Chapter Forty One.The Pursuit.For a time there was a strange irresolution in my flight. The idea of leaving Guadalupe in such company—that after all they might be prisoners, or, even if not, the thought that they were in the power of Dubrosc to any extent—was enough to render me wretched and irresolute. But what could we do—five men, almost unarmed?“It would be madness to remain—madness and death. The woman—she possesses some mysterious power over this brute, her paramour: she will guard them.”This thought decided me, and I yielded myself freely to flight. We had but little fear of being caught again. We had too much confidence, particularly Lincoln and myself, in our forest-craft. Raoul knew all the country, the thickets and the passes. We stopped a moment to deliberate on the track we should take. A bugle rang out behind us, and the next instant the report of a cannon thundered in a thousand echoes along the glen.“It is from the hacienda,” said Raoul; “they have missed us already.”“Is that a ‘sign’, Rowl,” asked Lincoln.“It is,” replied the other; “it’s to warn their scouts. They’re all over these hills. We must look sharp.”“I don’t like this hyur timber; it’s too scant. Cudn’t yer put us in the crik bottom, Rowl?”“There’s a heavy chaparral,” said the Frenchman, musing; “it’s ten miles off. If we could reach that we’re safe—a wolf can hardly crawl through it. We must make it before day.”“Lead on, then, Rowl!”We stole along with cautious steps. The rustling of a leaf or the cracking of a dead stick might betray us; for we could hear signals upon all sides, and our pursuers passing us in small parties, within earshot.We bore to the right, in order to reach the creek bottom of which Lincoln had spoken. We soon came into this, and followed the stream down, but not on the bank. Lincoln would not hear of our taking the bank path, arguing that our pursuers would be “sartin ter foller the cl’ar trail.”The hunter was right, for shortly after a party came down the stream. We could hear the clinking of their accoutrements, and even the conversation of some of the men, as follows:“But, in the first place, how did they get loose within? and who cut the wall from the outside, unless someone helped them?Carajo! it’s not possible.”“That’s true, José,” said another voice. “Someone must, and I believe it was that giant that got away from us at the rancho. The shot that killed the snake came from the chaparral, and yet we searched and found nobody. Mark my words, it was he; and I believe he has hung upon our track all the way.”“Vaya!” exclaimed another; “I shouldn’t much like to be under the range of his rifle; they say he can kill a mile off, and hit wherever he pleases. He shot the snake right through the eyes.”“By the Virgin!” said one of the guerilleros, laughing, “he must have been a snake of good taste, to be caught toying around that dainty daughter of the old Spaniard! It reminds me of what the Book tells about Mother Eve and the old serpent. Now, if the Yankee’s bullet—.”We could hear no more, as the voices died away in the distance and under the sound of the water.“Ay,” muttered Lincoln, finishing the sentence; “if the Yankee’s bullet hadn’t been needed for the varmint, some o’ yer wudn’t a’ been waggin’ yer clappers as ye air.”“Itwasyou, then?” I asked, turning to the hunter.“’Twur, Cap’n; but for the cussed catawampus, I ’ud ’a gin Mister Dubroschisticket. I hed a’most sighted him when I seed the flash o’ the thing’s eye, an’ I knowed it wur a-gwine to strike the gal.”“And Jack?” I inquired, now for the first time thinking of the boy.“I guess he’s safe enuf, Cap’n. I sent the little feller back with word ter the kurnel.”“Ha! then we may expect them from camp?”“No doubt on it, Cap’n; but yer see, if they kum, they may not be able to foller us beyond the rancho. So it’ll be best for us not to depend on them, but ter take Rowl’s track.”“You are right. Lead on, Raoul!”After a painful journey we reached the thicket of which Raoul had spoken; and, dragging ourselves into it, we came to a small opening, covered with long dry grass. Upon this luxurious couch we resolved to make a bivouac. We were all worn down by the fatigues of the day and night preceding, and, throwing ourselves upon the grass, in a few minutes were asleep.
For a time there was a strange irresolution in my flight. The idea of leaving Guadalupe in such company—that after all they might be prisoners, or, even if not, the thought that they were in the power of Dubrosc to any extent—was enough to render me wretched and irresolute. But what could we do—five men, almost unarmed?
“It would be madness to remain—madness and death. The woman—she possesses some mysterious power over this brute, her paramour: she will guard them.”
This thought decided me, and I yielded myself freely to flight. We had but little fear of being caught again. We had too much confidence, particularly Lincoln and myself, in our forest-craft. Raoul knew all the country, the thickets and the passes. We stopped a moment to deliberate on the track we should take. A bugle rang out behind us, and the next instant the report of a cannon thundered in a thousand echoes along the glen.
“It is from the hacienda,” said Raoul; “they have missed us already.”
“Is that a ‘sign’, Rowl,” asked Lincoln.
“It is,” replied the other; “it’s to warn their scouts. They’re all over these hills. We must look sharp.”
“I don’t like this hyur timber; it’s too scant. Cudn’t yer put us in the crik bottom, Rowl?”
“There’s a heavy chaparral,” said the Frenchman, musing; “it’s ten miles off. If we could reach that we’re safe—a wolf can hardly crawl through it. We must make it before day.”
“Lead on, then, Rowl!”
We stole along with cautious steps. The rustling of a leaf or the cracking of a dead stick might betray us; for we could hear signals upon all sides, and our pursuers passing us in small parties, within earshot.
We bore to the right, in order to reach the creek bottom of which Lincoln had spoken. We soon came into this, and followed the stream down, but not on the bank. Lincoln would not hear of our taking the bank path, arguing that our pursuers would be “sartin ter foller the cl’ar trail.”
The hunter was right, for shortly after a party came down the stream. We could hear the clinking of their accoutrements, and even the conversation of some of the men, as follows:
“But, in the first place, how did they get loose within? and who cut the wall from the outside, unless someone helped them?Carajo! it’s not possible.”
“That’s true, José,” said another voice. “Someone must, and I believe it was that giant that got away from us at the rancho. The shot that killed the snake came from the chaparral, and yet we searched and found nobody. Mark my words, it was he; and I believe he has hung upon our track all the way.”
“Vaya!” exclaimed another; “I shouldn’t much like to be under the range of his rifle; they say he can kill a mile off, and hit wherever he pleases. He shot the snake right through the eyes.”
“By the Virgin!” said one of the guerilleros, laughing, “he must have been a snake of good taste, to be caught toying around that dainty daughter of the old Spaniard! It reminds me of what the Book tells about Mother Eve and the old serpent. Now, if the Yankee’s bullet—.”
We could hear no more, as the voices died away in the distance and under the sound of the water.
“Ay,” muttered Lincoln, finishing the sentence; “if the Yankee’s bullet hadn’t been needed for the varmint, some o’ yer wudn’t a’ been waggin’ yer clappers as ye air.”
“Itwasyou, then?” I asked, turning to the hunter.
“’Twur, Cap’n; but for the cussed catawampus, I ’ud ’a gin Mister Dubroschisticket. I hed a’most sighted him when I seed the flash o’ the thing’s eye, an’ I knowed it wur a-gwine to strike the gal.”
“And Jack?” I inquired, now for the first time thinking of the boy.
“I guess he’s safe enuf, Cap’n. I sent the little feller back with word ter the kurnel.”
“Ha! then we may expect them from camp?”
“No doubt on it, Cap’n; but yer see, if they kum, they may not be able to foller us beyond the rancho. So it’ll be best for us not to depend on them, but ter take Rowl’s track.”
“You are right. Lead on, Raoul!”
After a painful journey we reached the thicket of which Raoul had spoken; and, dragging ourselves into it, we came to a small opening, covered with long dry grass. Upon this luxurious couch we resolved to make a bivouac. We were all worn down by the fatigues of the day and night preceding, and, throwing ourselves upon the grass, in a few minutes were asleep.
Chapter Forty Two.A New and Terrible Enemy.It was daylight when I awoke—broad daylight. My companions, all but Clayley, were already astir, and had kindled a fire with a species of wood known to Raoul, that produced hardly any smoke. They were preparing breakfast. On a limb close by hung the hideous, human-like carcass of an iguana, still writhing. Raoul was whetting a knife to skin it, while Lincoln was at some distance, carefully reloading his rifle. The Irishman lay upon the grass, peeling bananas and roasting them over the fire.The iguana was soon skinned and broiled, and we all of us commenced eating with good appetites.“Be Saint Pathrick!” said Chane, “this bates frog-atin’ all hollow. It’s little meself dhramed, on the Owld Sod, hearin’ of thim niggers in furrin parts, that I’d be turning kannybawl meself some day!”“Don’t you like it, Murtagh?” asked Raoul jocosely.“Och! indade, yes; it’s betther than an empty brid-basket; but if yez could only taste a small thrifle ov a Wicklow ham this mornin’, an’ a smilin’ pratie, instid of this brown soap, yez—.”“Hisht!” said Lincoln, starting suddenly, and holding the bite half-way to his mouth.“What is it?” I asked.“I’ll tell yer in a minit, Cap’n.”The hunter waved his hand to enjoin silence, and, striding to the edge of the glade, fell flat to the ground. We knew he was listening, and waited for the result. We had not long to wait, for he had scarce brought his ear in contact with the earth when he sprang suddenly up again, exclaiming:“Houn’s trailin’ us!”He wore a despairing look unusual to the bold character of his features. This, with the appalling statement, acted on us like a galvanic shock, and by one impulse we leaped from the fire and threw ourselves flat upon the grass.Not a word was spoken as we strained our ears to listen.At first we could distinguish a low moaning sound, like the hum of a wild bee; it seemed to come out of the earth. After a little it grew louder and sharper; then it ended in a yelp and ceased altogether. After a short interval it began afresh, this time still clearer; then came the yelp, loud, sharp, and vengeful. There was no mistaking that sound.It was the bark of the Spanish bloodhound.We sprang up simultaneously, looking around for weapons, and then staring at each other with an expression of despair.The rifle and two case-knives were all the weapons we had.“What’s to be done!” cried one, and all eyes were turned upon Lincoln.The hunter stood motionless, clutching his rifle and looking to the ground.“How fur’s the crik, Rowl?” he asked after a pause.“Not two hundred yards; this way it lies.”“I kin see no other chance, Cap’n, than ter take the water: we may bamfoozle the houn’s a bit, if thar’s good wadin’.”“Nor I.” I had thought of the same plan.“If we hed hed bowies, we mouter fit the dogs whar we air, but yer see we hain’t; an’ I kin tell by thar growl thar ain’t less nor a dozen on ’em.”“It’s no use to remain here; lead us to the creek, Raoul;” and, following the Frenchman, we dashed recklessly through the thicket.On reaching the stream we plunged in. It was one of those mountain torrents common in Mexico—spots of still water alternating with cascades, that dash, and foam over shapeless masses of amygdaloidal basalt. We waded through the first pool, and then, clambering among the rocks, entered a second. This was a good stretch, a hundred yards or more of still, crystal water, in which we were waist-deep.We took the bank at the lower, and on the same side, and, striking back into the timber, kept on parallel to the course of the stream. We did not go far away from the water, lest we might be pushed again to repeat theruse.All this time the yelping of the bloodhounds had been ringing in our ears. Suddenly it ceased.“They have reached the water,” said Clayley.“No,” rejoined Lincoln, stopping a moment to listen: “they’re chawin’ the bones of the varmint.”“There again!” cried one, as their deep voices rang down the glen in the chorus of the whole pack. The next minute the dogs were mute a second time, speaking at intervals in a fierce growl that told us they were at fault.Beyond an occasional bark we heard nothing of the bloodhounds until we had gained at least two miles down the stream. We began to think we had baffled them in earnest, when Lincoln, who had kept in the rear, was seen to throw himself flat upon the grass. We all stopped, looking at him with breathless anxiety. It was but a minute. Rising up with a reckless air, he struck his rifle fiercely upon the ground, exclaiming:“They’re arter us agin!”By one impulse we all rushed back to the creek, and, scrambling over the rocks, plunged into the water and commenced wading down.A sudden exclamation burst from Raoul in the advance. We soon learnt the cause, and to our dismay. We had struck the water at a point where the stream cañoned.On each side rose a frowning precipice, straight as a wall. Between these the black torrent rushed through a channel only a few feet in width so swiftly that, had we attempted to descend by swimming, we should have been dashed to death against the rocks below.To reach the stream farther down it would be necessary to make a circuit of miles; and the hounds would be on our heels before we could gain three hundred yards.We looked at each other and at Lincoln, all panting and pale.“Stumped at last!” cried the hunter, gritting his teeth with fury.“No!” I shouted, a thought at that moment flashing upon me. “Follow me, comrades! We’ll fight the bloodhounds upon the cliff.”I pointed upward. A yell from Lincoln announced his approval.“Hooray!” he cried, leaping on the bank; “that idee’s jest like yer, Cap. Hooray! Now, boys, for the bluff!”Next moment we were straining up the gorge that led to the precipice; and the next we had reached the highest point, where the cliff, by a bold projection, butted over the stream. There was a level platform covered with tufted grass, and upon this we took our stand.
