Chapter Fifty Five
Carlos, on leaving his cave, proceeded with the caution natural to one circumstanced as he was. But this night he was more than usually careful. He scanned every bush and rock that stood near his path, and that might have sheltered an enemy. Why to-night more cautious than before? Because a suspicion had crossed his mind – and that, too, having reference to the very men who were at the moment in ambush so near him!
At various times of late had his thoughts reverted to these men. He knew them well, and knew the hostile feelings with which both, but particularly the mulatto, regarded him. He thought of the probability of their being set upon his trail, and he knew their capability to follow it. This had made him more uneasy than all the scouting of the dragoons with their unpractised leaders. He was aware that, if the cunning mulatto and his scarce less sagacious comrade were sent after him, his cave would not shelter him long, and there would be an end to his easy communication with the settlement.
These thoughts were sources of uneasiness; and would have been still more so, had he not believed that the hunters were absent upon the plains. Under this belief he had hopes of being able to settle his affairs and get off before their return. That morning, however, his hopes had met with discouragement.
It was a little after daylight when he returned to his hiding-place. Antonio, watched closely by the spies, had not been able to reach the rendezvous until a late hour, – hence the detention of Carlos. On going back to his cave he had crossed a fresh trail coming in from the northern end of the Llano Estacado. It was a trail of horses, mules, and dogs; and Carlos, on scrutinising it, soon acquainted himself with the number of each that had passed. He knew it was the exact number of these animals possessed by the yellow hunter and his comrade; and this startled him with the suspicion that it was the return trail of these men from their hunt upon the prairies!
A further examination quite assured him of the truth of this. The footprints of one of the dogs differed from the rest; and although a large one, it was not the track of the common wolf-dog of the country. He had heard that the yellow hunter had lately become possessed of a large bloodhound. These must be his tracks!
Carlos rode along the trail to a point where it had crossed an old path of his own leading to the ravine. To his astonishment he perceived that, from this point, one of the horsemen, with several of the dogs, had turned off and followed his own tracks in that direction! No doubt the man had been trailing him. After going some distance, however, the latter had turned again and ridden back upon his former course.
Carlos would have traced this party farther, as he knew they must have passed on the evening before. But as it was now quite day, and their trail evidently led to the settlements, he dared not ride in that direction, and therefore returned to his hiding-place.
The incident had rendered him thoughtful and apprehensive throughout the whole of that day; and as he rode forth his reflections were upon this very subject – hence the caution of his movements.
As he emerged from the ravine, the dog, as stated, made a demonstration, by suddenly turning toward the rocks, and uttering a low growl. This caused Carlos to halt, and look carefully in that direction. But he could see nothing that appeared suspicious; and the dog, after a moment’s pause, appeared satisfied and trotted on again.
“Some wild animal, perhaps,” thought Carlos, as he set his horse in motion, and continued on over the plain.
When fairly out into the open ground, he quickened his pace; and after a ride of about six or seven miles arrived on the banks of the Pecos. Here he turned down-stream, and, once more riding with caution, approached a grove of low timber that grew upon the bank. This grove was the point of rendezvous.
When within a hundred yards of it, the cibolero halted upon the plain. The dog ran on before him, quartered the grove, and then returned to his master. The horseman then rode boldly in under the shadow of the trees, and, dismounting, took station upon one side of the timber, to watch for the coming of his expected messenger.
His vigil was not of long duration. In a few minutes a man on foot, bent into a crouching attitude, was seen rapidly advancing over the plain. When he had arrived within three hundred yards of the grove, he stopped in his tracks, and uttered a low whistle. To this signal the cibolero replied, and the man, again advancing as before, was soon within the shadow of the grove. It was Antonio.
“Were you followed, amigo?” asked Carlos.
“As usual, master; but I had no difficulty in throwing them off.”
“Hereafter it may not be so easy.”
“How, master?”
“I know your news – the yellow hunter has got back?”
“Carrambo! it is even so! How did you hear it, master?”
“This morning, after you had left me, I crossed a trail – I knew it must be theirs.”
“It was theirs, master. They came in last evening but I have worse news than that.”
“Worse! – what?”
“They’re after you!”
“Ha! already? I guessed that they would be, but not so soon. How know you, Anton!”
“Josefa – she has a brother who is a kind of errand-boy to Padré Joaquin. This morning the Padré took him over to the Presidio, and from there sent him to guide Captain Roblado to the yellow hunter’s hut. The Padré threatened the boy if he should tell any one; but on his return to the mission he called on his mother; and Josefa, suspecting he had been on some strange errand – for he showed a piece of silver – got it all out of him. He couldn’t tell what Roblado and the hunters talked about, but he fancied the latter were preparing to go somewhere as he left them. Now, putting one thing with another, I’m of the mind, master, they’re on your trail.”
