For another mile the chase continued, without much change. The mares
still swept on in full flight, though no longer screaming or in fear.
The mustang still uttered an occasional neigh, which its old associates
seemed not to notice; while its rider held her seat in the saddle
unshaken, and without any apparent alarm.
The blood bay appeared more excited, though not so much as his master;
who was beginning to show signs either of despondency or chagrin.
"Come, Castro!" he exclaimed, with a certain spitefulness of tone.
"What the deuce is the matter with your heels--to-day of all others?
Remember, you overtook her before--though not so easily, I admit. But
now she's weighted. Look yonder, you dull brute! Weighted with that
which is worth more than gold--worth every drop of your blood, and mine
too. The yegua pinta seems to have improved her paces. Is it from
training; or does a horse run faster when ridden?
"What if I lose sight of her? In truth, it begins to look queer! It
would be an awkward situation for the young lady. Worse than that--
there's danger in it--real danger. If I should lose sight of her, she'd
be in trouble to a certainty!"
Thus muttering, Maurice rode on: his eyes now fixed upon the form still
flitting away before him; at intervals interrogating, with uneasy
glances, the space that separated him from it.
Up to this time he had not thought of hailing the rider of the runaway.
His shouts might have been heard; but no words of warning, or
instruction. He had refrained: partly on this account; partly because
he was in momentary expectation of overtaking her; and partly because he
knew that acts, not words, were wanted to bring the mustang to a stand.
All along he had been flattering himself that he would soon be near
enough to fling his lazo over the creature's neck, and control it at
discretion. He was gradually becoming relieved of this hallucination.
The chase now entered among copses that thickly studded the plain, fast
closing into a continuous chapparal. This was a new source of
uneasiness to the pursuer. The runaway might take to the thicket, or
become lost to his view amid the windings of the wood.
The wild mares were already invisible--at intervals. They would soon be
out of sight altogether. There seemed no chance of their old associate
overtaking them.
"What mattered that? A lady lost on a prairie, or in a chapparal--
alone, or in the midst of a manada--either contingency pointed to
certain danger."
A still more startling peril suggested itself to the mind of the
mustanger--so startling as to find expression in excited speech.
"By heavens!" he ejaculated, his brow becoming more clouded than it had
been from his first entering upon the chase. "_If the stallions should
chance this way_! 'Tis their favourite stamping ground among these
mottos. They were here but a week ago; and this--yes--'tis the month of
their madness!"
The spur of the mustanger again drew blood, till its rowels were red;
and Castro, galloping at his utmost speed, glanced back upbraidingly
over his shoulder.
At this crisis the manada disappeared from, the sight both of the
blood-bay and his master; and most probably at the same time from that
of the spotted mustang and its rider. There was nothing mysterious in
it. The mares had entered between the closing of two copses, where the
shrubbery hid them from view.
The effect produced upon the runaway appeared to proceed from some
magical influence. As if their disappearance was a signal for
discontinuing the chase, it suddenly slackened pace; and the instant
after came to a standstill!
Maurice, continuing his gallop, came up with it in the middle of a
meadow-like glade--standing motionless as marble--its rider, reins in
hand, sitting silent in the saddle, in an attitude of easy elegance, as
if waiting for him to ride up!
"Miss Poindexter!" he gasped out, as he spurred his steed within
speaking distance: "I am glad that you have recovered command of that
wild creature. I was beginning to be alarmed about--"
"About what, sir?" was the question that startled the mustanger.
"Your safety--of course," he replied, somewhat stammeringly. "Oh, thank
you, Mr Gerald; but I was not aware of having been in any danger. Was
I really so?"
"Any danger!" echoed the Irishman, with increased astonishment. "On the
back of a runaway mustang--in the middle of a pathless prairie!"
"And what of that? The thing couldn't throw me. I'm too clever in the
saddle, sir."
"I know it, madame; but that accomplishment would have availed you very
little had you lost yourself, a thing you were like enough to have done
among these chapparal copses, where the oldest Texan can scarce find his
way."
"Oh--_lost myself_! That was the danger to be dreaded?"
"There are others, besides. Suppose you had fallen in with--"
"Indians!" interrupted the lady, without waiting for the mustanger to
finish his hypothetical speech. "And if I had, what would it have
mattered? Are not the Comanches _en paz_ at present? Surely they
wouldn't have molested me, gallant fellows as they are? So the major
told us, as we came along. 'Pon my word, sir, I should seek, rather
than shun, such an encounter. I wish to see the noble savage on his
native prairie, and on horseback; not, as I've hitherto beheld him,
reeling around the settlements in a state of debasement from too freely
partaking of our fire-water."
"I admire your courage, miss; but if I had the honour of being one of
your friends, I should take the liberty of counselling a little caution.
The `noble savage' you speak of, is not always sober upon the prairies;
and perhaps not so very gallant as you've been led to believe. If you
had met him--"
"If I had met him, and he had attempted to misbehave himself, I would
have given him the go-by, and ridden, straight back to my friends. On
such a swift creature as this, he must have been well mounted to have
overtaken me. You found some difficulty--did you not?"
