The first rays from a rosy aurora, saluting the flag of Fort Inge, fell
with a more subdued light upon an assemblage of objects occupying the
parade-ground below--in front of the "officers' quarters."
A small sumpter-waggon stood in the centre of the group; having attached
to it a double span of tight little Mexican mules, whose quick impatient
"stomping," tails spitefully whisked, and ears at intervals turning
awry, told that they had been for some time in harness, and were
impatient to move off--warning the bystanders, as well, against a too
close approximation to their heels.
Literally speaking, there were no bystanders--if we except a man of
colossal size, in blanket coat, and slouch felt hat; who, despite the
obscure light straggling around his shoulders, could be identified as
Zeb Stump, the hunter.
He was not standing either, but seated astride his "ole maar," that
showed less anxiety to be off than either the Mexican mules or her own
master.
The other forms around the vehicle were all in motion--quick, hurried,
occasionally confused--hither and thither, from the waggon to the door
of the quarters, and back again from the house to the vehicle.
There were half a score of them, or thereabouts; varied in costume as in
the colour of their skins. Most were soldiers, in fatigue dress, though
of different arms of the service. Two would be taken to be mess-cooks;
and two or three more, officers' servants, who had been detailed from
the ranks.
A more legitimate specimen of this profession appeared in the person of
a well-dressed darkie, who moved about the ground in a very
authoritative manner; deriving his importance, from his office of _valet
de tout_ to the major in command of the cantonment. A sergeant, as
shown by his three-barred chevron, was in charge of the mixed party,
directing their movements; the object of which was to load the waggon
with eatables and drinkables--in short, the paraphernalia of a pic-nic.
That it was intended to be upon a grand scale, was testified by the
amplitude and variety of the _impedimenta_. There were hampers and
baskets of all shapes and sizes, including the well known
parallelopipedon, enclosing its twelve necks of shining silver-lead;
while the tin canisters, painted Spanish brown, along with the universal
sardine-case, proclaimed the presence of many luxuries not indigenous to
Texas.
However delicate and extensive the stock of provisions, there was one in
the party of purveyors who did not appear to think it complete. The
dissatisfied Lucullus was Zeb Stump.
"Lookee hyur, surgint," said he, addressing himself confidentially to
the individual in charge, "I hain't seed neery smell o' corn put inter
the veehicle as yit; an', I reck'n, thet out on the purayra, thur'll be
some folks ud prefar a leetle corn to any o' thet theer furrin French
stuff. Sham-pain, ye call it, I b'lieve."
"Prefer corn to champagne! The horses you mean?"
"Hosses be durned. I ain't talkin' 'bout hoss corn. I mean
M'nongaheela."
"Oh--ah--I comprehend. You're right about that, Mr Stump. The whisky
mustn't be forgotten, Pomp. I think I saw a jar inside, that's intended
to go?"
"Yaw--yaw, sagint," responded the dark-skinned domestic; "dar am dat
same wesicle. Hya it is!" he added, lugging a large jar into the light,
and swinging it up into the waggon.
Old Zeb appearing to think the packing now complete, showed signs of
impatience to be off.
"Ain't ye riddy, surgint?" he inquired, shifting restlessly in his
stirrups.
"Not quite, Mr Stump. The cook tells me the chickens want another turn
upon the spit, before we can take 'em along."
"Durn the chickens, an the cook too! What air any dung-hill fowl to
compare wi' a wild turkey o' the purayra; an how am I to shoot one,
arter the sun hev clomb ten mile up the sky? The major sayed I war to
git him a gobbler, whativer shed happen. 'Tain't so durnation eezy to
kill turkey gobbler arter sun-up, wi' a clamjamferry like this comin'
clost upon a fellur's heels? Ye mustn't surpose, surgint, that thet ere
bird air as big a fool as the sodger o' a fort. Of all the cunnin'
critters as ferquents these hyur purayras, a turkey air the cunninest;
an to git helf way roun' one o' 'em, ye must be up along wi' the sun;
and preehap a leetle urlier."
"True, Mr Stump. I know the major wants a wild turkey. He told me so;
and expects you to procure one on the way."
"No doubt he do; an preehap expex me likeways to purvid him wi' a
baffler's tongue, an hump--seein' as thur ain't sech a anymal on the
purayras o' South Texas--nor hain't a been for good twenty yurs past--
noterthstandin' what Eur-op-ean writers o' books hev said to the
contrary, an 'specially French 'uns, as I've heern. Thur ain't no
burner 'bout hyur. Thur's baar, an deer, an goats, an plenty o'
gobblers; but to hev one o' these critters for yur dinner, ye must git
it urly enuf for yur breakfist. Unless I hev my own time, I won't
promise to guide yur party, an git gobbler both. So, surgint, ef ye
expex yur grand kumpny to chaw turkey-meat this day, ye'll do well to be
makin' tracks for the purayra."