“No doubt of it, amigo – I haven’t the slightest doubt of it. So – I’ll be chased out of my cave – that’s certain. I believe they have a suspicion of where I am already. Well, I must try to find another resting-place. ’Tis well I have got the wind of these rascals – they’ll not catch me asleep, which no doubt they flatter themselves they’re going to do. What other news?”
“Nothing particular. Josefa saw the girl Vicenza last night in company with José, but she has had no opportunity of getting a word with the señorita, who is watched closely. She has some business with the portero’s wife to-morrow. She hopes to hear something from her.”
“Good Antonio,” said Carlos, dropping a piece of money into the other’s hand, “give this to Josefa – tell her to be active. Our hopes rest entirely with her.”
“Don’t fear, master!” replied the half-blood. “Josefa will do her best, for the reason that,” smiling, “her hopes, I believe, rest entirely upon me.”
Carlos laughed at the naïve remark of his faithful companion, and then proceeded to inquire about other matters, – about his mother and sister, about the troopers, the spies, and Don Juan.
About the last Antonio could give him no information that was new. Don Juan had been arrested the day after the affair at the Presidio, and ever since had been kept a close prisoner. The charge against him was his having been an accomplice of Carlos, and his trial would take place whenever the latter should be captured.
Half-an-hour was spent in conversation, and then Carlos, having received from the half-blood the packages containing provisions, prepared to return to his hiding-place in the Llano Estacado.
“You will meet me here to-morrow night again, Anton,” said he at parting. “If anything should happen to prevent me coming, then look for me the night after, and the night after that. So buenas noches, amigo!”
“Buenos noches, mi amo!” (“Good night, master!”)
And with this salutation the friends – for they were go – turned their backs on each other and parted.
Antonio went crouching back in the direction of the valley; while the cibolero, springing to his saddle, rode off toward the frowning bluffs of the Llano.
Chapter Fifty Six
The “report” delivered by Antonio was of a character to have caused serious apprehension to the cibolero – fear, in fact, had he been the man to have such a feeling. It had the effect of still further increasing his caution, and his mind was now bent with all its energies upon the craft of taking care of himself.
Had he contemplated an open fight, even with the two strong men who were seeking him, he would have been less uneasy about the result; but he knew that, strong as they were, these ruffians would not attack him without some advantage. They would make every effort to surprise him asleep, or otherwise take him unawares. Against their wiles he had now to guard himself.
He rode slowly back to the ravine, his thoughts all the while busied about the yellow hunter and his companion.
“They must know of the cave,” so ran his reflections. “Their following my trail yesterday is an evidence that they suspected something in the direction of the ravine. They had no doubt heard of late affairs before getting so far. Some hatero on the outer plains has told them all, very like; well, what then? They have hastened on to the mission. Ha! the Padré Joaquin took the boy over to the Presidio. I see – I see – the Padré is the ‘patron’ of these two ruffians. They have told him something, else why should he be off to the Presidio so early? News from them – and then Roblado starting directly after to seek them! Clear – clear – they have discovered my hiding-place!”
After a pause: —
“What if they have reached the ravine in my absence? Let me see. Yes, they’ve had time enough to get round; that is, if they started soon after Roblado’s interview. The boy thinks they did. By Heaven! it’s not too soon for me to be on the alert.”
As this thought passed through the cibolero’s mind, he reined up his horse; and, lowering his head, glanced along the neck of the animal into the darkness before him. He had now arrived at the mouth of the cañon, and nearly on the same track by which he had ridden out of it; but the moon was under thick clouds, and the gloom of the ravine was no longer relieved by her light.
“It would be their trick,” reflected he, “to get inside the cañon, at its narrow part, and wait for me to come out of the cave. They would waylay me pretty handy there. Now suppose they are up the cañon at this moment!”
For a moment he paused and dwelt upon this hypothesis. He proceeded again.
“Well, let them; I’ll ride on. Cibolo can beat the rocks a shot’s range ahead of me. If they’re ambushed there without him finding them, they’ll be sharper fellows than I take them to be; and I don’t consider them flats, either, the scoundrels! If he start them, I can soon gallop back out of their reach. Here! Cibolo!”
The dog, that had stopped a few paces in front, now came running back, and looked up in his master’s face. The latter gave him a sign, uttering the simple word “Anda!”
At the word the animal sprang off, and commenced quartering the ground for a couple of hundred yards in advance.
Following him, the horseman moved forward.
