The _gambusino_ has guessed everything aright, if words spoken in the
confidence of knowledge can be called guesses. True they prove, to the
spirit as the letter; for it is just that unaccustomed spectacle of
wheeled vehicles with their white canvas covers that caused the Indians
to keep their deploying line so far aloof, and bring it to a halt for
deliberation. Notwithstanding their being masters of all that desert
country, lords of the _llanos_, they themselves do not always traverse
it without difficulties to encounter and dangers to dread. The wagons
proclaim the camp occupied by white men; and knowing these to be
ordinary travellers, miners on the move, or _commerciantes_ on a trading
expedition to the frontier towns, the Coyoteros would little regard
them--certainly not enough to have made that long _detour_ with so much
delay in approaching them. But it may be a _military_ encampment; and
if so, will need to be dealt with differently--hence their unwonted
caution.
Soon as the two bands became conjoined, El Cascabel had summoned his
sub-chiefs around him, to take their opinions upon this point. For
among Indians the head chief is not armed with despotic authority, but
must submit his intended course of action to the approval of his
following, even when on the _maraud_. And as the _gambusino_ rightly
conjectured, this it was which occupied them at that temporary halt.
A question without difficulty, and soon decided. In the negative as
regarded the camp being occupied by soldiers. Were it so, men in
uniform would be observable around it; whereas none such are seen. Nor
human form of any kind; only animals--horses, and mules, with horned
cattle commingled--all careering madly about as if masterless, or
escaped from their masters' control.
This might seem an odd circumstance, yet it does not to the savages.
From experience they know that all animals belonging to the palefaces
become affrighted at their own proximity--often to break from their
fastenings, however secure. Such a scare is likely what they see now.
All the more does it assure them they will not have to deal with
_soldados_. These would have their horses under better discipline,
would indeed by this time be on their backs, at least some of them.
Satisfied of its being a camp of civilians, at a signal sent along their
line the red horsemen make a move forward, their files becoming thicker
as the cordon contracts into nearer and narrower curve. Still they
advance slowly, not through fear or want of confidence, but because they
feel sure their enfiladement is complete, and their victims enclosed.
But another idea rules their cautious approach. A splendid prize is
before them in that large _ca Callada_, and to ride hurriedly in might
lead to the loose animals breaking through their ranks, and scattering
off over the plain, with after difficulty of capturing them. For just
then they might have enough to do with their owners. Besides, there can
be no surprise. The occupants of the camp, whoever they be, must have
seen them long since, and are watching them now, though not one of
themselves can be seen. Nothing so strange in this; they are inside the
wagon enclosure, screened by the ridge of _alparejas_ that form a sort
of breastwork around it. And the ruck of frightened animals rushing to
and fro between further prevents view of them. The more reason for
deliberate approach, this attitude of the white men telling of an
intention to stand upon the defence.
Becoming convinced of this, the Indians give up thought of immediate
attack. They will wait for the night's darkness to give them a better
opportunity; and when at such a distance as they deem beyond longest gun
range, they again come to a halt.
They would dismount, holding their horses in readiness; and some are
already on the ground. But before all alight, a word is sent along
their circular line, ordering them up again. Something has transpired
to give cause for a change of purpose.
Soon they know what, seeing that the camp animals have retreated back
beyond the wagons up into an embayment of the cliff, where they stand in
a clump, cowering and still showing scare, but at rest. It is not that,
however, which has made the Coyoteros re-mount, but because their view
of the camp now being clear they still cannot see human beings in or
around it. With eyes bent in keenest quest between the corralled
wagons, through the spokes of their wheels, all along the periphery of
pack-saddles, nothing in the shape of human form or face can they make
out. Yet the sun is in their favour, and if such was there they could
not fail seeing it. Puzzled are the savages now, and for the first
time--since it is the first time for them to have such an experience.
For the moment it even mystifies them, and thoughts of the supernatural
come creeping into their minds. They know Nauchampa-tepetl to be a
place of weird repute, so figuring in many a record and legend of their
race. And now to see a camp there, a camp of the palefaces, with every
appointment appertaining, wheeled vehicles drawn up in _corral_ with a
grand tent inside--for the marquee, still standing, is conspicuous
through a break between the wagons--with all the animals that should be
there, and yet no man, no one seeming to own or control them, that is
certainly strange, to the point of astonishment--even awe!
And for a time it so affects the savage warriors, their chief not
excepted. But only for a time. Notwithstanding his ghostly
coat-of-arms, El Cascabel is but little the slave of superstition; and,
after a moment's reflection, feels satisfied there are palefaces in the
camp, though invisible to the view of him and his. In that, as the
reader knows, he is wrong; but right in the way he takes to test it.
It may seem the veriest _grotesquerie_ here to introduce that venerated
weapon, known as the "Queen Anne musket," yet the truthfulness of this
record requires its introduction.
For strange as it may appear, this historical piece, with all its
imperfections, has found its way to every corner of the world; even into
the hands of the Apache Indians. How they became possessed of it needs
but a word of explanation, which is, that they had it--took it--from
their hereditary enemies, the Mexicans--from the _infanterio_ of that
nation, armed with the old condemned "Queen Anne's" of London Tower
celebrity.
Leaving this necessary digression, and returning to the Coyoteros--more
especially to their chief, we hear him call out to those of his
followers who carry the ancient firelock, giving them orders to advance
some paces and send shots into the white man's camp.
Dismounting, they do so, aiming at the wagons and tent inside, so
correctly that their big bullets, an ounce in weight, are seen to hit
the mark. But without effect following, any more than if their shots
were meant for the _facade_ of cliff beyond, whose rocks echo back the
reports of the antiquated pieces, as if in hilarious mockery.