It was daylight when I awoke—broad daylight. My companions, all but Clayley, were already astir, and had kindled a fire with a species of wood known to Raoul, that produced hardly any smoke. They were preparing breakfast. On a limb close by hung the hideous, human-like carcass of an iguana, still writhing. Raoul was whetting a knife to skin it, while Lincoln was at some distance, carefully reloading his rifle. The Irishman lay upon the grass, peeling bananas and roasting them over the fire.
The iguana was soon skinned and broiled, and we all of us commenced eating with good appetites.
“Be Saint Pathrick!” said Chane, “this bates frog-atin’ all hollow. It’s little meself dhramed, on the Owld Sod, hearin’ of thim niggers in furrin parts, that I’d be turning kannybawl meself some day!”
“Don’t you like it, Murtagh?” asked Raoul jocosely.
“Och! indade, yes; it’s betther than an empty brid-basket; but if yez could only taste a small thrifle ov a Wicklow ham this mornin’, an’ a smilin’ pratie, instid of this brown soap, yez—.”
“Hisht!” said Lincoln, starting suddenly, and holding the bite half-way to his mouth.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’ll tell yer in a minit, Cap’n.”
The hunter waved his hand to enjoin silence, and, striding to the edge of the glade, fell flat to the ground. We knew he was listening, and waited for the result. We had not long to wait, for he had scarce brought his ear in contact with the earth when he sprang suddenly up again, exclaiming:
“Houn’s trailin’ us!”
He wore a despairing look unusual to the bold character of his features. This, with the appalling statement, acted on us like a galvanic shock, and by one impulse we leaped from the fire and threw ourselves flat upon the grass.
Not a word was spoken as we strained our ears to listen.
At first we could distinguish a low moaning sound, like the hum of a wild bee; it seemed to come out of the earth. After a little it grew louder and sharper; then it ended in a yelp and ceased altogether. After a short interval it began afresh, this time still clearer; then came the yelp, loud, sharp, and vengeful. There was no mistaking that sound.It was the bark of the Spanish bloodhound.
We sprang up simultaneously, looking around for weapons, and then staring at each other with an expression of despair.
The rifle and two case-knives were all the weapons we had.
“What’s to be done!” cried one, and all eyes were turned upon Lincoln.
The hunter stood motionless, clutching his rifle and looking to the ground.
“How fur’s the crik, Rowl?” he asked after a pause.
“Not two hundred yards; this way it lies.”
“I kin see no other chance, Cap’n, than ter take the water: we may bamfoozle the houn’s a bit, if thar’s good wadin’.”
“Nor I.” I had thought of the same plan.
“If we hed hed bowies, we mouter fit the dogs whar we air, but yer see we hain’t; an’ I kin tell by thar growl thar ain’t less nor a dozen on ’em.”
“It’s no use to remain here; lead us to the creek, Raoul;” and, following the Frenchman, we dashed recklessly through the thicket.
On reaching the stream we plunged in. It was one of those mountain torrents common in Mexico—spots of still water alternating with cascades, that dash, and foam over shapeless masses of amygdaloidal basalt. We waded through the first pool, and then, clambering among the rocks, entered a second. This was a good stretch, a hundred yards or more of still, crystal water, in which we were waist-deep.
We took the bank at the lower, and on the same side, and, striking back into the timber, kept on parallel to the course of the stream. We did not go far away from the water, lest we might be pushed again to repeat theruse.
All this time the yelping of the bloodhounds had been ringing in our ears. Suddenly it ceased.
“They have reached the water,” said Clayley.
“No,” rejoined Lincoln, stopping a moment to listen: “they’re chawin’ the bones of the varmint.”
“There again!” cried one, as their deep voices rang down the glen in the chorus of the whole pack. The next minute the dogs were mute a second time, speaking at intervals in a fierce growl that told us they were at fault.
Beyond an occasional bark we heard nothing of the bloodhounds until we had gained at least two miles down the stream. We began to think we had baffled them in earnest, when Lincoln, who had kept in the rear, was seen to throw himself flat upon the grass. We all stopped, looking at him with breathless anxiety. It was but a minute. Rising up with a reckless air, he struck his rifle fiercely upon the ground, exclaiming:
“They’re arter us agin!”
By one impulse we all rushed back to the creek, and, scrambling over the rocks, plunged into the water and commenced wading down.
A sudden exclamation burst from Raoul in the advance. We soon learnt the cause, and to our dismay. We had struck the water at a point where the stream cañoned.
On each side rose a frowning precipice, straight as a wall. Between these the black torrent rushed through a channel only a few feet in width so swiftly that, had we attempted to descend by swimming, we should have been dashed to death against the rocks below.
To reach the stream farther down it would be necessary to make a circuit of miles; and the hounds would be on our heels before we could gain three hundred yards.
We looked at each other and at Lincoln, all panting and pale.
“Stumped at last!” cried the hunter, gritting his teeth with fury.
“No!” I shouted, a thought at that moment flashing upon me. “Follow me, comrades! We’ll fight the bloodhounds upon the cliff.”
I pointed upward. A yell from Lincoln announced his approval.
“Hooray!” he cried, leaping on the bank; “that idee’s jest like yer, Cap. Hooray! Now, boys, for the bluff!”
Next moment we were straining up the gorge that led to the precipice; and the next we had reached the highest point, where the cliff, by a bold projection, butted over the stream. There was a level platform covered with tufted grass, and upon this we took our stand.
Chapter Forty Three.A Battle with Bloodhounds.We stood for some moments gathering breath and nerving ourselves for the desperate struggle. I could not help looking over the precipice. It was a fearful sight. In a vertical line two hundred feet below, the stream rushing through the cañon broke upon a bed of sharp, jagged rocks, and then glided on in seething, snow-white foam. There was no object between the eye and the water; no jutting ledge, not even a tree, to break the fall—nothing but the spiky boulders below, and the foaming torrent that washed them.It was some minutes before our unnatural enemies made their appearance, but every howl sounded nearer and nearer. Our trail was warm, and we knew they were scenting it on a run. At length the bushes crackled, and we could see their white breasts gleaming through the leaves. A few more springs, and the foremost bloodhound bounded out upon the bank, and, throwing up his broad jaw, uttered a hideous “growl.”He was at fault where we had entered the water. His comrades now dashed out of the thicket, and, joining in a chorus of disappointment, scattered among the stones.An old dog, scarred and cunning, kept along the bank until he had reached the top of the cañon. This was where we had made our crossing. Here the hound entered the channel, and, springing from rock to rock, reached the point where we had dragged ourselves out of the water. A short yelp announced to his comrades that he had lifted the scent, and they all threw up their noses and came galloping down.There was a swift current between two large boulders of basalt. We had leaped this. The old dog reached it, and stood straining upon the spring, when Lincoln fired, and the hound, with a short “wough”, dropped in upon his head, and was carried off like a flash.“Counts one less to pitch over,” said the hunter, hastily reloading his rifle.Without appearing to notice the strange conduct of their leader, the others crossed in a string, and, striking the warm trail, came yelling up the pass. It was a grassy slope, such as is often seen between two tables of a cliff; and as the dogs strained upward we could see their white fangs and the red blood that had baited them clotted along their jaws. Another crack from Lincoln’s rifle, and the foremost hound tumbled back down the gorge.“Two rubbed out!” cried the hunter; and at the same moment I saw him fling his rifle to the ground.The hounds kept the trail no longer. Their quarry was before them; their howling ended, and they sprang upon us with the silence of the assassin. The next moment we were mingled together, dogs and men, in the fearful struggle of life and death!I know not how long this strange encounter lasted. I felt myself grappling with the tawny monsters, and hurling them over the cliff. Now they sprang at my throat, and I threw out my arms, thrusting them fearlessly between the shining rows of teeth. Then I was free again, and, seizing a leg, or a tail, or the loose flaps of the neck, I dragged a savage brute towards the brink, and, summoning all my strength, dashed him against its brow, and saw him tumble howling over.Once I lost my balance and nearly staggered over the precipice, and at length, panting, bleeding, and exhausted, I fell to the earth. I could struggle no longer.I looked around for my comrades. Clayley and Raoul had sunk upon the grass, and lay torn and bleeding. Lincoln and Chane, holding a hound between them, were balancing him over the bluff.“Now, Murter,” cried the hunter, “giv’ him a good heist, and see if we kin pitch him cl’ar on t’other side; hee-woop!—hoo!”And with this ejaculation the kicking animal was launched into the air. I could not resist looking after. The yellow body bounded from the face of the opposite cliff, and fell with a heavy plash upon the water below.He was the last of the pack!
We stood for some moments gathering breath and nerving ourselves for the desperate struggle. I could not help looking over the precipice. It was a fearful sight. In a vertical line two hundred feet below, the stream rushing through the cañon broke upon a bed of sharp, jagged rocks, and then glided on in seething, snow-white foam. There was no object between the eye and the water; no jutting ledge, not even a tree, to break the fall—nothing but the spiky boulders below, and the foaming torrent that washed them.
It was some minutes before our unnatural enemies made their appearance, but every howl sounded nearer and nearer. Our trail was warm, and we knew they were scenting it on a run. At length the bushes crackled, and we could see their white breasts gleaming through the leaves. A few more springs, and the foremost bloodhound bounded out upon the bank, and, throwing up his broad jaw, uttered a hideous “growl.”
He was at fault where we had entered the water. His comrades now dashed out of the thicket, and, joining in a chorus of disappointment, scattered among the stones.