In this way he approached the point where the two walls converging narrowed the cañon to a space of little more than a hundred yards. Along the bases of the cliffs, on both sides, lay large loose rocks, that would have given cover to men in ambush, and even horses might have been concealed behind them.
“This,” thought Carlos, “would be the place chosen for their cowardly attack. They might hit me from either side with half an aim. But Cibolo makes no sign. – Ha!”
The last exclamation was uttered in a short sharp tone. It had been called forth by a low yelp from the dog. The animal had struck the trail where the yellow hunter and his companion had crossed to the middle of the ravine. The moon had again emerged from the clouds, and Carlos could see the dog dashing swiftly along the pebbles and up the ravine towards the mouth of the cavern!
His master would have called him back, for he was leaving the loose rocks unsearched, and, without that being done, Carlos felt that it would be perilous to proceed farther; but the swiftness with which the dog had gone forward showed that he was on a fresh trail; and it now occurred to the cibolero that his enemies might be within the cave itself!
The thought had hardly crossed his mind when the dog uttered several successive yelps! Although he had got out of sight, his master knew that he was at that moment approaching the mouth of the cave, and running upon a fresh scent.
Carlos drew up his horse and listened. He dare proceed no farther. He dared not recall the dog. His voice would have been heard if any one were near. He reflected that he could do no better than wait till the dog should return, or by his attack give some sign of what he was after. It might, after all, be the grizzly bear, or some other animal, he was pursuing.
The cibolero sat upon his horse in perfect silence – not unprepared though for any sudden attack. His true rifle lay across his thighs, and he had already looked to its flint and priming. He listened to every sound, while his eyes pierced the dark recesses of the ravine before and around him.
For only a few moments this uncertainty lasted, and then back down the chasm came a noise that caused the listener to start in his saddle. It resembled the worrying of dogs, and for a moment Carlos fancied that Cibolo had made his attack upon a bear! Only a moment did this illusion last, for his quick ear soon detected the voices of more dogs than one; and in the fierce confusion he distinguished the deep-toned bark of a bloodhound!
The whole situation became clear to him at once. His enemies had been awaiting him in the cave – for from it he was certain that the sounds proceeded.
His first instinct was to wheel his horse and gallop out of the cañon. He waited a moment, however, and listened.
The worrying noise continued, but, amid the roar find barking of the dogs, Carlos could distinguish the voices of men, uttered in low hurried tones, as if addressing the dogs and also one another.
All at once the conflict appeared to cease, for the animals became silent, except the hound, who at intervals gave out his deep loud bray. In a moment more he, too, was silent.
Carlos knew by this silence that Cibolo had either been killed upon the spot, or, having been attacked by men, had sheered off. In either case it would be of no use waiting his return. If alive, he knew that the dog would follow and overtake him. Without further delay, therefore, he turned his horse’s head, and galloped back down the ravine.
Chapter Fifty Seven
On arriving at the month of the ravine he halted – not in the middle of the plain, but under the shadow of the rocks – the same rocks where the hunters had placed themselves in ambush. He did not dismount, but sat in his saddle, gazing up the cañon, and listening for some token of the expected pursuit.
He had not been long in this spot when he perceived a dark object approaching him. It gave him joy, for he recognised Cibolo coming along his trail. The next moment the dog was by his stirrup. The cibolero bent down in his saddle, and perceived that the poor brute was badly cut and bleeding profusely. Several gashes appeared along his side, and one near his shoulder exhibited a flap of hanging skin, over which the red stream was pouring. The animal was evidently weak from loss of blood, and tottered in his tracks.
“Amigo!” said Carlos, “you have saved my life to a certainty. It’s my turn to save yours – if I can.”
As he said this he dismounted, and, taking the dog in his arms, climbed back into the saddle.
For a while he sat reflecting what to do, with his eyes turned in the direction from which he expected the pursuit.
He had now no doubt as to who were the occupants of the cave. The bay of the hound was satisfactory evidence of the presence of the yellow hunter, and of course the zambo was along with him. Carlos knew of no other bloodhound in the settlement – the one heard must be that of the mulatto.
For some minutes he remained by the rocks, considering what course he had best take.
“I’ll ride on to the grove,” reflected he, “and hide in it till Antonio comes. They can’t track me this night – it will be too dark. The whole sky is becoming clouded – there will be no more moon to-night I can lie hid all day to-morrow, if they don’t follow. If they do, why, I can see them far enough off to ride away. My poor Cibolo, how you bleed! Heavens, what a gash! Patience, brave friend! When we halt, your wounds shall be looked to. Yes! to the grove I’ll go. They won’t suspect me of taking that direction, as it is towards the settlements. Besides they can’t trail me in the darkness. Ha! what am I thinking of? – not trail me in the darkness! What! I had forgotten the bloodhound! O God, preserve me! These fiends can follow me were it as dark as pitch! God preserve me!”
