The purple shadows of a Texan twilight were descending upon the earth,
when the wounded man, whose toilsome journey through the chapparal has
been recorded, arrived upon the banks of the streamlet.
After quenching his thirst to a surfeit, he stretched himself along the
grass, his thoughts relieved from the terrible strain so long and
continuously acting upon them.
His limb for the time pained him but little; and his spirit was too much
worn to be keenly apprehensive as to the future.
He only desired repose; and the cool evening breeze, sighing through the
feathery fronds of the acacias, favoured his chances of obtaining it.
The vultures had dispersed to their roosts in the thicket; and, no
longer disturbed by their boding presence, he soon after fell asleep.
His slumber was of short continuance. The pain of his wounds, once more
returning, awoke him.
It was this--and not the cry of the coyote--that kept him from sleeping
throughout the remainder of the night.
Little did he regard the sneaking wolf of the prairies--a true jackal--
that attacks but the dead; the living, only when dying.
He did not believe that he was dying.
It was a long dismal night to the sufferer; it seemed as if day would
never dawn.
The light came at length, but revealed nothing to cheer him. Along with
it came the birds, and the beasts went not away.
Over him, in the shine of another sun the vultures once more extended
their shadowy wings. Around him he heard the howl-bark of the coyote,
in a hundred hideous repetitions.
Crawling down to the stream, he once more quenched his thirst.
He now hungered; and looked round for something to eat.
A pecan tree stood, near. There were nuts upon its branches, within six
feet of the ground.
He was able to reach the pecan upon his hands and knees; though the
effort caused agony.
With his crutch he succeeded in detaching some of the nuts; and on these
broke his fast.
What was the next step to be taken?
To stir away from the spot was simply impossible. The slightest
movement gave him pain; at the same time assuring him of his utter
inability to go anywhere.
He was still uncertain as to the nature of the injuries he had
sustained--more especially that in his leg, which was so swollen that he
could not well examine it. He supposed it to be either a fracture of
the knee-cap, or a dislocation of the joint. In either case, it might
be days before he could use the limb; and what, meanwhile, was he to do?
He had but little expectation of any one coming that way. He had
shouted himself hoarse; and though, at intervals, he still continued to
send forth a feeble cry, it was but the intermittent effort of hope
struggling against despair.
There was no alternative but stay where he was; and, satisfied of this,
he stretched himself along the sward, with the resolve to be as patient
as possible.
It required all the stoicism of his nature to bear up against the acute
agony he was enduring. Nor did he endure it altogether in silence. At
intervals it elicited a groan.
Engrossed by his sufferings, he was for a while unconscious of what was
going on around him. Still above him wheeled the black birds; but he
had become accustomed to their presence, and no longer regarded it--not
even when, at intervals, some of them swooped so near, that he could
hear the "wheep" of their wings close to his ears.
Ha! what was that--that sound of different import?
It resembled the pattering of little feet upon the sandy channel of the
stream, accompanied by quick breathings, as of animal in a state of
excitement.
He looked around for an explanation.
"Only the coyotes!" was his reflection, on seeing a score of these
animals flitting to and fro, skulking along both banks of the stream,
and "squatting" upon the grass.
Hitherto he had felt no fear--only contempt--for these cowardly
creatures.
But his sentiments underwent a change, on his noticing their looks and
attitudes. The former were fierce; the latter earnest and threatening.
Clearly did the coyotes mean mischief.
He now remembered having heard, that these animals--ordinarily
innocuous, from sheer cowardice--will attack man when disabled beyond
the capability of defending himself. Especially will they do so when
stimulated by the smell of blood.
His had flowed freely, and from many veins--punctured by the spines of
the cactus. His garments were saturated with it, still but half dry.
On the sultry atmosphere it was sending forth its peculiar odour. The
coyotes could not help scenting it.
Was it this that was stirring them to such excited action--apparently
making them mad?
Whether or not, he no longer doubted that it was their intention to
attack him.
He had no weapon but a bowie knife, which fortunately had kept its place
in his belt. His rifle and pistols, attached to the saddle, had been
carried off by his horse.
He drew the knife; and, resting upon his right knee, prepared to defend
himself.
He did not perform the action a second too soon. Emboldened by having
been so long left to make their menaces unmolested--excited to courage
by the smell of blood, stronger as they drew nearer--stimulated by their
fierce natural appetites--the wolves had by this time reached the
turning point of their determination: which was, to spring forward upon
the wounded man.
