Had their guide held the prairies in complete control--its denizens
subject to his secret will--responsible to time and place--he could not
have conducted the excursionists to a spot more likely to furnish the
sport that had summoned them forth.
Just as the sparkling Johannisberger--obtained from the German
wine-stores of San Antonio--had imparted a brighter blue to the sky, and
a more vivid green to the grass, the cry "Mustenos!" was heard above the
hum of conversation, interrupting the half-spoken sentiment, with the
peal of merry laughter. It came from a Mexican _vaquero_, who had been
stationed as a vidette on an eminence near at hand.
Maurice--at the moment partaking of the hospitality of his employers,
freely extended to him--suddenly quaffed off the cup; and springing to
his saddle, cried out--
"_Cavallada_?"
"No," answered the Mexican; "_manada_."
"What do the fellows mean by their gibberish?" inquired Captain Calhoun.
"_Mustenos_ is only the Mexican for mustangs," replied the major; "and
by `manada' he means they are wild mares--a drove of them. At this
season they herd together, and keep apart from the horses; unless
when--"
"When what?" impatiently asked the ex-officer of volunteers,
interrupting the explanation.
"When they are attacked by asses," innocently answered the major.
A general peal of laughter rendered doubtful the _naivete_ of the
major's response--imparting to it the suspicion of a personality not
intended.
For a moment Calhoun writhed under the awkward misconception of the
auditory; but only for a moment. He was not the man to succumb to an
unlucky accident of speech. On the contrary, he perceived the chance of
a triumphant reply; and took advantage of it.
"Indeed!" he drawled out, without appearing to address himself to any
one in particular. "I was not aware that mustangs were so dangerous in
these parts."
As Calhoun said this, he was not looking at Louise Poindexter or he
might have detected in her eye a glance to gratify him.
The young Creole, despite an apparent coolness towards him, could not
withhold admiration at anything that showed cleverness. His case might
not be so hopeless?
The young dragoon, Hancock, did not think it so; nor yet the lieutenant
of rifles. Both observed the approving look, and both became imbued
with the belief that Cassius Calhoun had--or might have--in his keeping,
the happiness of his cousin.
The conjecture gave a secret chagrin to both, but especially to the
dragoon.
There was but short time for him to reflect upon it; the manada was
drawing near.
"To the saddle!" was the thought upon every mind, and the cry upon every
tongue.
The bit was rudely inserted between teeth still industriously grinding
the yellow corn; the bridle drawn over shoulders yet smoking after the
quick skurry of twenty miles through the close atmosphere of a tropical
morn; and, before a hundred could have been deliberately counted, every
one, ladies and gentlemen alike, was in the stirrup, ready to ply whip
and spur.
By this time the wild mares appeared coming over the crest of the ridge
upon which the vidette had been stationed. He, himself a horse-catcher
by trade, was already mounted, and in their midst--endeavouring to fling
his lazo over one of the herd. They were going at mad gallop, as if
fleeing from a pursuer--some dreaded creature that was causing them to
"whigher" and snort! With their eyes strained to the rear, they saw
neither the sumpter waggon, nor the equestrians clustering around it,
but were continuing onward to the spot; which chanced to lie directly in
the line of their flight.
"They are chased!" remarked Maurice, observing the excited action of the
animals.
"What is it, Crespino?" he cried out to the Mexican, who, from his
position, must have seen any pursuer that might be after them.
There was a momentary pause, as the party awaited the response. In the
crowd were countenances that betrayed uneasiness, some even alarm. It
might be Indians who were in pursuit of the mustangs!
"_Un asino cimmaron_!" was the phrase that came from the mouth of the
Mexican, though by no means terminating the suspense of the picknickers.
"_Un macho_!" he added.
"Oh! That's it! I thought it was!" muttered Maurice. "The rascal must
be stopped, or he'll spoil our sport. So long as he's after them,
they'll not make halt this side the sky line. Is the macho coming on?"
"Close at hand, Don Mauricio. Making straight for myself."
"Fling your rope over him, if you can. If not, cripple him with a
shot--anything to put an end to his capers."
The character of the pursuer was still a mystery to most, if not all,
upon the ground: for only the mustanger knew the exact signification of
the phrases--"un asino cimmaron," "un macho."
"Explain, Maurice!" commanded the major. "Look yonder!" replied the
young Irishman, pointing to the top of the hill.
The two words were sufficient. All eyes became directed towards the
crest of the ridge, where an animal, usually regarded as the type of
slowness and stupidity, was seen advancing with the swiftness of a bird
upon the wing.
But very different is the "asino cimmaron" from the ass of
civilisation--the donkey be-cudgelled into stolidity.
The one now in sight was a male, almost as large as any of the mustangs
it was chasing; and if not fleet as the fleetest, still able to keep up
with them by the sheer pertinacity of its pursuit!
The tableau of nature, thus presented on the green surface of the
prairie, was as promptly produced as it could have been upon the stage
of a theatre, or the arena of a hippodrome.
