gained distance upon the spotted mustang; the mustang upon the blood bay; and the blood bay – ah! his competitors were no longer in sight.

For another mile the chase continued, without much change.

“What if I lose sight of her? In truth, it begins to look queer! It would be an awkward situation for the young lady. Worse than that – there’s danger in it – real danger. If I should lose sight of her, she’d be in trouble to a certainty!”

Thus muttering, Maurice rode on: his eyes now fixed upon the form still flitting away before him; at intervals interrogating, with uneasy glances, the space that separated him from it.

At this crisis the drove disappeared from the sight both of the blood-bay and his master; and most probably at the same time from that of the spotted mustang and its rider.

The effect produced upon the runaway[22 - runaway – лошадь, которая понесла] appeared to proceed from some magical influence. As if their disappearance was a signal for discontinuing the chase, it suddenly slackened pace; and the instant after came to a standstill!

“Miss Poindexter!” Maurice said, as he spurred his steed within speaking distance: “I am glad that you have recovered command of that wild creature. I was beginning to be alarmed about—”

“About what, sir?” was the question that startled the mustanger.

“Your safety – of course,” he replied, somewhat stammeringly.

“Oh, thank you, Mr Gerald; but I was not aware of having been in any danger. Was I really so?”

“Any danger!” echoed the Irishman, with increased astonishment. “On the back of a runaway mustang – in the middle of a pathless prairie!”

“And what of that? The thing couldn’t throw me. I’m too clever in the saddle, sir.”

“I know it, madame; but suppose you had fallen in with—”

“Indians!” interrupted the lady, without waiting for the mustanger to finish his hypothetical speech. “And if I had, what would it have mattered?”

“No; not Indians exactly – at least, it was not of them I was thinking.”

“Some other danger? What is it, sir? You will tell me, so that I may be more cautious for the future?”

Maurice did not make immediate answer. A sound striking upon his ear had caused him to turn away. They heard a shrill scream, succeeded by another and another, close followed by a loud hammering of hoofs.

It was no mystery to the hunter of horses.

“The wild stallions!” he exclaimed, in a tone that betokened alarm. “I knew they must be among those hills; and they are!”

“Is that the danger of which you have been speaking?”

“It is. At other times there is no cause to fear them. But just now, at this season of the year, they become as savage as tigers, and equally as vindictive.”

“What are we to do?” inquired the young lady, now, for the first time, giving proof that she felt fear – by riding close up to the man who had once before rescued her from a situation of peril. “Why should we not ride off at once, in the opposite direction?”

“‘It would be of no use. There’s no cover to conceal us, on that side – nothing but open plain. The place we must make for – the only safe one I can think of – lies the other way. You are sure you can control the mustang?”

“Quite sure,” was the prompt reply.

***

It was a straight unchanging chase across country – a trial of speed between the horses without riders, and the horses that were ridden. Speed alone could save the riders.

“Miss Poindexter!” the mustanger called out to the young lady. “You must ride on alone.”

“But why, sir?” asked she, bringing the mustang almost instantaneously to a stand.

“If we keep together we shall be overtaken. I must do something to stay those savage animals. For heaven’s sake don’t question me! Ten seconds of lost time, and it’ll be too late. Look ahead yonder. Do you see a pond? Ride straight towards it. You will find yourself between two high fences. They come together at the pond. You’ll see a gap, with bars. If I’m not up in time, gallop through, dismount, and put the bars up behind you.”

“And you, sir?”

“Have no fear for me! Alone, I shall run but little risk. For mercy’s sake, gallop forward! Keep the water under your eyes. Let it guide you. Remember to close the gap behind you.”

***

He overtook her on the shore of the pond. She was still seated in the saddle, relieved from all apprehension for his safety, and only trembling with a gratitude that longed to find expression in speech.

The peril was passed.

No longer in dread of any danger, the young Creole looked interrogatively around her.

“What is it for?” inquired the lady, indicating the construction.

Maurice explained to her that they were in a mustang trap – a contrivance for catching wild horses.

“The water attracts them; or they are driven towards it by a band of mustangers who follow, and force them on through the gap. Once within the corral, there is no trouble in taking them.”

“Poor things! Is it yours? You are a mustanger? You told us so?”

“I am; but I do not hunt the wild horse in this way. I prefer being alone. My weapon is this – the lazo.”

“I wish I could throw the lazo,” said the young Creole. “They tell me it is not a lady-like accomplishment.”

“Not lady-like! Surely it is as much so as skating? I know a lady who is very expert at it.”

“An American lady?”

“No; she’s Mexican, and lives on the Rio Grande; but sometimes comes across to the Leona – where she has relatives.”

“A young lady?”

“Yes. About your own age, I should think, Miss Poindexter.”

“Size?”

“Not so tall as you.”

“But much prettier, of course? The Mexican ladies, I’ve heard, in the matter of good looks, far surpass us plain Americans.”

“I think Creoles are not included in that category,” was the reply. “Perhaps you are anxious to get back to your party?” said Maurice, observing her abstracted air. “Your father may be alarmed by your long absence? Your brother – your cousin-”