They did so--half a dozen of them simultaneously--fastening their teeth
upon his arms, limbs, and body, as they made their impetuous onset.
With a vigorous effort he shook them off, striking out with his knife.
One or two were gashed by the shining blade, and went howling away. But
a fresh band had by this time entered into the fray, others coming up,
till the assailants counted a score. The conflict became desperate,
deadly. Several of the animals were slain. But the fate of their
fallen comrades did not deter the survivors from continuing the strife.
On the contrary, it but maddened them the more.
The struggle became more and more confused--the coyotes crowding over
one another to lay hold of their victim. The knife was wielded at
random; the arm wielding it every moment becoming weaker, and striking
with less fatal effect. The disabled man was soon further disabled. He
felt fear for his life. No wonder--death was staring him in the face.
At this crisis a cry escaped his lips. Strange it was not one of
terror, but joy! And stranger still that, on hearing it, the coyotes
for an instant desisted from their attack!
There was a suspension of the strife--a short interval of silence. It
was not the cry of their victim that had caused it, but that which had
elicited the exclamation.
There was the sound of a horse's hoofs going at a gallop, followed by
the loud baying of a hound.
The wounded man continued to exclaim,--in shouts calling for help. The
horse appeared to be close by. A man upon his back could not fail to
hear them.
But there was no response. The horse, or horseman, had passed on.
The hoof-strokes became less distinct. Despair once more returned to
the antagonist of the coyotes.
At the same time his skulking assailants felt a renewal of their
courage, and hastened to renew the conflict.
Once more it commenced, and was soon raging fiercely as before--the
wretched man believing himself doomed, and only continuing the strife
through sheer desperation.
Once more was it interrupted, this time by an intruder whose presence
inspired him with fresh courage and hope.
If the horseman had proved indifferent to his calls for help, not so the
hound. A grand creature of the staghound species--of its rarest and
finest breed--was seen approaching the spot, uttering a deep sonorous
bay, as with impetuous bound it broke through the bushes.
"_A friend! thank Heaven, a friend_!"
The baying ceased, as the hound cleared the selvage of the chapparal,
and rushed open-mouthed among the cowed coyotes--already retreating at
his approach!
One was instantly seized between the huge jaws; jerked upward from the
earth; shaken as if it had been only a rat; and let go again, to writhe
over the ground with a shattered spine!
Another was served in a similar manner; but ere a third could be
attacked, the terrified survivors dropped their tails to the sward, and
went yelping away; one and all retreating whence they had come--into the
silent solitudes of the chapparal.
The rescued man saw no more. His strength was completely spent. He had
just enough left to stretch forth his arms, and with a smile close them
around the neck of his deliverer. Then, murmuring some soft words, he
fainted gradually away.
His syncope was soon over, and consciousness once more assumed away.
Supporting himself on his elbow, he looked inquiringly around.
It was a strange, sanguinary spectacle that met his eyes. But for his
swoon, he would have seen a still stranger one. During its continuance
a horseman had ridden into the glade, and gone out again. He was the
same whose hoofstroke had been heard, and who had lent a deaf ear to the
cries for help. He had arrived too late, and then without any idea of
offering assistance. His design appeared to be the watering of his
horse.
The animal plunged straight into the streamlet, drank to its
satisfaction, climbed out on the opposite bank, trotted across the open
ground, and disappeared in the thicket beyond.
The rider had taken no notice of the prostrate form; the horse only by
snorting, as he saw it, and springing from side to side, as he trod
amidst the carcases of the coyotes.
The horse was a magnificent animal, not large, but perfect in all his
parts. The man was the very reverse--having no head!
There was a head, but not in its proper place. It rested against the
holster, seemingly held in the rider's hand!
A fearful apparition.
The dog barked, as it passed through the glade, and followed it to the
edge of the underwood. He had been with it for a long time, straying
where it strayed, and going where it went.
He now desisted from this fruitless fellowship; and, returning to the
sleeper, lay down by his side.
It was then that the latter was restored to consciousness, and
remembered what had made him for the moment oblivious.
After caressing the dog he again sank into a prostrate position; and,
drawing the skirt of the cloak over his face to shade it from the glare
of the sun, he fell asleep.
The staghound lay down at his feet, and also slumbered; but only in
short spells. At intervals it raised its head, and uttered an angry
growl, as the wings of the vultures came switching too close to its
ears.
The young man muttered in his sleep. They were wild words that came
from his unconscious lips, and betokened a strange commingling of
thoughts: now passionate appeals of love--now disjointed speeches, that
pointed to the committal of murder!