An old dog, scarred and cunning, kept along the bank until he had reached the top of the cañon. This was where we had made our crossing. Here the hound entered the channel, and, springing from rock to rock, reached the point where we had dragged ourselves out of the water. A short yelp announced to his comrades that he had lifted the scent, and they all threw up their noses and came galloping down.
There was a swift current between two large boulders of basalt. We had leaped this. The old dog reached it, and stood straining upon the spring, when Lincoln fired, and the hound, with a short “wough”, dropped in upon his head, and was carried off like a flash.
“Counts one less to pitch over,” said the hunter, hastily reloading his rifle.
Without appearing to notice the strange conduct of their leader, the others crossed in a string, and, striking the warm trail, came yelling up the pass. It was a grassy slope, such as is often seen between two tables of a cliff; and as the dogs strained upward we could see their white fangs and the red blood that had baited them clotted along their jaws. Another crack from Lincoln’s rifle, and the foremost hound tumbled back down the gorge.
“Two rubbed out!” cried the hunter; and at the same moment I saw him fling his rifle to the ground.
The hounds kept the trail no longer. Their quarry was before them; their howling ended, and they sprang upon us with the silence of the assassin. The next moment we were mingled together, dogs and men, in the fearful struggle of life and death!
I know not how long this strange encounter lasted. I felt myself grappling with the tawny monsters, and hurling them over the cliff. Now they sprang at my throat, and I threw out my arms, thrusting them fearlessly between the shining rows of teeth. Then I was free again, and, seizing a leg, or a tail, or the loose flaps of the neck, I dragged a savage brute towards the brink, and, summoning all my strength, dashed him against its brow, and saw him tumble howling over.
Once I lost my balance and nearly staggered over the precipice, and at length, panting, bleeding, and exhausted, I fell to the earth. I could struggle no longer.
I looked around for my comrades. Clayley and Raoul had sunk upon the grass, and lay torn and bleeding. Lincoln and Chane, holding a hound between them, were balancing him over the bluff.
“Now, Murter,” cried the hunter, “giv’ him a good heist, and see if we kin pitch him cl’ar on t’other side; hee-woop!—hoo!”
And with this ejaculation the kicking animal was launched into the air. I could not resist looking after. The yellow body bounded from the face of the opposite cliff, and fell with a heavy plash upon the water below.
He was the last of the pack!
Chapter Forty Four.An Indian Ruse.A wild shout now drew our attention, and, looking up the creek, we saw our pursuers just debouching from the woods. They were all mounted, and pressing their mustangs down to the bank, where they halted with a strange cry.“What is that, Raoul? Can you tell the meaning of that cry?”“They are disappointed, Captain. They must dismount and foot it like ourselves; there is no crossing for horses.”“Good! Oh, if we had but a rifle each! This pass—.” I looked down the gorge. We could have defended it against the whole party, but we were unarmed.The guerilleros now dismounted, tying their horses to the trees and preparing to cross over. One, who seemed to be their leader, judging from his brilliant dress and plumes, had already advanced into the stream, and stood upon a projecting rock with his sword drawn. He was not more than three hundred yards from the position we occupied on the bluff.“Do you think you can reach him?” I said to Lincoln, who had reloaded his gun, and stood eyeing the Mexican, apparently calculating the distance.“I’m feerd, Cap’n, he’s too fur. I’d guv a half-year’s sodger-pay for a crack out o’ the major’s Dutch gun. We can lose nothin’ in tryin’. Murter, will yer stan’ afore me? Thar ain’t no kiver, an’ the feller’s watchin’. He’ll dodge like a duck if he sees me takin’ sight on ’im.”Chane threw his large body in front, and Lincoln, cautiously slipping his rifle over his comrade’s shoulder, sighted the Mexican.The latter had noticed the manoeuvre, and, perceiving the danger he had thrust himself into, was about turning to leap down from the rock when the rifle cracked—his plumed hat flew off, and throwing out his arms, he fell with a dead plunge upon the water! The next moment his body was sucked into the current, and, followed by his hat and plumes, was borne down the cañon with the velocity of lightning.Several of his comrades uttered a cry of terror; and those who had followed him out into the open channel ran back towards the bank, and screened themselves behind the rocks. A voice, louder than the rest, was heard exclaiming:“Carajo! guardaos!—esta el rifle del diablo!” (Look out! it is the devil’s rifle!)It was doubtless the comrade of José, who had been in the skirmish of La Virgen, and had felt the bullet of thezündnadel.The guerilleros, awed by the death of their leader—for it was Yañez who had fallen—crouched behind the rocks. Even those who had remained with the horses, six hundred yards off, sheltered themselves behind trees and projections of the bank. The party nearest us kept loading and firing their escopettes. Their bullets flattened upon the face of the cliff or whistled over our heads. Clayley, Chane, Raoul, and myself, being unarmed, had thrown ourselves behind the scarp to avoid catching a stray shot. Not so Lincoln, who stood boldly out on the highest point of the bluff, as if disdaining to dodge their bullets.I never saw a man so completely soaring above the fear of death. There was a sublimity about him that I remember being struck with at the time; and I remember, too, feeling the inferiority of my own courage. It was a stupendous picture, as he stood like a colossus clutching his deadly weapon, and looking over his long brown beard at the skulking and cowardly foe. He stood without a motion—without even winking—although the leaden hail hurtled past his head, and cut the grass at his feet with that peculiar “zip-zip” so well remembered by the soldier who has passed the ordeal of a battle.There was something in it awfully grand—awful even to us; no wonder that it awed our enemies.I was about to call upon Lincoln to fall back and shelter himself, when I saw him throw up his rifle to the level. The next instant he dropped the butt to the ground with a gesture of disappointment. A moment after, the manoeuvre was repeated with a similar result, and I could hear the hunter gritting his teeth.“The cowardly skunks!” muttered he; “they keep a-gwine like a bull’s tail in fly-time.”In fact, every time Lincoln brought his piece to a level, the guerilleros ducked, until not a head could be seen.“They ain’t as good as thar own dogs,” continued the hunter, turning away from the cliff. “If we hed a lot of loose rocks, Cap’n, we mout keep them down thar till doomsday.”A movement was now visible among the guerilleros. About one-half of the party were seen to mount their horses and gallop off up the creek.“They’re gone round by the ford,” said Raoul: “it’s not over a mile and a half. They can cross with their horses there and will be on us in half an hour.”What was to be done? There was no timber to hide us now—no chaparral. The country behind the cliff was a sloping table, with here and there a stunted palm-tree or a bunch of “Spanish bayonet” (Yucca angustifolia). This would be no shelter, for from the point we occupied, the most elevated on the ridge, we could have descried an object of human size five miles off. At that distance from us the woods began; but could we reach them before our pursuers would overtake us?Had the guerilleros all gone off by the ford we should have returned to the creek bottom, but a party remained below, and we were cut off from our former hiding-place. We must therefore strike for the woods.But it was necessary first to decoy the party below, otherwise they would be after us before the others, and experience had taught us that these Mexicans could run like hares.This was accomplished by an old Indian trick that both Lincoln and myself had practised before. It would not have “fooled” a Texan Ranger, but it succeeded handsomely with the guerilleros.We first threw ourselves on the ground in such a position that only our heads could be seen by the enemy, who still kept blazing away from their escopettes. After a short while our faces gradually sank behind the crest of the ridge, until nothing but our forage-caps appeared above the sward. We lay thus for some moments, showing a face or two at intervals. Our time was precious, and we could not perform the pantomime to perfection; but we were not dealing with Comanches, and for “Don Diego” it was sufficiently artistical.Presently we slipped our heads one by one out of their covers, leaving the five caps upon the grass inclining to each other in the most natural positions. We then stole back lizard-fashion, and, after sprawling a hundred yards or so, rose to our feet and ran like scared dogs. We could tell that we had duped the party below, as we heard them firing away at our empty caps long after we had left the scene of our late adventure.
A wild shout now drew our attention, and, looking up the creek, we saw our pursuers just debouching from the woods. They were all mounted, and pressing their mustangs down to the bank, where they halted with a strange cry.
“What is that, Raoul? Can you tell the meaning of that cry?”
“They are disappointed, Captain. They must dismount and foot it like ourselves; there is no crossing for horses.”
“Good! Oh, if we had but a rifle each! This pass—.” I looked down the gorge. We could have defended it against the whole party, but we were unarmed.
The guerilleros now dismounted, tying their horses to the trees and preparing to cross over. One, who seemed to be their leader, judging from his brilliant dress and plumes, had already advanced into the stream, and stood upon a projecting rock with his sword drawn. He was not more than three hundred yards from the position we occupied on the bluff.
“Do you think you can reach him?” I said to Lincoln, who had reloaded his gun, and stood eyeing the Mexican, apparently calculating the distance.
“I’m feerd, Cap’n, he’s too fur. I’d guv a half-year’s sodger-pay for a crack out o’ the major’s Dutch gun. We can lose nothin’ in tryin’. Murter, will yer stan’ afore me? Thar ain’t no kiver, an’ the feller’s watchin’. He’ll dodge like a duck if he sees me takin’ sight on ’im.”
Chane threw his large body in front, and Lincoln, cautiously slipping his rifle over his comrade’s shoulder, sighted the Mexican.
The latter had noticed the manoeuvre, and, perceiving the danger he had thrust himself into, was about turning to leap down from the rock when the rifle cracked—his plumed hat flew off, and throwing out his arms, he fell with a dead plunge upon the water! The next moment his body was sucked into the current, and, followed by his hat and plumes, was borne down the cañon with the velocity of lightning.
Several of his comrades uttered a cry of terror; and those who had followed him out into the open channel ran back towards the bank, and screened themselves behind the rocks. A voice, louder than the rest, was heard exclaiming:
“Carajo! guardaos!—esta el rifle del diablo!” (Look out! it is the devil’s rifle!)
It was doubtless the comrade of José, who had been in the skirmish of La Virgen, and had felt the bullet of thezündnadel.
The guerilleros, awed by the death of their leader—for it was Yañez who had fallen—crouched behind the rocks. Even those who had remained with the horses, six hundred yards off, sheltered themselves behind trees and projections of the bank. The party nearest us kept loading and firing their escopettes. Their bullets flattened upon the face of the cliff or whistled over our heads. Clayley, Chane, Raoul, and myself, being unarmed, had thrown ourselves behind the scarp to avoid catching a stray shot. Not so Lincoln, who stood boldly out on the highest point of the bluff, as if disdaining to dodge their bullets.
I never saw a man so completely soaring above the fear of death. There was a sublimity about him that I remember being struck with at the time; and I remember, too, feeling the inferiority of my own courage. It was a stupendous picture, as he stood like a colossus clutching his deadly weapon, and looking over his long brown beard at the skulking and cowardly foe. He stood without a motion—without even winking—although the leaden hail hurtled past his head, and cut the grass at his feet with that peculiar “zip-zip” so well remembered by the soldier who has passed the ordeal of a battle.
There was something in it awfully grand—awful even to us; no wonder that it awed our enemies.
I was about to call upon Lincoln to fall back and shelter himself, when I saw him throw up his rifle to the level. The next instant he dropped the butt to the ground with a gesture of disappointment. A moment after, the manoeuvre was repeated with a similar result, and I could hear the hunter gritting his teeth.
“The cowardly skunks!” muttered he; “they keep a-gwine like a bull’s tail in fly-time.”
