The unexpected closing of the conference elicited an angry shout from
the Mexican horsemen; and, without waiting for orders, they galloped up
to their chief.
Halting at long-range, they fired their carbines and escopettes; but
their bullets cut the grass far in front of us, and one or two that
hurtled past were wide of the mark.
The lieutenant, who had been only stunned, soon recovered his legs, but
not his temper. His wrath overbalanced his prudence, else the moment he
found his feet he would have made the best of his way to his horse and
comrades.
Instead of doing so, he turned full front towards us, raised his arm in
the air, shook his clenched fist in a menacing manner, accompanying the
action with a torrent of defiant speech.
Of what he said, we understood but the concluding phrase, and that was
the bitter and blasphemous _carajo_! that hissed through his teeth with
the energetic aspiration of rage and revenge.
That oath was the last word he ever uttered; his parting breath scarcely
carried it from his lips ere he ceased to live. I heard the fierce
word, and almost simultaneously the crack of a rifle, fired close to my
ear. I saw the dust puff out from the embroidered spencer of the
Mexican, and directly over his heart; I saw his hand pass rapidly to the
spot, and the next moment I saw him fall forward upon his face!
Without a groan, without a struggle, he lay as he had fallen, spread,
dead, and motionless upon the prairie!
"Thur now, an damn yur carajo!" cried a voice at my shoulder; "ee won't
_bid_ for me agin, ye skunk--thet yur won't!"
Though I turned involuntarily to the speaker it was not for an
explanation. Of course, it was Rube who spoke. His rifle was smoking
at the muzzle, and he was proceeding to reload it.
"Wa-hoo--woop!" continued he, uttering his wild war-cry; "thet shortens
thur count, I reck'n. Another nick for Targuts! Gi' me _her_ for a
gun. Wagh! a long pull it wur for the ole weepun; an the glint in my
eyes too! The niggur riled me, or I wudn't a risked it. Hold yur
hosses, boys!" he continued in a more earnest tone: "don't fire till I'm
loaded--for yur lives, don't!"
"All right, Rube!" cried Garey, who hastily passing under the belly of
his horse, had re-entered the square, and once more handled his rifle.
"All right, old boy! Ne'er a fear! we'll wait for ye."
Somewhat to our surprise, Rube was allowed ample time to reload, and our
three barrels once more protruded over the shoulders of Garey's horse.
Our animals still held their respective positions. Three of them were
too well used to such scenes, to be startled by the detonation of a
rifle; and the fourth, fastened as he was, kept his place perforce.
I say, to our surprise we were allowed time to get into our old
vantage-ground; for we had expected an immediate charge from the
guerrilla.
Vengeance for the death of their comrade would give them courage enough
for that; so thought we; but we were mistaken, as their ire only vented
itself in fierce yells, violent gestures, and ejaculations.
They had now clustered around their chief without order or formation,
though they seemed to pay but slight regard to his authority. Some
appeared to be urging him to lead them on! Others came galloping
nearer, and fired their carbines or shook their lances in a threatening
manner; but one and all were careful to keep outside that perilous
circle, whose circumference marked the range of our rifles. They
seemed, even less inclined for close quarters than ever; the fate of
their comrade had awed them.
The dead man lay about half-way between them and us, glittering in his
picturesque habiliments. They were weaker by his loss--for not only had
he been one of their leaders, but one of their best men. They saw he
was dead, though none had dared to approach him. They knew the Texan
rifle of old--these spangled heroes; they knew, moreover, that we were
armed with revolvers, and the fame of this terrible weapon had been
already carried beyond the frontier of the Rio Grande.
Notwithstanding all that, men of our race, under similar circumstances,
would have charged without hesitation. So, too, would men of theirs
three centuries ago.
Perhaps in that band was an Alvarado, a Sandoval, a Diaz, or De Soto!
only in name. O Cortez! and you _conquistadores_! could you have beheld
your degenerate descendants!
And yet not all of them were cowards; some, I dare say, were brave
enough, for there _are_ brave men among the Mexicans. A few were
evidently willing to make the attack, but they wanted combination--they
wanted a leader: he who acted as such appeared to be endowed with more
prudence than valour.
Meanwhile we kept our eyes fixed upon them, listening to their varied
cries, and closely watching their movements.
In perfect coolness, we regarded them--at least so much can I say for my
comrades. Though life or death rested upon the issue, both were as cool
at that moment as if they had been only observing the movements of a
gang of buffaloes! There was no sign of trepidation--hardly a symptom
of excitement visible in the countenance of either. Now and then, a
half-muttered ejaculation, a rapid exchange of thought--relating to some
fresh movement of the enemy--alone told that both were alive to the
peril of the situation.
I cannot affirm that I shared with them this extreme and perfect _sang
froid_; though upon my nerves, less indifferent to danger, their example
had its effect, and inspired me with courage sufficient for the
occasion. Besides, I drew confidence from another source. In case of
defeat, I had a resource unshared by my companions--perhaps unthought of
by them. Trusting to the matchless speed of my horse, as a last resort,
I might possibly escape. I could have ridden off at that moment without
fear of being overtaken, but the craven thought was not entertained for
an instant. By my honour, no! I should have accepted death upon the
spot rather than desert the brave men who stood by my side. To _them_ I
was indebted for my life. 'Twas for _me_ that theirs were now in peril;
and from the first moment I had determined to stand by them to the end,
and sell my blood at its dearest. In the event of both falling before
me, it would then be time enough to think of flight.
Even this contingency had the effect of strengthening my courage, and at
that moment I viewed the vengeful foe with a coolness and freedom from
fear that now, in the retrospect, surprises me.
During the interval of inaction that followed, I was cool enough to
reflect upon the demand which the guerrilla leader had made--the
surrender of my person. Why was I singled out? We were all enemies
alike--all Americans or Texans--on Mexican soil, and armed for strife.
Why did they want _me_ alone?
Was it because I was superior in rank to my companions? But how knew
they this?--how knew they I was a "ranger-captain"? Ha! they must have
known it before; they must have come out specially in search of me!
A light flashed suddenly into my mind--a suspicion strong almost as
certainty. But for the sun glancing in my eyes, I might have earlier
obtained an explanation of the mystery.
I drew down the visor of my forage-cap, stretching it to its full
extent; I increased the shade with my flattened palms, and from under
them strained my eyes upon the leader of the band. Already his voice,
while in conversation with Garey, had aroused a faint recollection
within me. I had heard that voice only once, but I thought I remembered
it. Guided by my suspicion, I now scrutinised more closely the
countenance of the man. Fortunately the face was turned towards me,
and, despite the dazzling of the sunbeams, despite the slouched
sombrero, I recognised the dark features of Rafael Ijurra! In that
glance I comprehended the situation. He it was who wanted the
"ranger-captain!"
There was doubt no longer. My suspicion was a certainty; but with the
next throb of my heart rose another, a thousand times more painful--a
suspicion of--
With an effort, I stifled my emotions; a movement was perceptible among
the guerrilleros; the moment of action had arrived!