Just as the Texan Rangers are approaching the Staked Plain on its
eastern edge, another body of horsemen, 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.