In fact, every time Lincoln brought his piece to a level, the guerilleros ducked, until not a head could be seen.
“They ain’t as good as thar own dogs,” continued the hunter, turning away from the cliff. “If we hed a lot of loose rocks, Cap’n, we mout keep them down thar till doomsday.”
A movement was now visible among the guerilleros. About one-half of the party were seen to mount their horses and gallop off up the creek.
“They’re gone round by the ford,” said Raoul: “it’s not over a mile and a half. They can cross with their horses there and will be on us in half an hour.”
What was to be done? There was no timber to hide us now—no chaparral. The country behind the cliff was a sloping table, with here and there a stunted palm-tree or a bunch of “Spanish bayonet” (Yucca angustifolia). This would be no shelter, for from the point we occupied, the most elevated on the ridge, we could have descried an object of human size five miles off. At that distance from us the woods began; but could we reach them before our pursuers would overtake us?
Had the guerilleros all gone off by the ford we should have returned to the creek bottom, but a party remained below, and we were cut off from our former hiding-place. We must therefore strike for the woods.
But it was necessary first to decoy the party below, otherwise they would be after us before the others, and experience had taught us that these Mexicans could run like hares.
This was accomplished by an old Indian trick that both Lincoln and myself had practised before. It would not have “fooled” a Texan Ranger, but it succeeded handsomely with the guerilleros.
We first threw ourselves on the ground in such a position that only our heads could be seen by the enemy, who still kept blazing away from their escopettes. After a short while our faces gradually sank behind the crest of the ridge, until nothing but our forage-caps appeared above the sward. We lay thus for some moments, showing a face or two at intervals. Our time was precious, and we could not perform the pantomime to perfection; but we were not dealing with Comanches, and for “Don Diego” it was sufficiently artistical.
Presently we slipped our heads one by one out of their covers, leaving the five caps upon the grass inclining to each other in the most natural positions. We then stole back lizard-fashion, and, after sprawling a hundred yards or so, rose to our feet and ran like scared dogs. We could tell that we had duped the party below, as we heard them firing away at our empty caps long after we had left the scene of our late adventure.
Chapter Forty Five.A Coup d’Éclair.Many an uneasy look was thrown over our shoulders as we struggled down that slope. Our strength was urged to its utmost; and this was not much, for we had all lost blood in our encounter with the sleuth-hounds, and felt weak and faint.We were baffled, too, by a storm—a fierce, tropical storm. The rain, thick and heavy, plashed in our faces, and made the ground slippery under our feet. The lightning flashed in our eyes, and the electric sulphur shortened our breathing. Still we coughed and panted and staggered onward, nerved by the knowledge that death was behind us.I shall never forget that fearful race. I thought it would never end. I can only liken it to one of those dreams in which we are always making endeavours to escape from some horrible monster, and are as often hindered by a strange and mysterious helplessness. I remember it now as then. I have often repeated that flight in my sleep, and always awoke with a feeling of shuddering horror.We had got within five hundred yards of the timber. Five hundred yards is not much to a fresh runner; but to us, toiling along at a trot that much more resembled a walk, it seemed an infinity. A small prairie, with a stream beyond, separated us from the edge of the woods—a smooth sward without a single tree. We had entered upon it—Raoul, who was light of foot, being in the advance, while Lincoln from choice hung in the rear.An exclamation from the hunter caused us to look back. We were too much fatigued and worn out to be frightened at the sight. Along the crest of the hill a hundred horsemen were dashing after us in full gallop, and the next moment their vengeful screams were ringing in our ears.“Now, do yer best, boys!” cried Lincoln, “an’ I’ll stop the cavortin’ of that ’ere foremost feller afore he gits much furrer.”We trailed our bodies on, but we could hear the guerilleros fast closing upon us. The bullets from their escopettes whistled in our ears, and cut the grass around our feet. I saw Raoul, who had reached the timber, turn suddenly round and walk back. He had resolved to share our fate.“Save yourself, Raoul!” I called with my weak voice, but he could not have heard me above the din.I saw him still walking towards us. I heard the screams behind; I heard the shots, and the whizzing of bullets, and the fierce shouts.I heard the clatter of hoofs and the rasping of sabres as they leaped out of their iron sheaths; and among these I heard the crack of Lincoln’s rifle, and the wild yell of the hunter. Then a peal of thunder drowned all other sounds: the heavens one moment seemed on fire, then black—black. I felt the stifling smell of sulphur—a hot flash—a quick stroke from some invisible hand—and I sank senseless to the earth!Something cool in my throat and over my face brought back the consciousness that I lived. It was water.I opened my eyes, but it was some moments before I could see that Raoul was bending over me, and laving my temples with water from his boot. I muttered some half-coherent inquiries.“It was acoup d’éclair, Captain,” said Raoul.Good heavens!We had been struck by lightning! Raoul, being in the advance, had escaped.The Frenchman soon left me and went to Clayley, who, with Chane and the hunter, lay close by—all three, as I thought, dead. They were pale as corpses, with here and there a spot of purple, or a livid line traced over their skins, while their lips presented the whitish, bloodless hue of death.“Are they dead?” I asked feebly.“I think not—we shall see;” and the Frenchman poured some water into Clayley’s mouth.The latter sighed heavily, and appeared to revive.Raoul passed on to the hunter, who, as soon as he felt the water, started to his feet, and, clutching his comrade fiercely by the throat, exclaimed:“Yur cussed catamount! yer wud hang me, wud yur?”Seeing who it was, he stopped suddenly, and looked round with an air of extreme bewilderment. His eye now fell upon the rifle, and, all at once seeming to recollect himself, he staggered towards it and picked it up. Then, as if by instinct, he passed his hand into his pouch and coolly commenced loading.While Raoul was busy with Clayley and the Irishman, I had risen to my feet and looked back over the prairie. The rain was falling in torrents, and the lightning still flashed at intervals. At the distance of fifty paces a black mass was lying upon the ground motionless—a mass of men and horses, mingled together as they had fallen in their tracks. Here and there a single horse and his rider lay prostrate together. Beyond these, twenty or thirty horsemen were galloping in circles over the plain, and vainly endeavouring to head their frightened steeds towards the point where we were. These, like Raoul, had escaped the stroke.“Come!” cried the Frenchman, who had now resuscitated Clayley and Chane; “we have not a moment to lose. The mustangs will get over their fright, and these fellows will be down upon us.”His advice was instantly followed, and before the guerilleros could manage their scared horses we had entered the thicket, and were crawling along under the wet leaves.
Many an uneasy look was thrown over our shoulders as we struggled down that slope. Our strength was urged to its utmost; and this was not much, for we had all lost blood in our encounter with the sleuth-hounds, and felt weak and faint.
We were baffled, too, by a storm—a fierce, tropical storm. The rain, thick and heavy, plashed in our faces, and made the ground slippery under our feet. The lightning flashed in our eyes, and the electric sulphur shortened our breathing. Still we coughed and panted and staggered onward, nerved by the knowledge that death was behind us.
I shall never forget that fearful race. I thought it would never end. I can only liken it to one of those dreams in which we are always making endeavours to escape from some horrible monster, and are as often hindered by a strange and mysterious helplessness. I remember it now as then. I have often repeated that flight in my sleep, and always awoke with a feeling of shuddering horror.
We had got within five hundred yards of the timber. Five hundred yards is not much to a fresh runner; but to us, toiling along at a trot that much more resembled a walk, it seemed an infinity. A small prairie, with a stream beyond, separated us from the edge of the woods—a smooth sward without a single tree. We had entered upon it—Raoul, who was light of foot, being in the advance, while Lincoln from choice hung in the rear.
An exclamation from the hunter caused us to look back. We were too much fatigued and worn out to be frightened at the sight. Along the crest of the hill a hundred horsemen were dashing after us in full gallop, and the next moment their vengeful screams were ringing in our ears.
“Now, do yer best, boys!” cried Lincoln, “an’ I’ll stop the cavortin’ of that ’ere foremost feller afore he gits much furrer.”
We trailed our bodies on, but we could hear the guerilleros fast closing upon us. The bullets from their escopettes whistled in our ears, and cut the grass around our feet. I saw Raoul, who had reached the timber, turn suddenly round and walk back. He had resolved to share our fate.
“Save yourself, Raoul!” I called with my weak voice, but he could not have heard me above the din.
I saw him still walking towards us. I heard the screams behind; I heard the shots, and the whizzing of bullets, and the fierce shouts.
I heard the clatter of hoofs and the rasping of sabres as they leaped out of their iron sheaths; and among these I heard the crack of Lincoln’s rifle, and the wild yell of the hunter. Then a peal of thunder drowned all other sounds: the heavens one moment seemed on fire, then black—black. I felt the stifling smell of sulphur—a hot flash—a quick stroke from some invisible hand—and I sank senseless to the earth!
Something cool in my throat and over my face brought back the consciousness that I lived. It was water.
I opened my eyes, but it was some moments before I could see that Raoul was bending over me, and laving my temples with water from his boot. I muttered some half-coherent inquiries.
“It was acoup d’éclair, Captain,” said Raoul.
Good heavens!We had been struck by lightning! Raoul, being in the advance, had escaped.
The Frenchman soon left me and went to Clayley, who, with Chane and the hunter, lay close by—all three, as I thought, dead. They were pale as corpses, with here and there a spot of purple, or a livid line traced over their skins, while their lips presented the whitish, bloodless hue of death.
“Are they dead?” I asked feebly.
“I think not—we shall see;” and the Frenchman poured some water into Clayley’s mouth.
The latter sighed heavily, and appeared to revive.
Raoul passed on to the hunter, who, as soon as he felt the water, started to his feet, and, clutching his comrade fiercely by the throat, exclaimed:
“Yur cussed catamount! yer wud hang me, wud yur?”
Seeing who it was, he stopped suddenly, and looked round with an air of extreme bewilderment. His eye now fell upon the rifle, and, all at once seeming to recollect himself, he staggered towards it and picked it up. Then, as if by instinct, he passed his hand into his pouch and coolly commenced loading.
While Raoul was busy with Clayley and the Irishman, I had risen to my feet and looked back over the prairie. The rain was falling in torrents, and the lightning still flashed at intervals. At the distance of fifty paces a black mass was lying upon the ground motionless—a mass of men and horses, mingled together as they had fallen in their tracks. Here and there a single horse and his rider lay prostrate together. Beyond these, twenty or thirty horsemen were galloping in circles over the plain, and vainly endeavouring to head their frightened steeds towards the point where we were. These, like Raoul, had escaped the stroke.
“Come!” cried the Frenchman, who had now resuscitated Clayley and Chane; “we have not a moment to lose. The mustangs will get over their fright, and these fellows will be down upon us.”
His advice was instantly followed, and before the guerilleros could manage their scared horses we had entered the thicket, and were crawling along under the wet leaves.