An anxious expression came over his countenance, and partly from the burden he held in his arms, and partly from the weight of his thoughts, he dropped into an attitude that betokened deep depression. For the first time the hunted outlaw showed symptoms of despair.
For a long while he remained with his head leaning forward, and his body bent over the neck of his horse.
But he had not yet yielded to despair.
All at once he started up, as if some thought, suddenly conceived, had given him hopes. A new resolution seemed to have been taken.
“Yes!” he soliloquised, “I shall go to the grove – direct to the grove. Ha! you bloodthirsty yellow-skin, I’ll try your boasted skill. We shall see – we shall see. Maybe you’ll get your reward, but not that you are counting upon. You have yet something to do before you take the scalp of Carlos the cibolero!”
Muttering these words he turned his horse’s head, renewed his hold of the dog and the bridle, and set off across the plain.
He rode at a rapid pace, and without casting a look behind him. He appeared to be in a hurry, though it could not be from fear of being overtaken. No one was likely to come up with him, so long as he kept on at such a pace.
He was silent, except now and then when he addressed some kind word to the dog Cibolo, whose blood ran over his thighs, and down the flanks of the horse. The poor brute was weak, and could no longer have kept his feet.
“Patience, old friend! – patience! – you shall soon have rest from this jolting.”
In less than an hour he had reached the lone grove on the Pecos – the same where he had lately parted with Antonio. Here he halted. It was the goal of his journey. Within that grove he had resolved on passing the remainder of the night, and, if not disturbed, the whole of the following day.
The Pecos at this point, and for many miles above and below, ran between low banks that rose vertically from the water. On both sides its “bottom” was a smooth plain, extending for miles back, where it stepped up to a higher level. It was nearly treeless. Scattered clumps grew at distant intervals, and along its margin a slight fringing of willows. This fringe was not continuous, but broken here and there by gaps, through which the water might be seen. The timber clumps were composed of cotton-wood trees and live-oak, with acacias forming an underwood, and occasionally plants of cactus growing near.
These groves were so small, and so distant from each other, that they did not intercept the general view of the surface, and a person occupying one of them could see a horseman, or other large object, at a great distance. A man concealed in them could not have been approached by his enemy in daylight, if awake and watching. At night, of course, it was different, and the security then afforded depended upon the degree of darkness.
The “motte” at which the cibolero had arrived was far apart from any of the others, and commanded a view of the river bottom on both sides for more than a mile’s distance. The grove itself was but a few acres in size, but the fringe of willows running along the stream at both ends gave it, when viewed from a distance, the appearance of a wood of larger dimensions. It stood upon the very bank of the stream, and the selvedge of willows looked like its prolongation. These, however, reached but a few feet from the water’s edge, while the grove timber ran out several hundred yards into the plain.
About this grove there was a peculiarity. Its central part was not timbered, but open, and covered only with a smooth sward of gramma-grass. It was, in fact, a glade, nearly circular in shape, and about a hundred yards in diameter. On one side of this glade the river impinged, its bank being almost a tangent line to it. Here there was a gap in the timber, so that out of the glade could be obtained a view of the bottom on the other side of the stream. Diametrically opposite to this gap another opening, of an avenue-like form, led out into the adjacent plain, so that the grove was in reality bisected by an open line, which separated it into two groves, nearly equal in extent. This separation could only be observed from certain positions in the plain – one on each side of the river.
The glade, the avenue of a dozen yards loading from it to the outside plain, and the plain itself, were all perfectly level, and covered with a smooth turf. Any object upon their surface would be easily perceptible at a distance. The grove was thickly stocked with underwood – principally the smaller species of “mezquite.” There was also a network of vines and llianas that, stretching upward, twined around the limbs of the live-oaks – the latter forming the highest and largest timber of all. The underwood was impenetrable to the eye, though a hunter could have crept through it in pursuit of game. At night, however, even under moonlight, it appeared a dark and impassable thicket.
On one side of the glade, where the ground was dry and sandy, there stood a small clump of pitahaya cactus. There were not over a dozen plants in all, but two or three of them were large specimens, sending up their soft succulent limbs nearly as high as the live-oaks. Standing by themselves in massive columns, and so unlike the trees that surrounded them, they gave a peculiar character to the scene; and the eye, unaccustomed to these gigantic candelabra, would scarce have known to what kingdom of nature they belonged – so unlike were they to the ordinary forms of vegetation.
Such were the features of the spot where the hunted outlaw sought shelter for the night.