A FIGHT WITH MEXICANS
The bull which faced Walter Jordan was apparently the monarch of the
herd. He had wicked little eyes which were now red with rage and the
pain of his wound. His hoofs tore at the sod, his jaws champed, and a
rumbling bellow sounded deep in his throat. Before him was his foe.
Somehow this creature which stood before him had wounded him. And now
he was going to be revenged!
Lowering his giant head the bull charged at Walter; the boy stood his
ground until the animal was almost upon him; then he sprang aside, and
the great bulk of the maddened brute tore by him like a tornado.
Then Walter leaped to the place where his rifle had fallen. The charge
of powder and ball had been rammed home; the piece only required
priming, and the boy was hurriedly attending to this very necessary
thing when the black bull wheeled, sighted him, and charged once more.
But this time the beast was more cunning. Apparently he had profited by
the one fruitless charge; he seemed to have weighed the situation and
planned to overcome it.
The charge was slow; the head was not held so low; the little angry
eyes were fixed upon the boy. This time Walter knew he could not wait
until the last moment and then leap aside out of danger. The bull meant
to trample him under his sharp hoofs and gore him to death. But for all
he realized this, his hands were steady as they worked at the priming
of his rifle. The seconds passed and he realized, with a cold feeling
at his heart, that the piece would not be ready to fire before the
monster was upon him. His breath stopped, as though to meet the shock.
Then he heard a voice cry out:
“Steady, boy!”
Like the crack of a whip a rifle rang out; the black bull halted; the
great head drooped; then a shudder ran through its mighty frame, and it
toppled over on its side--dead.
“I call that a close shave,” came the voice of Crockett. “Another
moment, youngster, and you’d have been under his feet.”
Dazed, and with a sense of everything being a very long distance away,
Walter turned and saw Colonel Crockett and old Dolph ride up. Crockett
slipped from his horse and began to reload his gun, while the old Texan
sat admiring the huge beast which had fallen before the backwoodsman’s
aim.
“Well, Colonel Crockett,” said the young fellow, as his wits slowly
came back to him, and he realized what had happened, “I have you to
thank for that.”
Crockett drove home the charge of powder, and smiled in his usual droll
way.
“I have _you_ to thank,” said he, “for giving me a shot at the finest
bull I ever saw. What do you think, Dolph?”
The wrinkled veteran shook his head.
“He’s a mighty beast,” said he. “There are not many like him on these
prairies, if any.”
In a half hour the herd of buffalo had so scattered over the plain
that the hunters had brought down a dozen or so in all; and as the
ponies were tired by the sharp work, and they had no desire uselessly
to slaughter the bison, they halted in the pursuit and returned to the
place where their leader had been left.
“Well,” said Crockett, “we’ve had a very good little hunt of it while
it lasted. And now if we’re going to have any of the meat, we’d better
set about it and then be on our way.”
They cut sufficient tender meat from the carcass of a yearling which
old Dolph had been careful to shoot for just that purpose, and with
this carefully packed, they resumed their journey toward the southwest.
The day’s ride was filled with “buffalo” talk; and the camp-fire that
night saw a roasting of juicy strips of the yearling’s meat and a
fervent wishing that the party might fall in with such royal sport at
least once more before they had reached their journey’s end.
Next day they crossed the Brazos; and a few days further the Colorado
came in sight. As they caught the sheen of its waters under the
afternoon sun, they also caught the glint of something harder.
“Cold steel,” said Crockett, shading his eyes with both hands, and
looking keenly ahead.
A party of almost a score of horsemen were advancing, the sun striking
their rifle barrels. But it was the glitter of the points of long
lances they carried that had attracted the attention of the band under
Crockett.
“Mexicans,” said old Dolph as he took a long look at the party. “No one
else carries a spear, except the Comanche; and these ain’t redskins.”
“Well,” said Colonel Crockett, and he turned his eyes from the oncoming
horsemen to the country round about, “I reckon the Mexicans, as a
class, ain’t any too well disposed toward Americans. So we might just
as well pick out a place to meet them.”
Some little distance to the left was a sort of knoll, heavily wooded
and overlooking the river; this seemed a likely sort of place for a
stand against an enemy, so Crockett gave the order, the mustangs were
headed toward the knoll, and the Americans took their station upon it.
As they were ascending its side, the Mexicans saw them for the first
time, and halted. Then a half dozen of them rode forward to have a
closer look at the northerners; having gained a knowledge of their
scanty numbers, the Mexicans uttered loud cries of triumph, shook
their weapons at the party upon the knoll, and then rode back to their
friends.
Crockett ordered his men dismounted; the mustangs were placed among the
trees and fastened by the bridles. Then with ready rifles the little
band faced the opposing riders of the plains.
With a sudden fan-like movement the Mexicans spread out in a sort of
half circle and dashed at the rising ground upon which the Americans
had taken their station.
“Ready?” said Crockett.
“All ready,” was the answer.
“Fire!” came the order.
The deadly rifles spoke; a half dozen of the Mexicans went down in the
dust.
Swiftly the long weapons were reloaded. Once more they were leveled and
again they flashed out their messages of death. This time the Mexicans
halted in their rush; half their company lay upon the ground. With one
accord they tugged at their bridles, whirled their active little horses
around, and bolted off across the plains.
“Hello,” cried Walter Jordan, as he rose up and gazed after the flying
horsemen. “Look there!”
“It’s a boy,” shouted Ned Chandler, “and he’s tied to one of the
ponies.”
“An American, too,” said old Dolph, as he drove home the ball into the
barrel of his rifle.
In the rear of the Mexicans raced a pony which bore upon its back,
evidently tightly bound to the saddle, an American boy of about sixteen
years.
“A prisoner,” said Jed Curley, throwing forward his deadly rifle.
“Take care, Jed,” warned Crockett. “Don’t kill or cripple the mustang
so that it’ll fall! The boy might be hurt; for tied up as he is, he
can’t help himself.”
Jed’s rifle sounded; but apparently he missed, for the pony continued.
“I was _too_ careful,” said Jed. “You try, colonel.”
Crockett threw his long rifle to his shoulder; its report was answered
by a leap from the running horse; the animal went painfully on for
some little distance upon three legs; then it slowed down and finally
stopped altogether.
At this the Americans mounted in haste and rode across the prairie
to the place where the wounded pony stood, with the boy, trussed and
helpless, upon his back.
Jed Curley cut the bonds with his hunting knife. The young fellow
slipped from the back of the horse and sat upon the ground rubbing the
circulation back into his arms and legs.
“They had these ropes so tight,” said he, “that I could hardly breathe.”
He was about sixteen years of age, a bright-looking lad with,
apparently, plenty of spirit and good sense.
“What’s your name, sonny?” inquired old Dolph, as he sat on his horse
looking down at him.
“Sid Hutchinson,” answered the boy. “And I thank you, gentlemen, for
saving me from the Mexicans.”
The party dismounted and Walter and Ned helped young Hutchinson rub
back his circulation.
“How did they come to get you?” asked Davy Crockett. “Where are you
from?”
“From New Orleans,” answered the boy. “I was crossing Texas to San
Antonio with a wagon, my brother, and a girl.”
Both Walter and Ned paused in their operations; they gazed at the boy
and then at each other.
“A girl?” demanded Walter.
“What was her name?” asked Ned.
“Ethel Norton,” replied Sam Hutchinson. “And I haven’t even the
smallest idea where she or my brother is now.”