Chapter Forty Six.A Bridge of Monkeys.Raoul thought that their superstition might prevent the enemy from pursuing us farther. They would consider the lightning as an interference from above—a stroke of thehrazos de Dios. But we had little confidence in this, and, notwithstanding our exhaustion, toiled on through the chaparral. Wearied with over-exertion, half-famished—for we had only commenced eating when roused from our repast in the morning—wet to the skin, cut by the bushes, and bitten by the poisoned teeth of the bloodhounds—blinded, and bruised, and bleeding, we were in but poor travelling condition.Even Lincoln, whose buoyancy had hitherto borne up, appeared cowed and broken. For the first mile or two he seemed vexed at something and “out of sorts”, stopping every now and again, and examining his rifle in a kind of bewilderment.Feeling that he was once more “in the timber”, he began to come to himself.“Thet sort o’ an enemy’s new ter me,” he said, speaking to Raoul. “Dog-gone the thing! it makes the airth look yeller!”“You’ll see better by and by,” replied his comrade.“I had need ter, Rowl, or I’ll butt my brainpan agin one of these hyur saplin’s. Wagh! I cudn’t sight a b’ar, if we were to scare him up jest now.”About five miles farther on we reached a small stream. The storm had abated, but the stream was swollen with the rain, and we could not cross it. We were now a safe distance from our pursuers—at least, we thought so—and we resolved to “pitch our camp” upon the bank.This was a simple operation, and consisted in pitching ourselves to the ground under the shade of a spreading tree.Raoul, who was a tireless spirit, kindled a fire, and commenced knocking down the nuts of the corozo palm, that hung in clusters over our heads. We dried our wet garments, and Lincoln set about dressing our numerous wounds. In this surgical process our shirts suffered severely; but the skill of the hunter soothed our swelling limbs, and after a frugal dinner upon palm-nuts and pitahayas we stretched ourselves along the greensward, and were soon asleep.I was in that dreamy state, half-sleeping half-waking, when I was aroused by a strange noise that sounded like a multitude of voices—the voices of children. Raising my head I perceived the hunter in an attitude of listening.“What is it, Bob?” I inquired.“Dod rot me if I kin tell, Cap’n! Hyur, Rowl! what’s all this hyur channerin?”“It’s thearaguatoes,” muttered the Frenchman, half-asleep.“Harry-gwaters! an what i’ the name o’ Nick’s them? Talk plain lingo, Rowl. What are they?”“Monkeys, then,” replied the latter, waking up, and laughing at his companion.“Thar’s a good grist on ’em, then, I reckin,” said Lincoln, throwing himself back unconcernedly.“They are coming towards the stream. They will most likely cross by the rocks yonder,” observed Raoul.“How?—swim it?” I asked. “It is a torrent there.”“Oh, no!” answered the Frenchman; “monkeys would rather go into fire than water. If they cannot leap the stream, they’ll bridge it.”“Bridge it! and how?”“Stop a moment, Captain; you shall see.”The half-human voices now sounded nearer, and we could perceive that the animals were approaching the spot where we lay. Presently they appeared upon the opposite bank, headed by an old grey-bearded chieftain, and officered like a regiment of soldiers.They were, as Raoul had stated, thearaguatoes(Simia ursina) of the tribe of “alouattes,” or “howlers.” They were of that species known as “monos colorados” (red monkeys). They were about the size of foxhounds, though there was a difference in this respect between the males and females. Many of the latter were mothers, and carried their human-like infants upon their shoulders as they marched along, or, squatted upon their hams, tenderly caressed them, fondling and pressing them against theirmammas. Both males and females were of a tawny-red or lion-colour; both had long beards, and the hair upon their bodies was coarse and shaggy. Their tails were, each of them, three feet in length; and the absence of hair on the under side of these, with the hard,callousappearance of the cuticle, showed that these appendages were extremely prehensile. In fact, this was apparent from the manner in which the young “held on” to their mothers; for they appeared to retain their difficult seats as much by the grasp of their tails as by their arms and hands.On reaching the bank of the “arroyo” the whole troop came to a sudden halt. One—anaide-de-camp, or chief pioneer, perhaps—ran forward upon a projecting rock; and, after looking across the stream, as if calculating its width, and then carefully examining the trees overhead, he scampered back to the troop, and appeared to communicate with the leader. The latter uttered a cry—evidently a command—which was answered by many individuals in the band, and these instantly made their appearance in front, and running forward upon the bank of the stream, collected around the trunk of a tall cotton-wood that grew over the narrowest part of the arroyo. After uttering a chorus of discordant cries, twenty or thirty of them were seen to scamper up the trunk of the cotton-wood. On reaching a high point, the foremost—a strong fellow—ran out upon a limb, and, taking several turns of his tail around it, slipped off and hung head downwards. The next on the limb—also a stout one—climbed down the body of the first, and, whipping his tail tightly around the neck and fore-arm of the latter, dropped off in his turn, and hung head down. The third repeated this manoeuvre upon the second, and the fourth upon the third, and so on, until the last one upon the string rested his fore-paws upon the ground.The living chain now commenced swinging backwards and forwards, like the pendulum of a clock. The motion was slight at first, but gradually increased, the lowermost monkey striking his hands violently on the earth as he passed the tangent of the oscillating curve. Several others upon the limbs above aided the movement. The absence of branches upon the lower part of the tree, which we have said was a cotton-wood (Populus angulata), enabled them to execute this movement freely.The oscillation continued to increase until the monkey at the end of the chain was thrown among the branches of a tree on the opposite bank. Here, after two or three vibrations, he clutched a limb and held fast. This movement was executed adroitly, just at the culminating point of the “swing”, in order to save the intermediate links from the violence of a too sudden jerk.The chain was now fast at both ends, forming a complete suspension-bridge, over which the whole troop, to the number of four or five hundred, passed with the rapidity of thought.It was one of the most comical sights I ever beheld, to witness the quizzical expression of countenances along that living chain. To see the mothers, too, making the passage, with their tiny infants clinging to their backs, was a sight at once comical and curious.The monkeys that formed the chain kept up an incessant talking, and, as we fancied,laughing, and frequently they would bite at the legs of the individuals passing over, as if to hurry them on!The troop was soon on the other side; but how were the animals forming the bridge to get themselves over? This was the question that suggested itself. Manifestly, thought we, by number one letting go his tail. But then thepoint d’appuion the other side was much lower down, and number one, with half a dozen of his neighbours, would be dashed against the opposite bank, or soused into the water.Here, then, was a problem, and we waited with some curiosity for its solution.It was soon solved. A monkey was now seen attaching his tail to the lowest on the bridge; another girdled him in a similar manner, and another, and so on until a dozen more were added to the string. These last were all powerful fellows; and running up to a high limb, they lifted the bridge into a position almost horizontal.Then a scream from the last monkey of the new formation warned thetail endthat all was ready; and the next moment the whole chain was swung over, and landed safely on the opposite bank!The lowermost links now dropped off to the ground, while the higher ones leaped to the branches and came down by the trunk. The whole troop then scampered off into the chaparral and disappeared.“Aw, be the powers of Moll Kelly! iv thim little crayteurs hasn’t more sinse than the humans av these parts! It’s a quare counthry, anyhow. Be me sowl! it bates Banagher intirely!”A general laugh followed the Irishman’s remarks; and we all sprang to our feet, refreshed by our sleep, and lighter in spirits.The storm had disappeared, and the sun, now setting, gleamed in upon us through the broad leaves of the palms. The birds were abroad once more—brilliant creatures—uttering their sweet songs. Parrots and trogons, and tanagers flashed around our heads; and the great-billed and silly-looking toucans sat silent in the branches above.The stream had become fordable, and leaving our “lair”, we crossed over, and struck into the woods on the opposite side.
Raoul thought that their superstition might prevent the enemy from pursuing us farther. They would consider the lightning as an interference from above—a stroke of thehrazos de Dios. But we had little confidence in this, and, notwithstanding our exhaustion, toiled on through the chaparral. Wearied with over-exertion, half-famished—for we had only commenced eating when roused from our repast in the morning—wet to the skin, cut by the bushes, and bitten by the poisoned teeth of the bloodhounds—blinded, and bruised, and bleeding, we were in but poor travelling condition.
Even Lincoln, whose buoyancy had hitherto borne up, appeared cowed and broken. For the first mile or two he seemed vexed at something and “out of sorts”, stopping every now and again, and examining his rifle in a kind of bewilderment.
Feeling that he was once more “in the timber”, he began to come to himself.
“Thet sort o’ an enemy’s new ter me,” he said, speaking to Raoul. “Dog-gone the thing! it makes the airth look yeller!”
“You’ll see better by and by,” replied his comrade.
“I had need ter, Rowl, or I’ll butt my brainpan agin one of these hyur saplin’s. Wagh! I cudn’t sight a b’ar, if we were to scare him up jest now.”
About five miles farther on we reached a small stream. The storm had abated, but the stream was swollen with the rain, and we could not cross it. We were now a safe distance from our pursuers—at least, we thought so—and we resolved to “pitch our camp” upon the bank.
This was a simple operation, and consisted in pitching ourselves to the ground under the shade of a spreading tree.
Raoul, who was a tireless spirit, kindled a fire, and commenced knocking down the nuts of the corozo palm, that hung in clusters over our heads. We dried our wet garments, and Lincoln set about dressing our numerous wounds. In this surgical process our shirts suffered severely; but the skill of the hunter soothed our swelling limbs, and after a frugal dinner upon palm-nuts and pitahayas we stretched ourselves along the greensward, and were soon asleep.
I was in that dreamy state, half-sleeping half-waking, when I was aroused by a strange noise that sounded like a multitude of voices—the voices of children. Raising my head I perceived the hunter in an attitude of listening.
“What is it, Bob?” I inquired.
“Dod rot me if I kin tell, Cap’n! Hyur, Rowl! what’s all this hyur channerin?”
“It’s thearaguatoes,” muttered the Frenchman, half-asleep.
“Harry-gwaters! an what i’ the name o’ Nick’s them? Talk plain lingo, Rowl. What are they?”
“Monkeys, then,” replied the latter, waking up, and laughing at his companion.
“Thar’s a good grist on ’em, then, I reckin,” said Lincoln, throwing himself back unconcernedly.
“They are coming towards the stream. They will most likely cross by the rocks yonder,” observed Raoul.
“How?—swim it?” I asked. “It is a torrent there.”
“Oh, no!” answered the Frenchman; “monkeys would rather go into fire than water. If they cannot leap the stream, they’ll bridge it.”
“Bridge it! and how?”
“Stop a moment, Captain; you shall see.”
The half-human voices now sounded nearer, and we could perceive that the animals were approaching the spot where we lay. Presently they appeared upon the opposite bank, headed by an old grey-bearded chieftain, and officered like a regiment of soldiers.
They were, as Raoul had stated, thearaguatoes(Simia ursina) of the tribe of “alouattes,” or “howlers.” They were of that species known as “monos colorados” (red monkeys). They were about the size of foxhounds, though there was a difference in this respect between the males and females. Many of the latter were mothers, and carried their human-like infants upon their shoulders as they marched along, or, squatted upon their hams, tenderly caressed them, fondling and pressing them against theirmammas. Both males and females were of a tawny-red or lion-colour; both had long beards, and the hair upon their bodies was coarse and shaggy. Their tails were, each of them, three feet in length; and the absence of hair on the under side of these, with the hard,callousappearance of the cuticle, showed that these appendages were extremely prehensile. In fact, this was apparent from the manner in which the young “held on” to their mothers; for they appeared to retain their difficult seats as much by the grasp of their tails as by their arms and hands.
