We parted upon the top of the hill. It was not prudent for us to be
seen riding together, and Isolina went away first, leaving me in the
glade.
We had bidden adieu in that phrase of pleasant promise, "_hasta la
manana_" (until to-morrow). To-morrow we should meet again. To-morrow,
and to-morrow, we should visit that sweet spot, repeat our burning
words, renew our blissful vows.
I remained some minutes on the ground, now hallowed and holy. Within,
the tumult of triumphant passion had passed, and was succeeded by the
calm repose of perfect contentment. My heart's longings had been
gratified; it had found all that it desired--even to the full
reciprocity of its passion. What would it more? There is no more of
mundane bliss. Life has no felicity to cope with requited love; it
alone can give us a foretaste of future joys; by it only may we form
some idea of the angel existence of heaven.
The world without was in harmony with the spirit within. The scene
around me was rose-coloured. The flowers appeared fresher in tint, and
breathed a sweeter fragrance in the air; the hum of the homeward bee,
laden with treasures for his love-queen, fell with a dreamy pleasance
upon the ear; the voices of the birds sounded softer and more musical;
even the _aras_ and paroquets, chanting in a more subdued tone, no
longer pronounced that hated name; and the tiny Mexican doves, _las
palomitas_--scarcely so large as finches--walked with proud gait over
the ground, or side by side upon the branches of the myrtles--like types
of tender love--told their heart's tale in soft and amorous cooing.
Long could I have lingered by that consecrated spot, even _hasta la
manana_, but duty claimed me, and its calls must not be disregarded.
Already the setting sun was flinging purple beams over the distant
prairie; and, heading my horse down the hill, I once more plunged under
the shadows of the mimosas.
Absorbed in my supreme happiness, I took no heed of aught else; I
noticed neither track nor path.
Had I left my horse to himself, most likely he would have taken the
right road; but in my reverie, perhaps I had mechanically dragged upon
the rein, and turned him from it. Whether or not, after a lapse of
time, I found myself in the midst of thick woods, with not the semblance
of a trail to guide me; and I knew not whether I was riding in the right
direction. I ought rather to say that I knew the contrary--else I must
long before have reached the clearings around the village.
Without much reflection, I turned in a new direction, and rode for some
time without striking a trail. This led me once more into doubt, and I
made head back again, but still without success. I was in a
forest-plain, but I could find no path leading anywhere; and amid the
underwood of palmettoes I could not see any great distance around me.
Beyond a question, I had strayed far out of my way.
At an early hour of the day, this would have given me little concern;
but the sun had now set, and already under the shadow of the
moss-covered trees, it was nearly dark. Night would be down in a few
minutes, and in all probability I should be obliged to spend it in the
forest--by no means an agreeable prospect, and the less so that I was
thinly clad and hungry. True, I might pass some hours in sweet
reflection upon the pleasant incident of the day--I might dream rosy
dreams--but, alas! the soul is sadly under the influence of the body;
the spiritual must ever yield to the physical, and even love itself
becomes a victim to the vulgar appetite of hunger.
I began to fear that, after all, I should have but a sorry night of it.
I should be too hungry to think; too cold either to sleep or dream;
besides, I was likely to get wet to the shirt--as the rain had commenced
falling in large heavy drops.
After another unsuccessful effort to strike a trail, I pulled up and sat
listening. My eyes would no longer avail me; perhaps my ears might do
better service.
And so it chanced. The report of a rifle reached them, apparently fired
some hundred yards off in the woods.
Considering that I was upon hostile ground, such a sound might have
caused me alarm; but I knew from the sharp whip-like crack that the
piece was a hunter's rifle, and no Mexican ever handled a gun of that
kind. Moreover, I had heard, closely following upon the shot, a dull
concussion, as of some heavy body dropped from a high elevation to the
ground. I was hunter enough to know the signification of this sound.
It was the game--bird or beast--that had fallen from a tree.
An American must have fired that shot; but who? There were only three
or four of the rangers who carried the hunter-rifle--a very different
weapon from the "regulation" piece--old backwoodsmen who had been
indulged in their whim. It might be one of these.
Without hesitation, I headed my horse for the spot, and rode as rapidly
as the underwood would permit me.
I kept on for five minutes or more without halting. I certainly must
have passed the place where the shot had been fired, and yet I saw no
one; but just as I was about to pull up again, a well-known voice
reached me from behind with the words--
"By the jumpin Geehosophat! it ur the young fellur--the capt'n!"
