We halted about midway on the road to Jalapa, at a place called _Corral
Falso_, which, literally translated, signifies "The False Enclosure."
I know not why the name; but certain it is, that a large enclosure of
mason work, with a portion of it in ruins, occupied the summit of the
slight eminence where the village stands.
This enclosure may have been a "corral" or penn for cattle, or perhaps a
"paraje" for pack mules; though it seemed to be no longer used for any
purpose--as it exhibited the appearance of a ruin overgrown with bushes
and rank weeds.
The village itself may also have seen more prosperous days--in the times
of vice-regal rule--but Corral Falso, on the occasion of my making halt
in it, was nothing more than a very small collection of huts,
constructed out of tree poles--"Jacales"--and constituting that
grouping, known in Mexico as a _rancheria_--a collection of "ranchos."
The vanquished army, in its retreat, as well as the victors in their
pursuit having passed through the place, had temporarily deprived Corral
Falso of its inhabitants. They had taken to the wild chapparal which
grew close to their village; and there had they hidden themselves.
But since then a whole day had intervened; and hunger had forced them
back to their despoiled homes--at the same time inspiring them with
courage to stay there, or at all events with a repugnance to return to
the starving shelter of the chapparal.
We found the Corral Falsenians at home--of both sexes and of all ages--
all alike trembling at our approach, and evidently gratified to find
that we did not eat them up!
I have given this prominence to the pretty _paraje_ Corral Falso, not
out of any consideration for the place itself but on account of an
incident that transpired there, which resulted in my losing two of my
men; and--which was of far more importance to me--was very nearly ending
in the loss of myself!
We had halted to "bait" our animals--from their own nosebags of course:
for there was not as much corn in Corral Falso as would have filled the
crop of a chicken.
While thus occupied, it was reported to me--that one of the horses would
not eat; but on the contrary, was more likely to die.
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
circumstances, 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 thorny
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 grass,
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
spaces 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 circumstance, 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 butts
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.