On reaching the bank of the “arroyo” the whole troop came to a sudden halt. One—anaide-de-camp, or chief pioneer, perhaps—ran forward upon a projecting rock; and, after looking across the stream, as if calculating its width, and then carefully examining the trees overhead, he scampered back to the troop, and appeared to communicate with the leader. The latter uttered a cry—evidently a command—which was answered by many individuals in the band, and these instantly made their appearance in front, and running forward upon the bank of the stream, collected around the trunk of a tall cotton-wood that grew over the narrowest part of the arroyo. After uttering a chorus of discordant cries, twenty or thirty of them were seen to scamper up the trunk of the cotton-wood. On reaching a high point, the foremost—a strong fellow—ran out upon a limb, and, taking several turns of his tail around it, slipped off and hung head downwards. The next on the limb—also a stout one—climbed down the body of the first, and, whipping his tail tightly around the neck and fore-arm of the latter, dropped off in his turn, and hung head down. The third repeated this manoeuvre upon the second, and the fourth upon the third, and so on, until the last one upon the string rested his fore-paws upon the ground.
The living chain now commenced swinging backwards and forwards, like the pendulum of a clock. The motion was slight at first, but gradually increased, the lowermost monkey striking his hands violently on the earth as he passed the tangent of the oscillating curve. Several others upon the limbs above aided the movement. The absence of branches upon the lower part of the tree, which we have said was a cotton-wood (Populus angulata), enabled them to execute this movement freely.
The oscillation continued to increase until the monkey at the end of the chain was thrown among the branches of a tree on the opposite bank. Here, after two or three vibrations, he clutched a limb and held fast. This movement was executed adroitly, just at the culminating point of the “swing”, in order to save the intermediate links from the violence of a too sudden jerk.
The chain was now fast at both ends, forming a complete suspension-bridge, over which the whole troop, to the number of four or five hundred, passed with the rapidity of thought.
It was one of the most comical sights I ever beheld, to witness the quizzical expression of countenances along that living chain. To see the mothers, too, making the passage, with their tiny infants clinging to their backs, was a sight at once comical and curious.
The monkeys that formed the chain kept up an incessant talking, and, as we fancied,laughing, and frequently they would bite at the legs of the individuals passing over, as if to hurry them on!
The troop was soon on the other side; but how were the animals forming the bridge to get themselves over? This was the question that suggested itself. Manifestly, thought we, by number one letting go his tail. But then thepoint d’appuion the other side was much lower down, and number one, with half a dozen of his neighbours, would be dashed against the opposite bank, or soused into the water.
Here, then, was a problem, and we waited with some curiosity for its solution.
It was soon solved. A monkey was now seen attaching his tail to the lowest on the bridge; another girdled him in a similar manner, and another, and so on until a dozen more were added to the string. These last were all powerful fellows; and running up to a high limb, they lifted the bridge into a position almost horizontal.
Then a scream from the last monkey of the new formation warned thetail endthat all was ready; and the next moment the whole chain was swung over, and landed safely on the opposite bank!
The lowermost links now dropped off to the ground, while the higher ones leaped to the branches and came down by the trunk. The whole troop then scampered off into the chaparral and disappeared.
“Aw, be the powers of Moll Kelly! iv thim little crayteurs hasn’t more sinse than the humans av these parts! It’s a quare counthry, anyhow. Be me sowl! it bates Banagher intirely!”
A general laugh followed the Irishman’s remarks; and we all sprang to our feet, refreshed by our sleep, and lighter in spirits.
The storm had disappeared, and the sun, now setting, gleamed in upon us through the broad leaves of the palms. The birds were abroad once more—brilliant creatures—uttering their sweet songs. Parrots and trogons, and tanagers flashed around our heads; and the great-billed and silly-looking toucans sat silent in the branches above.
The stream had become fordable, and leaving our “lair”, we crossed over, and struck into the woods on the opposite side.
Chapter Forty Seven.The Jarachos.We headed towards the National Bridge. Raoul had a friend half-way on the route—an old comrade upon whom he could depend. His rancho was in a secluded spot, near the road that leads to the rinconada (Note 1) of San Martin. We should find refreshment there; and, if not a bed, “at least”, said Raoul, “a roof and a petaté.” We should not be likely to meet anyone, as it was ten miles off, and it would be late when we reached it.Itwaslate—near midnight—when we dropped in upon the contrabandista, for such was the friend of Raoul; but he and his family were still astir, under the light of a very dull wax candle.José Antonio—that was his name—was a little “sprung” at the five bareheaded apparitions that burst so suddenly upon him; but, recognising Raoul, we were cordially welcomed.Our host was a spare, bony old fellow, in leathern jacket andcalzoneros(breeches), with a keen, shrewd eye, that took in our situation at a single glance, and saved the Frenchman a great deal of explanation. Notwithstanding the cordiality with which his friend received him, I noticed that Raoul seemed uneasy about something as he glanced around the room; for the rancho, a small cane structure, had only one.There were two women stirring about—the wife of the contrabandista, and his daughter, a plump, good-looking girl of eighteen or thereabout.“No han cenado, caballeros?” (You have not supped, gentlemen), inquired, or rather affirmed, José Antonio, for our looks had answered the question before it was asked.“Ni comido—ni almorzado!” (Nor dined—nor breakfasted!) replied Raoul, with a grin.“Carambo! Rafaela! Jesusita!” shouted our host, with a sign, such as, among the Mexicans, often conveys a whole chapter of intelligence. The effect was magical. It sent Jesusita to her knees before the tortilla-stones; and Rafaela, José’s wife, seized a string of tassajo, and plunged it into the olla. Then the little palm-leaf fan was handled, and the charcoal blazed and crackled, and the beef boiled, and the black beans simmered, and the chocolate frothed up, and we all felt happy under the prospect of a savoury supper.I had noticed that, notwithstanding all this, Raoul seemed uneasy. In the corner I discovered the cause of his solicitude in the shape of a small, spare man, wearing the shovel-hat and blackcapoteof a priest. I knew that my comrade was not partial to priests, and that he would sooner have trusted Satan himself than one of the tribe; and I attributed his uneasiness to this natural dislike of the clerical fraternity.“Who is he, Antone?” I heard him whisper to the contrabandista.“The curé of San Martin,” was the reply.“He is new, then?” said Raoul.“Hombre de bien,” (A good man), answered the Mexican, nodding as he spoke.Raoul seemed satisfied, and remained silent.I could not help noticing the “hombre de bien” myself; and no more could I help fancying, after a short observation, that the rancho was indebted for the honour of his presence more to the black eyes of Jesusita than to any zeal on his part regarding the spiritual welfare of the contrabandista or his family.There was a villainous expression upon his lips as he watched the girl moving over the floor; and once or twice I caught him scowling upon Chane, who, in his usual Irish way, was “blarneying” with Jesusita, and helping her to fan the charcoal.“Where’s the padre?” whispered Raoul to our host.“He was in therinconadathis morning.”“In therinconada!” exclaimed the Frenchman, starting.“They’re gone down to the Bridge. The band has had a fandango with your people and lost some men. They say they have killed a good many stragglers along the road.”“So he was in therinconada, you say? and this morning, too?” inquired Raoul, in a half-soliloquy, and without heeding the last remark of the contrabandista.“We’ve got to look sharp, then,” he added, after a pause.“There’s no danger,” replied the other, “if you keep from the road. Your people have already reached El Plan, and are preparing to attack the Pass of the Cerro. ‘El Cojo,’ they say, has twenty thousand men to defend it.”During this dialogue, which was carried on in whispers, I had noticed the little padre shifting about uneasily in his seat. At its conclusion he rose up, and bidding our host “buenas noches,” was about to withdraw, when Lincoln, who had been quietly eyeing him for some time with that sharp, searching look peculiar to men of his kidney, jumped up, and, placing himself before the door, exclaimed in a drawling, emphatic tone:“No, yer don’t!”“Qué cosa?” (What’s the matter?) asked the padre indignantly.“Kay or no kay—cosser or no cosser—yer don’t go out o’ hyur afore we do. Rowl, axe yur friend for a piece o’ twine, will yer?”The padre appealed to our host, and he in turn appealed to Raoul. The Mexican was in a dilemma. He dared not offend the curé, and on the other hand he did not wish to dictate to his old comrade Raoul. Moreover, the fierce hunter, who stood like a huge giant in the door, had a voice in the matter; and therefore José Antonio had three minds to consult at one time.“It ain’t Bob Linkin ’d infringe the rules of hospertality,” said the hunter; “but this hyur’s a peculiar case, an’ I don’t like the look of that ’ar priest, nohow yer kin fix it.”Raoul, however, sided with the contrabandista, and explained to Lincoln that the padre was the peaceable curé of the neighbouring village, and the friend of Don Antonio; and the hunter, seeing that I did not interpose—for at the moment I was in one of those moods of abstraction, and scarcely noticed what was going on—permitted the priest to pass out. I was recalled to myself more by some peculiar expression which I heard Lincoln muttering after it was over than by the incidents of the scene itself.The occurrence had rendered us all somewhat uneasy; and we resolved upon swallowing our suppers hastily, and, after pushing forward some distance, to sleep in the woods.The tortillas were by this time ready, and the pretty Jesusita was pouring out the chocolate; so we set to work like men who had appetites.The supper was soon despatched, but our host had somepurosin the house—a luxury we had not enjoyed lately; and, hating to hurry away from such comfortable quarters, we determined to stay and take a smoke.We had hardly lit our cigars when Jesusita, who had gone to the door, came hastily back, exclaiming:“Papa—papa! hay gente fuera!” (Papa, there are people outside!)As we sprang to our feet several shadows appeared through the open walls. Lincoln seized his rifle and ran to the door. The next moment he rushed back, shouting out:“I told yer so!” And, dashing his huge body against the back of the rancho, he broke through the cane pickets with a crash.We were hastening to follow him when the frail structure gave way; and we found ourselves buried, along with our host and his women, under a heavy thatch of saplings and palm-leaves.We heard the crack of our comrade’s rifle without—the scream of a victim—the reports of pistols and escopettes—the yelling of savage men; and then the roof was raised again, and we were pulled out and dragged down among the trees, and tied to their trunks and taunted and goaded, and kicked and cuffed, by the most villainous-looking set of desperadoes it has ever been my misfortune to fall among. They seemed to take delight in abusing us—yelling all the while like so many demons let loose.Our late acquaintance—the curé—was among them; and it was plain that he had brought the party on us. His “reverence” looked high and low for Lincoln; but, to his great mortification, the hunter had escaped.Note 1. Rinconada. Literallycorner; here it means a village.
We headed towards the National Bridge. Raoul had a friend half-way on the route—an old comrade upon whom he could depend. His rancho was in a secluded spot, near the road that leads to the rinconada (Note 1) of San Martin. We should find refreshment there; and, if not a bed, “at least”, said Raoul, “a roof and a petaté.” We should not be likely to meet anyone, as it was ten miles off, and it would be late when we reached it.
Itwaslate—near midnight—when we dropped in upon the contrabandista, for such was the friend of Raoul; but he and his family were still astir, under the light of a very dull wax candle.
José Antonio—that was his name—was a little “sprung” at the five bareheaded apparitions that burst so suddenly upon him; but, recognising Raoul, we were cordially welcomed.
Our host was a spare, bony old fellow, in leathern jacket andcalzoneros(breeches), with a keen, shrewd eye, that took in our situation at a single glance, and saved the Frenchman a great deal of explanation. Notwithstanding the cordiality with which his friend received him, I noticed that Raoul seemed uneasy about something as he glanced around the room; for the rancho, a small cane structure, had only one.
