The Guerilla Chief Part 15

He had been stricken by the sun, or had got the staggers from some other unexplained cause; which ended by his tumbling over upon the road, and stretching out his limbs in their last tremulous struggle.

The horse belonged to the lieutenant of my troop; who was now, of course, _demonte_.

Slight as the _contretemps_ may appear, or might have been under other circ.u.mstances, it placed us at the time in somewhat of a dilemma. One of the men would have to be dismounted, in order that the officer might ride; but how was the man to be taken along? I had been ordered to report speedily at head-quarters in Jalapa; and to have marched at such a pace as would allow one on foot to keep up with the troop, was entirely out of the question.

It is true that the dismounted trooper might be carried on the croup of one of his comrades' horses; but all of these were greatly fatigued by a long-continued spell of duty; and it was just doubtful enough whether there was a horse in the _cavallada_ capable of "carrying double."

While my lieutenant and I were debating this question between us, fate or fortune seemed to have determined on deciding it in our favour.

I have said that the _chapparal_ stretched in to the very confines of the rancheria--holding the little village, as it were, in its th.o.r.n.y embrace.

But the country around was not all of this character. The thicket was far from being continuous. On the contrary, the eye rested upon broad tracts of open pasture-ground, covered with a growth of tufted gra.s.s, here and there matted, with clumps of cactus, and plants of the wild agave bristling under their tall flower-stalks, and cymes of strong-scented blossoms.

It was not these curious forms of the botanical world that attracted our attention--we had seen and admired them before--but the hoof-strokes of a galloping horse, ringing, not upon the road that bisected the village, but upon the hard turf, that covered the surface of the soil in the open s.p.a.ces extending between the copses of the chapparal.

We had scarcely bent our ears to listen to the sounds, when we saw the animal that was causing them--a horse--galloping down the slope of a hill in the direction of the rancheria.

He was saddled; but without bridle, and without a rider!

The animal appeared to be a splendid _musteno_, of a steel-grey colour; and the gleam of silver upon the mountings of the saddle bespoke him as belonging, or having belonged, to an owner of some consideration-- perhaps an officer of rank.

The sight of a saddled but riderless steed, thus scampering across country, was by no means strange--at least to us _then_ and _there_.

More than one had we observed upon our march enjoying a like liberty-- whose riders were perhaps, at that moment, coldly asleep upon the field of battle, never more to remount them.

We should scarcely have taken notice of the circ.u.mstance, but for the want which just then was making itself so unpleasantly felt. We wanted a horse to remount the lieutenant. Here was one about to offer himself ready saddled, and as if saying, "Come and bestride me!"

It was not so certain, however, that the mustang was thus generously disposed; and it became still less so, when the animal, after approaching within twenty paces of the troop, suddenly stopped, threw his nostrils into a horizontal position; loudly inhaled the air; and then with a terrific neigh turned in his tracks and galloped back up the acclivity of the hill.

In the _cavallada_ of tall, scraggy steeds that stood in the street of the village with their noses buried eye-deep in canvas bags--he seemed not to have recognised his own species; or, if so, it was only to identify them as enemies.

The horses of the troop had taken no heed of the shy stranger. They were not in the humour for a "stampede." They did not even think it necessary to neigh, but remained tranquilly crunching their corn, as if aware that they were making only a temporary halt, and that their time was too precious to be spent in any other occupation.

On reaching the summit of the hill, the mustang came to a stand, and, with head high in air, screamed back a series of wild "whighers," as if uttered in mockery or defiance.

There was but one horse on the ground capable of capturing that mustang; and perhaps only one rider who could have conducted him to the capture.

Though laying myself open to the accusation of an inordinate vanity, I must specify the horse and the rider thus alluded to. The first was my brave steed _Moro_--the second was Captain Edward Warfield, in command of a "free corps of rangers."

An early practice of hare and fox hunting in my native land--continued by the chase of the stag over the forest-clad slopes of the Alleghanies--had given me a seat in the saddle firm as its "tree," and close as the skin that covered it; while a still later experience on the great western prairies, had rendered me habile in the handling of that wonderful weapon of prairie and pampa--the _lazo_.