Stirred by the hunter's representation, the sergeant did all that was
possible to hasten the departure of himself and his parti-coloured
company; and, shortly after, the provision train, with Zeb Stump as its
guide, was wending its way across the extensive plain that lies between
the Leona and the "River of Nuts."
The parade-ground had been cleared of the waggon and its escort scarce
twenty minutes, when a party of somewhat different appearance commenced
assembling upon the same spot.
There were ladies on horseback; attended, not by grooms, as at the
"meet" in an English hunting-field, but by the gentlemen who were to
accompany them--their friends and acquaintances--fathers, brothers,
lovers, and husbands. Most, if not all, who had figured at Poindexter's
dinner party, were soon upon the ground.
The planter himself was present; as also his son Henry, his nephew
Cassius Calhoun, and his daughter Louise--the young lady mounted upon
the spotted mustang, that had figured so conspicuously on the occasion
of the entertainment at Casa del Corvo.
The affair was a reciprocal treat--a simple return of hospitality; the
major and his officers being the hosts, the planter and his friends the
invited guests. The entertainment about to be provided, if less
pretentious in luxurious appointments, was equally appropriate to the
time and place. The guests of the cantonment were to be gratified by
witnessing a spectacle--grand as rare--a chase of wild steeds!
The arena of the sport could only be upon the wild-horse prairies--some
twenty miles to the southward of Fort Inge. Hence the necessity for an
early start, and being preceded by a vehicle laden with an ample
_commissariat_.
Just as the sunbeams began to dance upon the crystal waters of the
Leona, the excursionists were ready to take their departure from the
parade-ground--with an escort of two-score dragoons that had been
ordered to ride in the rear. Like the party that preceded them, they
too were provided with a guide--not an old backwoodsman in battered felt
hat, and faded blanket coat, astride a scraggy roadster; but a horseman
completely costumed and equipped, mounted upon a splendid steed, in
every way worthy to be the chaperone of such a distinguished expedition.
"Come, Maurice!" cried the major, on seeing that all had assembled,
"we're ready to be conducted to the game. Ladies and gentlemen! this
young fellow is thoroughly acquainted with the haunts and habits of the
wild horses. If there's a man in Texas, who can show us how to hunt
them, 'tis Maurice the mustanger."
"Faith, you flatter me, major!" rejoined the young Irishman, turning
with a courteous air towards the company; "I have not said so much as
that. I can only promise to show you where you may _find_ them."
"Modest fellow!" soliloquised one, who trembled, as she gave thought to
what she more than half suspected to be an untruth.
"Lead on, then!" commanded the major; and, at the word, the gay
cavalcade, with the mustanger in the lead, commenced moving across the
parade-ground--while the star-spangled banner, unfurled by the morning
breeze, fluttered upon its staff as if waving them an elegant adieu!
A twenty-mile ride upon prairie turf is a mere bagatelle--before
breakfast, an airing. In Texas it is so regarded by man, woman, and
horse.
It was accomplished in less than three hours--without further
inconvenience than that which arose from performing the last few miles
of it with appetites uncomfortably keen.
Fortunately the provision waggon, passed upon the road, came close upon
their heels; and, long before the sun had attained the meridian line,
the excursionists were in full pic-nic under the shade of a gigantic
pecan tree, that stood near the banks of the Nueces.
No incident had occurred on the way--worth recording. The mustanger, as
guide, had ridden habitually in the advance; the company, with one or
two exceptions, thinking of him only in his official capacity--unless
when startled by some feat of horsemanship--such as leaping clear over a
prairie stream, or dry arroyo, which others were fain to ford, or cross
by the crooked path.
There may have been a suspicion of bravado in this behaviour--a desire
to exhibit. Cassius Calhoun told the company there was. Perhaps the
ex-captain spoke the truth--for once.
If so, there was also some excuse. Have you ever been in a
hunting-field, at home, with riding habits trailing the sward, and
plumed hats proudly nodding around you? You have: and then what? Be
cautious how you condemn the Texan mustanger. Reflect, that he, too,
was under the artillery of bright eyes--a score pair of them--some as
bright as ever looked love out of a lady's saddle. Think, that Louise
Poindexter's were among the number--think of that, and you will scarce
feel surprised at the ambition to "shine."
There were others equally demonstrative of personal accomplishments--of
prowess that might prove manhood. The young dragoon, Hancock,
frequently essayed to show that he was not new to the saddle; and the
lieutenant of mounted rifles, at intervals, strayed from the side of the
commissary's niece for the performance of some equestrian feat, without
looking exclusively to her, his reputed sweetheart, as he listened to
the whisperings of applause.
Ah, daughter of Poindexter! Whether in the _salons_ of civilised
Louisiana, or the prairies of savage Texas, peace could not reign in thy
presence! Go where thou wilt, romantic thoughts must spring up--wild
passions be engendered around thee!