There were two women stirring about—the wife of the contrabandista, and his daughter, a plump, good-looking girl of eighteen or thereabout.
“No han cenado, caballeros?” (You have not supped, gentlemen), inquired, or rather affirmed, José Antonio, for our looks had answered the question before it was asked.
“Ni comido—ni almorzado!” (Nor dined—nor breakfasted!) replied Raoul, with a grin.
“Carambo! Rafaela! Jesusita!” shouted our host, with a sign, such as, among the Mexicans, often conveys a whole chapter of intelligence. The effect was magical. It sent Jesusita to her knees before the tortilla-stones; and Rafaela, José’s wife, seized a string of tassajo, and plunged it into the olla. Then the little palm-leaf fan was handled, and the charcoal blazed and crackled, and the beef boiled, and the black beans simmered, and the chocolate frothed up, and we all felt happy under the prospect of a savoury supper.
I had noticed that, notwithstanding all this, Raoul seemed uneasy. In the corner I discovered the cause of his solicitude in the shape of a small, spare man, wearing the shovel-hat and blackcapoteof a priest. I knew that my comrade was not partial to priests, and that he would sooner have trusted Satan himself than one of the tribe; and I attributed his uneasiness to this natural dislike of the clerical fraternity.
“Who is he, Antone?” I heard him whisper to the contrabandista.
“The curé of San Martin,” was the reply.
“He is new, then?” said Raoul.
“Hombre de bien,” (A good man), answered the Mexican, nodding as he spoke.
Raoul seemed satisfied, and remained silent.
I could not help noticing the “hombre de bien” myself; and no more could I help fancying, after a short observation, that the rancho was indebted for the honour of his presence more to the black eyes of Jesusita than to any zeal on his part regarding the spiritual welfare of the contrabandista or his family.
There was a villainous expression upon his lips as he watched the girl moving over the floor; and once or twice I caught him scowling upon Chane, who, in his usual Irish way, was “blarneying” with Jesusita, and helping her to fan the charcoal.
“Where’s the padre?” whispered Raoul to our host.
“He was in therinconadathis morning.”
“In therinconada!” exclaimed the Frenchman, starting.
“They’re gone down to the Bridge. The band has had a fandango with your people and lost some men. They say they have killed a good many stragglers along the road.”
“So he was in therinconada, you say? and this morning, too?” inquired Raoul, in a half-soliloquy, and without heeding the last remark of the contrabandista.
“We’ve got to look sharp, then,” he added, after a pause.
“There’s no danger,” replied the other, “if you keep from the road. Your people have already reached El Plan, and are preparing to attack the Pass of the Cerro. ‘El Cojo,’ they say, has twenty thousand men to defend it.”
During this dialogue, which was carried on in whispers, I had noticed the little padre shifting about uneasily in his seat. At its conclusion he rose up, and bidding our host “buenas noches,” was about to withdraw, when Lincoln, who had been quietly eyeing him for some time with that sharp, searching look peculiar to men of his kidney, jumped up, and, placing himself before the door, exclaimed in a drawling, emphatic tone:
“No, yer don’t!”
“Qué cosa?” (What’s the matter?) asked the padre indignantly.
“Kay or no kay—cosser or no cosser—yer don’t go out o’ hyur afore we do. Rowl, axe yur friend for a piece o’ twine, will yer?”
The padre appealed to our host, and he in turn appealed to Raoul. The Mexican was in a dilemma. He dared not offend the curé, and on the other hand he did not wish to dictate to his old comrade Raoul. Moreover, the fierce hunter, who stood like a huge giant in the door, had a voice in the matter; and therefore José Antonio had three minds to consult at one time.
“It ain’t Bob Linkin ’d infringe the rules of hospertality,” said the hunter; “but this hyur’s a peculiar case, an’ I don’t like the look of that ’ar priest, nohow yer kin fix it.”
Raoul, however, sided with the contrabandista, and explained to Lincoln that the padre was the peaceable curé of the neighbouring village, and the friend of Don Antonio; and the hunter, seeing that I did not interpose—for at the moment I was in one of those moods of abstraction, and scarcely noticed what was going on—permitted the priest to pass out. I was recalled to myself more by some peculiar expression which I heard Lincoln muttering after it was over than by the incidents of the scene itself.
The occurrence had rendered us all somewhat uneasy; and we resolved upon swallowing our suppers hastily, and, after pushing forward some distance, to sleep in the woods.
The tortillas were by this time ready, and the pretty Jesusita was pouring out the chocolate; so we set to work like men who had appetites.
The supper was soon despatched, but our host had somepurosin the house—a luxury we had not enjoyed lately; and, hating to hurry away from such comfortable quarters, we determined to stay and take a smoke.
We had hardly lit our cigars when Jesusita, who had gone to the door, came hastily back, exclaiming:
“Papa—papa! hay gente fuera!” (Papa, there are people outside!)
As we sprang to our feet several shadows appeared through the open walls. Lincoln seized his rifle and ran to the door. The next moment he rushed back, shouting out:
“I told yer so!” And, dashing his huge body against the back of the rancho, he broke through the cane pickets with a crash.
We were hastening to follow him when the frail structure gave way; and we found ourselves buried, along with our host and his women, under a heavy thatch of saplings and palm-leaves.
We heard the crack of our comrade’s rifle without—the scream of a victim—the reports of pistols and escopettes—the yelling of savage men; and then the roof was raised again, and we were pulled out and dragged down among the trees, and tied to their trunks and taunted and goaded, and kicked and cuffed, by the most villainous-looking set of desperadoes it has ever been my misfortune to fall among. They seemed to take delight in abusing us—yelling all the while like so many demons let loose.
Our late acquaintance—the curé—was among them; and it was plain that he had brought the party on us. His “reverence” looked high and low for Lincoln; but, to his great mortification, the hunter had escaped.
Note 1. Rinconada. Literallycorner; here it means a village.
Chapter Forty Eight.Padre Jarauta.We were not long in learning into whose hands we had fallen; for the name “Jarauta” was on every tongue.They were the dreaded “Jarochos” of the bandit priest.“We’re in for it now,” said Raoul, deeply mortified at the part he had taken in the affair with the curé. “It’s a wonder they have kept us so long. Perhapshe’snot here himself, and they’re waiting for him.”As Raoul said this the clatter of hoofs sounded along the narrow road; and a horseman came galloping up to the rancho, riding over everything and everybody with a perfect recklessness.“That’s Jarauta,” whispered Raoul. “If he seesme—but it don’t matter much,” he added, in a lower tone: “we’ll have a quick shrift all the same: he can’t more thanhang—and that he’ll be sure to do.”“Where are these Yankees?” cried Jarauta, leaping out of his saddle.“Here, Captain,” answered one of the Jarochos, a hideous-looking griffe (Note 1) dressed in a scarlet uniform, and apparently the lieutenant of the band.“How many?”“Four, Captain.”“Very well—what are you waiting for?”“To know whether I shallhangorshootthem.”“Shoot them, by all means!Carambo! we have no time for neck-stretching!”“There are some nice trees here, Captain,” suggested another of the band, with as much coolness as if he had been conversing about the hanging of so many dogs. He wished—a curiosity not uncommon—to witness the spectacle of hanging.“Madre de Dios! stupid! I tell you we haven’t time for such silly sport. Out with you there! Sanchez! Gabriel! Carlos! send your bullets through their Saxon skulls! Quick!”Several of the Jarochos commenced unslinging their carbines, while those who guarded us fell back, to be out of range of the lead.“Come,” exclaimed Raoul, “it can’t be worse than this—we can only die; and I’ll let the padre know whom he has got before I take leave of him. I’ll give him asouvenirthat won’t make him sleep any sounder to-night.Oyez, Padré Jarauta!” continued he, calling out in a tone of irony; “have you found Marguerita yet?”We could see between us and the dim rushlight that the Jarocho started, as if a shot had passed through his heart.“Hold!” he shouted to the men, who were about taking aim; “drag those scoundrels hither! A light there!—fire the thatch!Vaya!”In a moment the hut of the contrabandista was in flames, the dry palm-leaves blazing up like flax.“Merciful Heaven!they are going to roast us!”With this horrible apprehension, we were dragged up towards the burning pile, close to which stood our fierce judge and executioner.The bamboos blazed and crackled, and under their red glare we could now see our captors with a terrible distinctness. A more demon-like set, I think, could not have been found anywhere out of the infernal regions.Most of them were zamboes and mestizoes, and not a few pure Africans of the blackest hue, maroons from Cuba and the Antilles, many of them with their fronts and cheeks tattooed, adding to the natural ferocity of their features. Their coarse woolly hair sticking out in matted tufts, their white teeth set in savage grins, their strange armour and grotesque attitudes, their wild and picturesque attire, formed acoup d’oeilthat might have pleased a painter in his studio, but which at the time had no charm for us.There were Pintoes among them, too—spotted men from the tangled forests of Acapulco—pied and speckled with blotches of red, and black, and white, like hounds and horses. They were the first of this race I had ever seen, and their unnatural complexions, even at that fearful moment, impressed me with feelings of disgust and loathing.A single glance at this motley crew would have convinced us, had we not been quite sure of it already, that we had no favour to expect. There was not a countenance among them that exhibited the slightest trait of grace or mercy. No such expression could be seen around us, and we felt satisfied that our time had come.The appearance of their leader did not shake this conviction. Revenge and hatred were playing upon his sharp sallow features, and his thin lips quivered with an expression of malice, plainly habitual. His nose, like a parrot’s beak, had been broken by a blow, which added to its sinister shape; and his small black eyes twinkled with metallic brightness.He wore a purplish-coloured manga, that covered his whole body, and his feet were cased in the red leather boots of the country, with heavy silver spurs strapped over them. A black sombrero, with its band of gold bullion and tags of the same material, completed thetout ensembleof his costume. He wore neither beard nor moustache; but his hair, black and snaky, hung down trailing over the velvet embroidery of hismanga. (See Note 2).Such was the Padré Jarauta.Raoul’s face was before him, upon which he looked for some moments without speaking. His features twitched as if under galvanic action, and we could see that his fingers jerked in a similar manner.They were painful memories that could produce this effect upon a heart of such iron devilry, and Raoul alone knew them. The latter seemed to enjoy the interlude; for he lay upon the ground, looking up at the Jarocho with a smile of triumph upon his reckless features.We were expecting the next speech of the padre to be an order for flinging us into the fire, which now burned fiercely. Fortunately, this fancy did not seem to strike him just then.“Ha, monsieur!” exclaimed he at length, approaching Raoul. “I dreamt that you and I would meet again; I dreamt it—ha! ha! ha!—it was a pleasant dream, but not half so pleasant as the reality—ha! ha! ha! Don’tyouthink so?” he added, striking our comrade over the face with a mule quirt. “Don’tyouthink so?” he repeated, lashing him as before, while his eyes sparkled with a fiendish malignity.“Didyoudream of meeting Marguerita again?” inquired Raoul, with a satirical laugh, that sounded strange, even fearful, under the circumstances.I shall never forget the expression of the Jarocho at that moment. His sallow face turned black, his lips white, his eyes burned like a demon’s, and, springing forward with a fierce oath, he planted his iron-shod heel upon the face of our comrade. The skin peeled off, and the blood followed.There was something so cowardly—so redolent of a brutal ferocity—in the act, that I could not remain quiet. With a desperate wrench I freed my hands, skinning my wrists in the effort, and, flinging myself upon him, I clutched at the monster’s throat.He stepped back; my ankles were tied, and I fell upon my face at his feet.“Ho! ho!” cried he, “what have we here? An officer, eh? Come!” he continued, “rise up from your prayers and let me look at you. Ha! a captain? And this?—a lieutenant! Gentlemen, you’re too dainty to be shot like common dogs; we’ll not let the wolves have you; we’ll put you out of their reach; ha! ha! ha! Out of reach of wolves, do you hear! And what’s this?” continued he, turning to Chane and examining his shoulders.“Bah!soldado raso—Irlandes, carajo!” (A common soldier—an Irishman, too!) “What doyoudo fighting among these heretics against your own religion? There, renegade!” and he kicked the Irishman in the ribs.“Thank yer honner!” said Chane, with a grunt, “small fayvours thankfully received; much good may it do yer honner!”“Here, Lopez!” shouted the brigand.“Now for the fire!” thought we.“Lopez, I say!” continued he, calling louder.“Aca, aca!” (here!) answered a voice, and the griffe who had guarded us came up, swinging his scarlet manga.“Lopez, these I perceive are gentlemen of rank, and we must send them out of the world a little more gracefully, do you hear?”“Yes, Captain,” answered the other, with stoical composure.“Over the cliffs, Lopez.Facilis descensus Averni—but you don’t understand Latin, Lopez. Over the cliffs, do you hear? You understand that?”“Yes, Captain,” repeated the Jarocho, moving only his lips.“You will have them at the Eagle’s Cave by six in the morning; by six, do you hear?”“Yes, Captain,” again replied the subordinate.“And if any of them is missing—is missing, do you hear?”“Yes, Captain.”“You will take his place in the dance—the dance—ha! ha! ha! You understand that, Lopez?”“Yes, Captain.”“Enough then, good Lopez—handsome Lopez! beautiful Lopez!—enough, and good-night to you!”So saying, the Jarocho drew his quirt several times across the red cheek of Raoul, and with a curse upon his lips he leaped upon his mustang and galloped off.Whatever might be the nature of the punishment that awaited us at the Eagle’s Cave, it was evident that Lopez had no intention of becoming proxy in it for any of us. This was plain from the manner in which he set about securing us. We were first gagged with bayonet-shanks, and then dragged out into the bushes.Here we were thrown upon our backs, each of us in the centre of four trees that formed a parallelogram. Our arms and legs were stretched to their full extent, and tied severally to the trees; and thus we lay, spread out like raw hides to dry. Our savage captors drew the cords so taut that our joints cracked under the cruel tension. In this painful position, with a Jarocho standing over each of us, we passed the remainder of the night.Note 1. Griffe, a cross-breed between a negro and a Carib.Note 2. Manga, a jacket with loose sleeves.
