The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

“To your feet and forward!” was Ijurra’s answer.

“I cannot move a step,” said the youth, despairingly.

“Cannot! Carrai! we shall see whether you can. Here, Pablo,” continued he, addressing himself to one of the soldiers of the guard; “give this fellow the spur; he is restive!”

The ruffian soldier approached with fixed bayonet, seriously intending to use its point on the poor wayworn invalid! The latter rose with an effort, and made a desperate attempt to keep on; but his resolution again failed him. He could not endure the agonising pain, and after staggering a pace or two, he fell up against a rock.

“I cannot!” he again cried – “I cannot march farther: let me die here.”

“Forward! or you shall die here,” shouted Ijurra, drawing a pistol from his belt, and cocking it, evidently with the determination to carry out his threat. “Forward!”

“I cannot,” faintly replied the youth.

“Forward, or I fire!”

“Fire!” cried the young man, throwing open the flaps of his hunting-shirt, and making one last effort to stand erect.

“You are scarce worth a bullet,” said the monster with a sneer; at the same instant he levelled his pistol at the breast of his victim, and fired! When the smoke was blown aside, the body of young Holingsworth was seen lying at the base of the rock, doubled up, dead!

A thrill of horror ran through the line of captives. Even their habitually brutal guards were touched by such wanton barbarity. The brother of the youth was not six yards from the spot, tightly bound, and witness of the whole scene! Fancy his feelings at that moment!

“No wonder,” continued the Texan – “no wonder that Harding Holingsworth don’t stand upon ceremony as to where and when he may attack Rafael Ijurra. I verily believe that the presence of the Commander-in-chief wouldn’t restrain him from taking vengeance. It ain’t to be wondered at!”

In hopes that my companion might help me to some knowledge of the family at the hacienda, I guided the conversation in that direction.

“And Don Ramon de Vargas is Ijurra’s uncle?”

“Sure enough, he must be. Ha! I did not think of that. Don Ramon is the uncle. I ought to have known him this morning – that confounded mezcal I drank knocked him out of my mind altogether. I have seen the old fellow several times. He used to come to San Antonio once a-year on business with the merchants there. I remember, too, he once brought a daughter with him – splendid girl that, and no mistake! Faith, she crazed half the young fellows in San Antonio, and there was no end of duels about her. She used to ride wild horses, and fling the lazo like a Comanche. But what am I talking about? That mezcal has got into my brains, sure enough. It must have been her you chased? Sure as shooting it was!”

“Probable enough,” I replied, in a careless way. My companion little knew the deep, feverish interest his remarks were exciting, or the struggle it was costing me to conceal my emotions.

One thing I longed to learn from him – whether any of these amorous duellists had been favoured with the approbation of the lady. I longed to put this question, and yet the absolute dread of the answer restrained my tongue! I remained silent, till the opportunity had passed.

The hoof-strokes of half-a-dozen horses coming rapidly from the rear, interrupted the conversation. Without surprise, I perceived that it was Holingsworth and the rangers who had been left at the hacienda.

“Captain Warfield!” said the Tennessean as he spurred alongside, “my conduct no doubt surprises you. I shall be able to explain it to your satisfaction when time permits. It’s a long story – a painful one to me: you will not require it from me now. This much let me say – for good reason, I hold Rafael Ijurra as my most deadly foe. I came to Mexico to kill that man; and, by the Eternal! if I don’t succeed, I care not who kills me!”

“You have not then – ”

With a feeling of relief, I put the question, for I read he answer in the look of disappointed vengeance that gleamed in the eyes of the Tennessean. I was not permitted to finish the interrogatory; he knew what I was going to ask, and interrupted me with the reply —

“No, no; the villain has escaped; but by – ”

The rest of the emphatic vow was inaudible; but the wild glance that flashed from the speaker’s eye expressed his deep purpose more plainly than words.

The next moment he fell back to his place in the troop, and with his head slightly bent forward, rode on in silence. His dark taciturn features were lit up at intervals by an ominous gleam, showing that he still brooded over his unavenged wrong.

Chapter Twelve.

The yellow domino

The next two days I passed in feverish restlessness. Holingsworth’s conduct had quite disconcerted my plans. From the concluding sentences of Isolina’s note, I had construed an invitation to revisit the hacienda in some more quiet guise than that of a filibustero; but after what had transpired, I could not muster courage to present myself under any pretence. It was not likely I should be welcome – I, the associate – nay, the commander – of the man who had attempted to take the life of a nephew – a cousin! Don Ramon had stipulated for a “little rudeness;” he had had the full measure of his bargain, and a good deal more. He could not otherwise than think so. Were I to present myself at the hacienda, I could not be else than coldly received – in short, unwelcome.

I thought of apologies and pretexts, but to no purpose. For two days I remained in vacillating indecision; I neither saw nor heard of her who engrossed my thoughts.

News from head-quarters! A “grand ball” to be given in the city!

This bit of gossip fell upon my ear without producing the slightest impression, for I cared little for dancing, and less for grand balls; in early youth I had liked both; but not then.

The thing would at once have passed from my thoughts, had it not been for some additional information imparted at the same time, which to me at once rendered the ball attractive.

