The Lone Ranche Part 34

CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

A BRILLIANT BAND.

Just as the Texan Rangers are approaching the Staked Plain on its eastern edge, another body of hors.e.m.e.n, about their equal in number, ascends to the same plateau, coming from the very opposite direction-- the west.

Only in point of numbers, and that both are on horseback, is there any similitude between the two troops. Individually they are unlike as human beings could be; for most of those composing the Texan party are great, strapping fellows, fair-haired, and of bright complexions; whereas they coming in the counter direction are all, or nearly all, small men, with black hair and sallow visage--many of them dark as Indians. Between the horses of the two troops there is a proportionate disparity in size; the Texans bestriding animals of nearly sixteen hands in height, while they approaching from the west are mounted on Mexican mustangs, few over fourteen. One alone at their head, evidently their leader, rides a large American horse. In point of discipline the second troop shows superiority. It is a military organisation _pur sang_, and marches in regular formation, while the men composing it are armed and uniformed alike. Their uniform is that of Mexican lancers, very similar to the French, their arms the same. And just such are they; the lancers of Colonel Uraga, himself at their head.

Having crossed the Rio Pecos bottom, and climbed up the bluffs to the higher bench of the Llano Estacado, they strike out over the sterile plain.

As it is early morning, and the air is chilly, they wear their ample cavalry cloaks of bright yellow cloth. These falling back over the flanks of their horses, with their square lancer caps, plumed, and overtopped by the points of the pennoned lances, give them an imposing martial appearance. Though it is but a detachment of not over fifty men--a single troop--riding by twos, the files stretch afar in shining array, its sheen all the more brilliant from contrast with the sombre sterility of the desert.

A warlike sight, and worthy of admiration, if one knew it to be an expedition directed against the red pirates of the plains, _en route_ to chastise them for their many crimes--a long list of cruel atrocities committed upon the defenceless citizens of Chihuahua and New Mexico.

But knowing it is not this--cognisant of its true purpose--the impression made is altogether different. Instead of admiration it is disgust; and, in place of sending up a prayer for its success, the spectator would feel apprehension, or earnestly desire its failure.

Its purpose is anything but praiseworthy. On the contrary, sinister, as may be learnt by listening to the conversation of the two who ride at the head of the detachment, some paces in advance of the first file.

They are its chief and his confidential second, the ruffian Roblez.

Uraga is speaking.

"Won't our worthy friend Miranda be surprised when he sees us riding up to the door of his _jacal_, with these fifty fellows behind us? And the old doctor, Don Prospero? I can fancy his quizzical look through those great goggle spectacles he used to wear. I suppose they are still on his nose; but they'll fly off as soon as he sees the pennons of our lances."

"Ha! ha! ha! That will be a comical sight, colonel. But do you think Miranda will make any resistance?"

"Not likely. I only wish he would."

"Why do you wish that?"

"_Ayadante_! you ask a stupid question. You ought to have a clearer comprehension in the brisk, bright atmosphere of this upland plain. It should make your brain more active."

"Well, _Coronel mio_, you're the first man I ever saw on the way to make a prisoner who desired to meet resistance. _Carrambia_! I can't understand that."

"I don't desire to make any prisoner--at least, not Don Valerian Miranda. For the old doctor, I shan't much care one way or the other.

Living or dead, he can't do any great harm. Miranda I'd rather take dead."

"Ah! now I think I comprehend you."

"If he show the slightest resistance--raise but a hand--I shall have him that way."

"Why can't you anyhow? Surely you can deal with him as you think proper--a refugee, a rebel?"

"There you again show your want of sense. You've got a thick skull, _teniente_; and would be a bad counsellor in any case requiring skilful management. This is one of the kind, and needs the most delicate manipulation."

"How so?"

"For several reasons. Remember, Roblez, we're not now acting with the Horned Lizard and his painted freebooters. Our fellows here have eyes in their heads, and tongues behind their teeth. They might wag the latter to our disadvantage if we allowed the former to see anything not exactly on the square. And if we were to shoot or cut down Miranda, he not resisting, that would be a scandal I might have difficulty in suppressing. It would spread surely, go over the country, get to the ears of the Central Government, and return to New Mexico with a weight that might overwhelm me. Besides, _amigo mio_, it would spoil my plan in several respects--notably, that with the nina and others too numerous to mention. Of course, we'll kill him if we can, with fair pretext for doing so. But unless he show fight, we must take him alive, his guests along with him. I hope he will."

