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
circumstance 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.
"It has heels equal to yours, Moro," I said mutteringly to my own horse.
"It will be a question of _bottom_ between you."
Was Moro stung by my reproach? He seemed so. Perhaps my thoughts were
his? At all events I could feel him perceptibly mending his pace; and
perceived, moreover, that he was at last gaining ground upon the
fugitive.
There was a natural reason for this, though I did not think of it at the
moment. The first mile of the chase had been _down_ hill--so much the
worse for Moro. He was a true Arab; his ancestors had been denizens of
the great plains of the Sahara--a race of steeds famed for fleetness on
the level course. The mustang, on the contrary, was by birth and habits
a _mountaineer_; and either _up-hill_ or _down hill_ would have been the
track of his selection.
Going down the slope, he had maintained his distance, or nearly so; but
now that the chase led along a level tract of country, he was losing it
length by length--so perceptibly, that I began to grope around the
pommel of my saddle, to assure myself of the _readiness_ of my lazo.
Perhaps another mile was passed over in the chase, without any change
taking place; except that I saw myself constantly closing in towards the
heels of the riderless horse. Then a change did occur, and one
altogether unexpected: the mustang suddenly disappeared from my sight!
Story 1, Chapter XIX.