The information I allude to was, that the ball was got up “by authority,” and would be upon a grand scale. Its object was political; in other words, it was to be the means of bringing about a friendly intercourse between the conquerors and the conquered – a desirable end. Every effort would be made to draw out the “native society,” and let them see that we Yankee officers were not such “barbarians” as they affected to deem, and in reality pronounced us. It was known – so stated my informant – that many families of the Ayankieados would be present; and in order to make it pleasanter for those who feared proscription, the ball was to be a masked one —un bailé de mascara.

“The Ayankieados are to be there! and she – ”

My heart bounded with new hope: and I resolved to make one of the maskers – not that I intended to go in costume. In my slender wardrobe was a civilian dress proper cut, and tolerably well preserved: that would answer my purpose. The ball was to come off on the night following that on which I had word of it. My suspense would be short.

The time appeared long enough, but at length the he arrived, and, mounting my good steed, I started off for the city. A brisk ride of two hours brought me on the ground, and I found that I was late enough to be fashionable.

As I entered the ball-room, I saw that most of the company had arrived, and the floor was grouped with dancers. It was evident the affair was a “success.” There were four or five hundred persons present, nearly half of them ladies. Many were in character costumes, as Tyrolese peasants, Andalusian majas, Bavarian broom-girls, Wallachian boyards, Turkish sultanas, and bead-bedecked Indian belles. A greater number were disguised in the ungraceful domino, while not a few appeared in regular evening dress. Most of the ladies wore masks; some simply hid their faces behind the coquettish reboso topado, while others permitted their charms to be gazed upon. As the time passed on, and an occasional copita de vino strengthened the nerves of the company, the uncovered faces became more numerous, and masks got lost or put away.

As for the gentlemen, a number of them also wore masks – some were in costume, but uniforms predominated, stamping the ball with a military character. It was not a little singular to see a number of Mexican officers mingling in the throng! These were of course prisoners on parole; and their more brilliant uniforms, of French patterns, contrasted oddly with the plain blue dresses of their conquerors. The presence of these prisoners, in the full glitter of their gold-lace, was not exactly in good taste; but a moment’s reflection convinced one it was not a matter of choice with them. Poor fellows! had they abided by the laws of etiquette, they could not have been there; and no doubt they were as desirous of shaking their legs in the dance as the gayest of their captors. Indeed, in this species of rivalry they far outstripped the latter.

I spent but little time in observing these peculiarities; but one idea engrossed my mind, and that was to find Isolina de Vargas – no easy task amid such a multitude of maskers.

Among the uncovered faces she was not. I soon scanned them all, or rather glanced at them. It needed no scanning to recognise hers. If there, she was one of the mascaritas, and I addressed myself to a close observation of the dames en costume and the dominoes. Hopeless enough appeared the prospect of recognising her, but a little hope sustained me in the reflection, that, being myself uncovered, she might recognise me.

When a full half-hour had passed away, and my lynx-like surveillance was still unrewarded, this hope died within me; and, what may appear strange, I began to wish she was not there.

“If present,” thought I, “she must have seen me ere this, and to have taken no notice – ”

A little pang of chagrin accompanied this reflection.

I flung myself upon a seat, and endeavoured to assume an air of indifference, though I was far from feeling indifferent, and my eyes as before kept eagerly scanning the fair masters. Now and then, the tournure of an ankle – I had seen Isolina’s – or the elliptical sweep of a fine figure, inspired me with fresh hope: but as the mascaritas who owned them were near enough to have seen, and yet took no notice of me, I conjectured – in fact, hoped– that none of them was she. Indeed, a well-turned ankle is no distinctive mark among the fair doncellas of Mexico.

At length, a pair of unusually neat ones, supporting a figure of such superb outlines, that even the ungraceful domino could not conceal them, came under my eyes, and riveted my attention. My heart beat wildly as I gazed. I could not help the belief that the lady in the yellow domino was Isolina de Vargas.

She was waltzing with a young dragoon officer; and as they passed me I rose from my seat, and approached the orbit of the dance, in order to keep them under my eyes.

As they passed me a second time, I fancied the lady regarded me through her mask: I fancied I saw her start. I was almost sure it was Isolina!

My feeling was now that of jealousy. The young officer was one of the elegant gentlemen of the service – a professed lady killer – a fellow, who, notwithstanding his well-known deficiency of brains, was ever welcome among women. She seemed to press closely to him as they whirled around, while her head rested languishingly upon his shoulder. She appeared to be contented with her partner. I could scarcely endure the agony of my fancies. It was a relief to me when the music ceased and the waltz ended.

The circle broke up, and the waltzers scattered in different directions, but my eyes followed only the dragoon officer and his partner. He conducted her to a seat, and then placing himself by her side, the two appeared to engage in an earnest and interesting conversation.

With me politeness was now out of the question. I had grown as jealous as a tiger; and I drew near enough become a listener. The lowness of the tone in which conversed precluded the possibility of my hearing much of what was said, but I could make out that the spark was “coaxing” his partner to remove her mask. The voice that replied was surely Isolina’s!

I could myself have torn the silken screen from her face through very vexation; but I was saved that indiscretion, for the request of her cavalier seemed to prevail, and the next instant the mask was removed by the lady’s own hand.