The eyes of the young Irishman, already showing astonishment, became
expanded to increased dimensions--surprise and incredulity being equally
blended in their glance.
"But," said he, after a speechless pause, "you don't mean to say that
you could have controlled--that the mustang was not running away with
you? Am I to understand--"
"No--no--no!" hastily rejoined the fair equestrian, showing some slight
embarrassment. "The mare certainly made off with me--that is, at the
first--but I--I found, that is--at the last--I found I could easily pull
her up. In fact I did so: you saw it?"
"And could you have done it sooner?"
A strange thought had suggested the interrogatory; and with more than
ordinary interest the questioner awaited the reply.
"Perhaps--perhaps--I might; no doubt, if I had dragged a little harder
upon the rein. But you see, sir, I like a good gallop--especially upon
a prairie, where there's no fear of running over pigs, poultry, or
people."
Maurice looked amaze. In all his experience--even in his own native
land, famed for feminine _braverie_--above all in the way of bold
riding--he had met no match for the clever equestrian before him.
His astonishment, mixed with admiration, hindered him from making a
ready rejoinder.
"To speak truth," continued the young lady, with an air of charming
simplicity, "I was not sorry at being run off with. One sometimes gets
tired of too much talk--of the kind called complimentary. I wanted
fresh air, and to be alone. So you _see_, Mr Gerald, it was rather a
bit of good fortune: since it saved explanations and adieus."
"You wanted to be alone?" responded the mustanger, with a disappointed
look. "I am sorry I should have made the mistake to have intruded upon
you. I assure you, Miss Poindexter, I followed, because I believed you
to be in danger."
"Most gallant of you, sir; and now that I know there _was_ danger, I am
truly grateful. I presume I have guessed aright: you meant the
Indians?"
"No; not Indians exactly--at least, it was not of them I was thinking."
"Some other danger? What is it, sir? You will tell me, so that I may
be more cautious for the future?"
Maurice did not make immediate answer. A sound striking upon his ear
had caused him to turn away--as if inattentive to the interrogatory.
The Creole, perceiving there was some cause for his abstraction,
likewise assumed a listening attitude. She heard a shrill scream,
succeeded by another and another, close followed by a loud hammering of
hoofs--the conjunction of sounds causing the still atmosphere to vibrate
around her.
It was no mystery to the hunter of horses. The words that came quick
from his lips--though not designed--were a direct answer to the question
she had put.
"_The wild stallions_!" he exclaimed, in a tone that betokened alarm.
"I knew they must be among those mottes; and they are!"
"Is that the danger of which you have been speaking?"
"It is."
"What fear of them? They are only mustangs!"
"True, and at other times there is no cause to fear them. But just now,
at this season of the year, they become as savage as tigers, and equally
as vindictive. Ah! the wild steed in his rage is an enemy more to be
dreaded than wolf, panther, or bear."
"What are we to do?" inquired the young lady, now, for the first time,
giving proof that she felt fear--by riding close up to the man who had
once before rescued her from a situation of peril, and gazing anxiously
in his face, as she awaited the answer.
"If they should charge upon us," answered Maurice, "there are but two
ways of escape. One, by ascending a tree, and abandoning our horses to
their fury."
"The other?" asked the Creole, with a _sang froid_ that showed a
presence of mind likely to stand the test of the most exciting crisis.
"Anything but abandon our animals! 'Twould be but a shabby way of
making our escape!"
"We shall not have an opportunity of trying it, I perceive it is
impracticable. There's not a tree within sight large enough to afford
us security. If attacked, we have no alternative but to trust to the
fleetness of our horses. Unfortunately," continued he, with a glance of
inspection towards the spotted mare, and then at his own horse, "they've
had too much work this morning. Both are badly blown. That will be our
greatest source of danger. The wild steeds are sure to be fresh."
"Do you intend us to start now?"
"Not yet. The longer we can breathe our animals the better. The
stallions may not come this way; or if so, may not molest us. It will
depend on their mood at the moment. If battling among themselves, we
may look out for their attack. Then they have lost their reason--if I
may so speak--and will recklessly rush upon one of their own kind--even
with a man upon his back. Ha! 'tis as I expected: they are in conflict.
I can tell by their cries! And driving this way, too!"
"But, Mr Gerald; why should we not ride off at once, in the opposite
direction?"
"'Twould be of no use. There's no cover to conceal us, on that side--
nothing but open plain. They'll be out upon it before we could get a
sufficient start, and would soon overtake us. The place we must make
for--the only safe one I can think of--lies the other way. They are now
upon the direct path to it, if I can judge by what I hear; and, if we
start too soon, we may ride into their teeth. We must wait, and try to
steal away behind them. If we succeed in getting past, and can keep our
distance for a two-mile gallop, I know a spot, where we shall be as safe
as if inside the corrals of Casa del Corvo. You are sure you can
control the mustang?"
"Quite sure," was the prompt reply: all idea of deception being
abandoned in presence of the threatening peril.