"I think it likely you'll have your hopes. The two Americanos are not men to submit tamely. Remember how they fought at the attack on their waggon-train, and how they got off afterwards. They're a rough couple, and likely to give us anything but a smooth reception."

"The rougher the better. That would be just as wanted, and we'll settle everything at once. If otherwise, I have my plan fixed and complete."

"What is it, colonel?"

"Not now. I'll tell you in the proper time. First to make experiment of what's immediately before us. If it succeed, we shall return this way with only women as our prisoners. If it fail, we'll have men--four of them. A word in your ear to content you for the while. Not one of the four will ever enter the prison of Albuquerque."

"You intend sending them to some other?"

"I do."

"Where?"

"A gaol from which there can be no escape--need I name it?"

"You need not. There's but one will answer your description--the grave."

With this solemn conjecture the _sotto voce_ conversation comes to a close, the ruffians riding at the head of their troop, far extending after, its files resembling the vertebrae of some grand glittering serpent on its way to seize a victim, the two in front fair types of its protruding poisonous fangs.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

A COMING CLOUD.

Between lovers, those who truly love, the parting is ever painful Frank Hamersley, taking leave of Adela Miranda, feels this as does Walt Wilder separating from Conchita.

There may be a difference in degree, in the intensity of their respective pa.s.sions; perhaps also something in its character. Still the sentiment is the same. Both suffer at the thought of separation, feel it keenly. All the more as they reflect on what is before them--a prospect anything but cheerful. Clouds in the sky; many chances they may never see their loved ones again. No wonder they turn towards the Del Norte with gloom in their glances and dark forebodings in their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Men of less loyal hearts, less p.r.o.ne to the promptings of humanity, would trifle and stay; spend longer time in a dalliance so surely agreeable, so truly delightful. Not so the young Kentuckian and his older companion, the Texan. Though the love of woman is enthroned in their hearts, each has kept a corner sacred to a sentiment almost as strong, and perhaps purer. The blood of their slaughtered comrades cries from the ground, from the sand through which they saw it filtering away. They cannot find peace without responding to its appeal; and for this even the fruition of their love is to be delayed. To seek retribution they must journey on to the settlements of the Del Norte; not sure of success on arrival there, but more likely to meet failure-- perhaps imprisonment. In this there would be nothing new or strange.

They would not be the first Americans to suffer incarceration without cause in a New Mexican _calabozo_, and lie there for long years without trial.

Once more Miranda represents the danger they are about to undergo. It does not daunt them.

"No matter," is the reckless response. "Whatever be the consequences, go we will. We must."

Thus determined to start off, after exchanging tender adieus with those left behind--two of them in tears.

According to promise, Miranda has placed his mules at their disposal, and on these they are mounted. He has, moreover, furnished them with spare dresses from his wardrobe--costumes of his native country, which will enable them to travel through it without attracting attention.

Starting at sunrise, it is still early morning when they reach the upper plain through the ravine between the two twin mountains. So far Colonel Miranda accompanies them, as also Don Prospero. There parting, the refugees return to the ranche, while the travellers strike out over the treeless waste, which spreads before their faces to the very verge of vision.

They have no landmark to guide them, neither rock nor tree; but the sky is without a cloud, and there is a sun in it gleaming like a globe of fire. To the experienced prairie man this is sufficient for telling every point of the compa.s.s, and they but want one. Their course is due west till they strike the Pecos; then along its bank to the crossing, thence west again through the Sierras, and on to Santa Fe.

Keeping the sun slightly on the left shoulder, they journey till near noon, when a dark object, seen a little to the right, attracts them.

Not to surprise, for they well know what it is--a grove. They can tell, too, that the trees composing it are oaks, of the species known as black-jack. Notwithstanding their stunted growth, the black-jacks are umbrageous, and give good shade. Though the sun has not yet reached meridian, its rays are of meridian heat, and strike down with fiery fervour on the surface of the parched plain.

This determines them to seek the shelter of the grove, and there make their noontide halt. It is a little but of their way; but, far as they can see ahead, no other spot offers a chance of protection against the burning beams.

The grove is a mere copse, covering scarce half an acre, and the topmost branches rise but a few feet above their heads. Still is there shade, both for them and their animals; and cover, should they require to conceal themselves--the last a fortunate circ.u.mstance, as is soon proved. Equally fortunate their not having need to kindle a fire. In their haversacks they carry provisions already cooked.