Habit had accustomed me to deem it almost as essential as my bridle; never to go abroad without it; and ever, while riding at the head of my troop of half guerilleros, half-regular cavalry--a coil of thin shining rope composed of twisted hair from the tails of horses, might have been seen hanging from the horn of my saddle.

I esteemed it an arm of equal service with my pistols, whose b.u.t.ts glistened in the holsters beneath. It could be seen in _Corral Falso_ hanging over the withers of my steed, as he stood among the others quietly munching his maize.

My dismounted lieutenant had noticed it, and turned towards me with an appealing look, impossible to be misunderstood.

He liked the appearance of the steel-grey mustang; and had become inspired with an insatiable longing to bestride it.

That longing could only be gratified by its capture; and this could only be effected by myself and Moro.

I understood the lieutenant's look. Perhaps my comprehension was quickened by the pride or vanity that fluttered up within my bosom at the moment--a desire for even that trifling triumph of distinguishing myself in the eyes of my own men.

I perceived that their eyes were upon me; and, ordering my horse to be bridled, I leaped into the saddle, and started off in pursuit of the _escapado_.

Story 1, Chapter XVIII.

A HORSE-HUNT.

My steed deemed to comprehend the object for which I had mounted him.

Without any guidance, either of voice or rein, he headed for the hill, upon the summit of which stood the neighing mustang.

I rode cautiously up the slope, keeping as well as I could under cover of the cactus plants, in hopes that I might get near enough to fling my lazo without fraying the animal I wished to capture.

There was but slight chance of my being able to accomplish this without a gallop.

The riderless horse was roused, and could not be approached unless by a ruse, or after being run down.

I could think of no trick beyond that of stealing upon the mustang through some trees near which he had stopped, and I rode towards them.

It was to no purpose. The animal having the advantage in position, could see me as I advanced up the acclivity. Before I had got half way to the trees, it turned tail towards me; and, uttering a shrill scream, disappeared over the crest of the ridge.

Giving Moro a touch of the spur, I hastened on to the spot lately occupied by the escapado.

On reaching the summit I saw the mustang once more, but at a rather discouraging distance. It had made good use of the short time it had been out of sight--being now nearly half a mile off, and still going down the slope, which declined in the direction of the Rio del Plan.

I hesitated to follow. The pursuit might carry me far into the heart of the country, and away from the main road. My time was precious. I had orders to report at head-quarters at an early hour of the evening.

Cavalry were at that time scarce in the American army; and even my "irregulars" might be required for some duty. I had not much discretionary control as to my movements; and, with these reflections crossing my mind, I determined to return to my troop.

Rather should I say, I was about determining to do so, when a circ.u.mstance occurred that decided me to go on.

As I sat in my saddle, watching the fugitive mustang--expecting it soon to disappear into the woods at the bottom of the hill, all of a sudden the animal came to a halt, and, turning around and tossing its head high in the air, once more gave utterance to a shrill "whigher."

There was something in the neighing of the creature, as well as the movement that accompanied it, that seemed to say, "Come after me if you dare!"

At all events, I interpreted it as a challenge of this kind, and, in the excitement of the moment, I determined to accept it.

I was influenced, also, by the presence of my comrades, who were watching me from below.

Duty should have determined me to ride back to them, and resume our interrupted march; but the chagrin which I should have felt in so easily abandoning a project I had taken up with such a show of determination, outweighed my sense of duty; and, without further delay, I launched myself down the slope in pursuit of the fugitive horse.

As I drew near, the animal started off again; but, instead of taking to the timber--as I expected it would have done--it kept along the edge of the wood, in a south-easterly direction.

This was just what I wanted. I believed that on open ground--in a fair tail-on-end chase--I could overtake either it or any other mustang in Mexico; and my hope was that it might give me a fair chance without taking to cover.

Although I had hunted its wild congeners on the prairies of Texas, it proved the swiftest thing in mustang shape I had ever followed, and I soon began to doubt my capacity to overtake it.

After I had ridden more than a mile along the edge of the forest timber, the creature seemed as far ahead of me as ever! I was fast losing faith in the fleetness of Moro; for I knew that he had been going at top speed all the time, while the mustang appeared to have preserved the distance with which it had started.