Scarce a score of words had passed among the spectators, before the wild
mares were close up to them; and then, as if for the first time,
perceiving the mounted party, they seemed to forget their dreaded
pursuer, and shied off in a slanting direction.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" shouted the guide to a score of people,
endeavouring to restrain their steeds; "keep your places, if you can. I
know where the herd has its haunt. They are heading towards it now; and
we shall find them again, with a better chance of a chase. If you
pursue them at this moment, they'll scatter into yonder chapparal; and
ten to one if we ever more get sight of them.
"Hola, Senor Crespino! Send your bullet through that brute. He's near
enough for your _escopette_, is he not?"
The Mexican, detaching a short gun--"escopeta"--from his saddle-flap,
and hastily bringing its butt to his shoulder, fired at the wild ass.
The animal brayed on hearing the report; but only as if in defiance. He
was evidently untouched. Crespino's bullet had not been truly aimed.
"I must stop him!" exclaimed Maurice, "or the mares will run on till the
end of daylight."
As the mustanger spoke, he struck the spur sharply into the flanks of
his horse. Like an arrow projected from its bow, Castro shot off in
pursuit of the jackass, now galloping regardlessly past.
Half a dozen springs of the blood bay, guided in a diagonal direction,
brought his rider within casting distance; and like a flash of
lightning, the loop of the lazo was seen descending over the long ears.
On launching it, the mustanger halted, and made a half-wheel--the horse
going round as upon a pivot; and with like mechanical obedience to the
will of his rider, bracing himself for the expected pluck.
There was a short interval of intense expectation, as the wild ass,
careering onward, took up the slack of the rope. Then the animal was
seen to rise erect on its hind legs, and fall heavily backward upon the
sward--where it lay motionless, and apparently as dead, as if shot
through the heart!
It was only stunned, however, by the shock, and the quick tightening of
the loop causing temporary strangulation; which the Mexican mustanger
prolonged to eternity, by drawing his sharp-edged _machete_ across its
throat.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The incident caused a postponement of the chase. All awaited the action
of the guide; who, after "throwing" the macho, had dismounted to recover
his lazo.
He had succeeded in releasing the rope from the neck of the prostrate
animal, when he was seen to coil it up with a quickness that betokened
some new cause of excitement--at the same time that he ran to regain his
saddle.
Only a few of the others--most being fully occupied with their own
excited steeds--observed this show of haste on the part of the
mustanger. Those who did, saw it with surprise. He had counselled
patience in the pursuit. They could perceive no cause for the eccentric
change of tactics, unless it was that Louise Poindexter, mounted on the
spotted mustang, had suddenly separated from the company, and was
galloping off after the wild mares, as if resolved on being foremost of
the field!
But the hunter of wild horses had not construed her conduct in this
sense. That uncourteous start could scarce be an intention--except on
the part of the spotted mustang? Maurice had recognised the manada, as
the same from which he had himself captured it: and, no doubt, with the
design of rejoining its old associates, it was running away with its
rider!
So believed the guide; and the belief became instantly universal.
Stirred by gallantry, half the field spurred off in pursuit. Calhoun,
Hancock, and Crossman leading, with half a score of young planters,
lawyers, and legislators close following--each as he rode off reflecting
to himself, what a bit of luck it would be to bring up the runaway.
But few, if any, of the gentlemen felt actual alarm. All knew that
Louise Poindexter was a splendid equestrian; a spacious plain lay before
her, smooth as a race-track; the mustang might gallop till it tired
itself down; it could not throw her; there could be little chance of her
receiving any serious injury?
There was one who did not entertain this confident view. It was he who
had been the first to show anxiety--the mustanger himself.
He was the last to leave the ground. Delayed in the rearrangement of
his lazo--a moment more in remounting--he was a hundred paces behind
every competitor, as his horse sprang forward upon the pursuit.
Calhoun was a like distance in the lead, pressing on with all the
desperate energy of his nature, and all the speed he could extract from
the heels of his horse. The dragoon and rifleman were a little in his
rear; and then came the "ruck."
Maurice soon passed through the thick of the field, overlapped the
leaders one by one; and forging still further ahead, showed Cassius
Calhoun the heels of his horse.
A muttered curse was sent hissing through the teeth of the ex-officer of
volunteers, as the blood bay, bounding past, concealed from his sight
the receding form of the spotted mustang.
The sun, looking down from the zenith, gave light to a singular tableau.
A herd of wild mares going at reckless speed across the prairie; one of
their own kind, with a lady upon its back, following about four hundred
yards behind; at a like distance after the lady, a steed of red bay
colour, bestridden by a cavalier picturesquely attired, and apparently
intent upon overtaking her; still further to the rear a string of
mounted men--some in civil, some in military, garb; behind these a troop
of dragoons going at full gallop, having just parted from a mixed group
of ladies and gentlemen--also mounted, but motionless, on the plain, or
only stirring around the same spot with excited gesticulations!
In twenty minutes the tableau was changed. The same personages were
upon the stage--the grand _tapis vert_ of the prairie--but the grouping
was different, or, at all events, the groups were more widely apart.
The manada had gained distance upon the spotted mustang; the mustang
upon the blood bay; and the blood bay--ah! his competitors were no
longer in sight, or could only have been seen by the far-piercing eye of
the _caracara_, soaring high in the sapphire heavens.
The wild mares--the mustang and its rider--the red horse, and his--had
the savanna to themselves!