We were not long in learning into whose hands we had fallen; for the name “Jarauta” was on every tongue.They were the dreaded “Jarochos” of the bandit priest.
“We’re in for it now,” said Raoul, deeply mortified at the part he had taken in the affair with the curé. “It’s a wonder they have kept us so long. Perhapshe’snot here himself, and they’re waiting for him.”
As Raoul said this the clatter of hoofs sounded along the narrow road; and a horseman came galloping up to the rancho, riding over everything and everybody with a perfect recklessness.
“That’s Jarauta,” whispered Raoul. “If he seesme—but it don’t matter much,” he added, in a lower tone: “we’ll have a quick shrift all the same: he can’t more thanhang—and that he’ll be sure to do.”
“Where are these Yankees?” cried Jarauta, leaping out of his saddle.
“Here, Captain,” answered one of the Jarochos, a hideous-looking griffe (Note 1) dressed in a scarlet uniform, and apparently the lieutenant of the band.
“How many?”
“Four, Captain.”
“Very well—what are you waiting for?”
“To know whether I shallhangorshootthem.”
“Shoot them, by all means!Carambo! we have no time for neck-stretching!”
“There are some nice trees here, Captain,” suggested another of the band, with as much coolness as if he had been conversing about the hanging of so many dogs. He wished—a curiosity not uncommon—to witness the spectacle of hanging.
“Madre de Dios! stupid! I tell you we haven’t time for such silly sport. Out with you there! Sanchez! Gabriel! Carlos! send your bullets through their Saxon skulls! Quick!”
Several of the Jarochos commenced unslinging their carbines, while those who guarded us fell back, to be out of range of the lead.
“Come,” exclaimed Raoul, “it can’t be worse than this—we can only die; and I’ll let the padre know whom he has got before I take leave of him. I’ll give him asouvenirthat won’t make him sleep any sounder to-night.Oyez, Padré Jarauta!” continued he, calling out in a tone of irony; “have you found Marguerita yet?”
We could see between us and the dim rushlight that the Jarocho started, as if a shot had passed through his heart.
“Hold!” he shouted to the men, who were about taking aim; “drag those scoundrels hither! A light there!—fire the thatch!Vaya!”
In a moment the hut of the contrabandista was in flames, the dry palm-leaves blazing up like flax.
“Merciful Heaven!they are going to roast us!”
With this horrible apprehension, we were dragged up towards the burning pile, close to which stood our fierce judge and executioner.
The bamboos blazed and crackled, and under their red glare we could now see our captors with a terrible distinctness. A more demon-like set, I think, could not have been found anywhere out of the infernal regions.
Most of them were zamboes and mestizoes, and not a few pure Africans of the blackest hue, maroons from Cuba and the Antilles, many of them with their fronts and cheeks tattooed, adding to the natural ferocity of their features. Their coarse woolly hair sticking out in matted tufts, their white teeth set in savage grins, their strange armour and grotesque attitudes, their wild and picturesque attire, formed acoup d’oeilthat might have pleased a painter in his studio, but which at the time had no charm for us.
There were Pintoes among them, too—spotted men from the tangled forests of Acapulco—pied and speckled with blotches of red, and black, and white, like hounds and horses. They were the first of this race I had ever seen, and their unnatural complexions, even at that fearful moment, impressed me with feelings of disgust and loathing.
A single glance at this motley crew would have convinced us, had we not been quite sure of it already, that we had no favour to expect. There was not a countenance among them that exhibited the slightest trait of grace or mercy. No such expression could be seen around us, and we felt satisfied that our time had come.
The appearance of their leader did not shake this conviction. Revenge and hatred were playing upon his sharp sallow features, and his thin lips quivered with an expression of malice, plainly habitual. His nose, like a parrot’s beak, had been broken by a blow, which added to its sinister shape; and his small black eyes twinkled with metallic brightness.
He wore a purplish-coloured manga, that covered his whole body, and his feet were cased in the red leather boots of the country, with heavy silver spurs strapped over them. A black sombrero, with its band of gold bullion and tags of the same material, completed thetout ensembleof his costume. He wore neither beard nor moustache; but his hair, black and snaky, hung down trailing over the velvet embroidery of hismanga. (See Note 2).
Such was the Padré Jarauta.
Raoul’s face was before him, upon which he looked for some moments without speaking. His features twitched as if under galvanic action, and we could see that his fingers jerked in a similar manner.
They were painful memories that could produce this effect upon a heart of such iron devilry, and Raoul alone knew them. The latter seemed to enjoy the interlude; for he lay upon the ground, looking up at the Jarocho with a smile of triumph upon his reckless features.
We were expecting the next speech of the padre to be an order for flinging us into the fire, which now burned fiercely. Fortunately, this fancy did not seem to strike him just then.
“Ha, monsieur!” exclaimed he at length, approaching Raoul. “I dreamt that you and I would meet again; I dreamt it—ha! ha! ha!—it was a pleasant dream, but not half so pleasant as the reality—ha! ha! ha! Don’tyouthink so?” he added, striking our comrade over the face with a mule quirt. “Don’tyouthink so?” he repeated, lashing him as before, while his eyes sparkled with a fiendish malignity.
“Didyoudream of meeting Marguerita again?” inquired Raoul, with a satirical laugh, that sounded strange, even fearful, under the circumstances.
I shall never forget the expression of the Jarocho at that moment. His sallow face turned black, his lips white, his eyes burned like a demon’s, and, springing forward with a fierce oath, he planted his iron-shod heel upon the face of our comrade. The skin peeled off, and the blood followed.
There was something so cowardly—so redolent of a brutal ferocity—in the act, that I could not remain quiet. With a desperate wrench I freed my hands, skinning my wrists in the effort, and, flinging myself upon him, I clutched at the monster’s throat.
He stepped back; my ankles were tied, and I fell upon my face at his feet.
“Ho! ho!” cried he, “what have we here? An officer, eh? Come!” he continued, “rise up from your prayers and let me look at you. Ha! a captain? And this?—a lieutenant! Gentlemen, you’re too dainty to be shot like common dogs; we’ll not let the wolves have you; we’ll put you out of their reach; ha! ha! ha! Out of reach of wolves, do you hear! And what’s this?” continued he, turning to Chane and examining his shoulders.
“Bah!soldado raso—Irlandes, carajo!” (A common soldier—an Irishman, too!) “What doyoudo fighting among these heretics against your own religion? There, renegade!” and he kicked the Irishman in the ribs.
“Thank yer honner!” said Chane, with a grunt, “small fayvours thankfully received; much good may it do yer honner!”
“Here, Lopez!” shouted the brigand.
“Now for the fire!” thought we.
“Lopez, I say!” continued he, calling louder.
“Aca, aca!” (here!) answered a voice, and the griffe who had guarded us came up, swinging his scarlet manga.
“Lopez, these I perceive are gentlemen of rank, and we must send them out of the world a little more gracefully, do you hear?”
“Yes, Captain,” answered the other, with stoical composure.
“Over the cliffs, Lopez.Facilis descensus Averni—but you don’t understand Latin, Lopez. Over the cliffs, do you hear? You understand that?”
“Yes, Captain,” repeated the Jarocho, moving only his lips.
“You will have them at the Eagle’s Cave by six in the morning; by six, do you hear?”
“Yes, Captain,” again replied the subordinate.
“And if any of them is missing—is missing, do you hear?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“You will take his place in the dance—the dance—ha! ha! ha! You understand that, Lopez?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Enough then, good Lopez—handsome Lopez! beautiful Lopez!—enough, and good-night to you!”
So saying, the Jarocho drew his quirt several times across the red cheek of Raoul, and with a curse upon his lips he leaped upon his mustang and galloped off.
Whatever might be the nature of the punishment that awaited us at the Eagle’s Cave, it was evident that Lopez had no intention of becoming proxy in it for any of us. This was plain from the manner in which he set about securing us. We were first gagged with bayonet-shanks, and then dragged out into the bushes.
Here we were thrown upon our backs, each of us in the centre of four trees that formed a parallelogram. Our arms and legs were stretched to their full extent, and tied severally to the trees; and thus we lay, spread out like raw hides to dry. Our savage captors drew the cords so taut that our joints cracked under the cruel tension. In this painful position, with a Jarocho standing over each of us, we passed the remainder of the night.
Note 1. Griffe, a cross-breed between a negro and a Carib.
Note 2. Manga, a jacket with loose sleeves.