Turning, I beheld my trapper comrades just emerging from the bushes,
where they had cautiously _cached_ themselves, on hearing the
hoof-strokes of my horse, and lain hid till I had passed them.
Rube carried upon his shoulders a large turkey gobbler--the game I had
heard drop--while upon Garey's back I observed the choice portions of a
deer.
"You have been foraging to some advantage," I remarked as they came up.
"Yes, capt'n," replied Garey, "_we_ won't want for rashuns. Not but
that your rangers offered us a plenty to eat; but ye see we couldn't in
honour accept o' it, for we promised to find for ourselves."
"Ye-es, durn it!" added Rube, "we're free mountainee men--ain't a gwine
to sponge on nobody--we ain't."
"An', capt'n," continued Garey, "thar don't appear to be any great
eatin' fixins about the place for yurself neyther: if yu'll just accept
o' the turkey, and one o' these hyar quarters o' the deer-meat, thar's
plenty left for Rube an' me; ain't thar, Rube?"
"Gobs!" was the laconic answer.
I was not loath to satisfy the wish of the hunters--for to say the
truth, the village larder had no such delicacies as either wild turkey
or venison--and having signified my assent, we all three moved away from
the spot. With the trappers for my guides, I should soon get into the
right road. They, too, were on their return to the post. They had been
in the woods since noon. They were both afoot, having left their horses
at the rancheria.
After winding about half-a-mile among the trees, we came out upon a
narrow road. Here my companions, who were unacquainted with the
neighbourhood, were at fault as well as myself: and knew not which
direction to take.
It was dark as pitch, but, as on the night before, there was lightning
at intervals. Unlike the preceding night, however, it was now raining
as if all the sluices of the sky had been set open; and by this time we
were all three of us soaking wet. The whole canopy of heaven was
shrouded in black, without a single streak of light upon it--not even a
star. Who could discover the direction in such a night?
As the lightning flashed, I saw Rube bending down over the road; he
appeared to be examining the tracks. I noticed that there were
wheel-tracks--deep ruts--evidently made by the rude block-wheels of a
_carreta_. It was these that the trapper was scanning.
Almost as soon as a man could have read the direction from a
finger-post, Rube raised himself erect, and crying out--
"All right--this-away!" set off along the road.
I was curious to know how he had determined the point, and questioned
him.
"Wal, yur see, young fellur, it ur the trail o' a Mexikin cart; an'
anybody as iver seed thet ur vamint, knows it hez got only two wheels.
But thur are four tracks hyur, an' thurfor the cart must a gone back an'
fo'th, for I seed they wur the same set o' wheels. Now, 'tur raizonable
to s'pose thet the back-track leads to the settlements, an' thet's
thisaway."
"But how could you tell which was the back-track?"
"Wagh! thet ur easy as fallin' off a log. The back track ur the fresher
by more'n a kupple o' hours."
Pondering upon the singular "instinct" that enabled our guide to
distinguish the tracks, I rode on in silence.
Shortly after, I again heard the voice of Rube, who was some paces in
the advance.
"I kud a knowd the way," he said, "'ithout the wheel-tracks: they only
made things more sartint sure."
"How?" I asked. "What other clue had you?"
"The water," replied he; "'ee see, or 'ee mout, ef you'd a looked into
the tracks, thet it ur runnin' this-away. Do ee hear thet thur?"
I listened. I heard distinctly the sound of running water, as of a
small stream carried down a rough rocky channel.
"Yes--I hear it, but how should the water guide you?"
"Wal," continued the trapper, "it ur a branch made by the rain: we're a
follerin it down; an' thurfor must kum to the river jest whur we want to
git. Oncest thur, we'll soon find our way, I reck'n. Wagh! how the
durned rain kums down! It 'ud drown a muss-rat. Wagh!"
The result proved the trapper's reasoning correct. The road-water was
running in the direction we had taken; and shortly after, the brawling
branch shot out from among the bushes, and crossed our path, diverging
from it at an acute angle. We could see, however, as we plunged through
the now swollen streamlet, that the current, in its general direction,
was the same with our road: it would certainly guide us to the river.
It did so. Half a mile farther on we came out upon its banks, and
struck the main road leading to the rancheria.
A few minutes' brisk travelling carried us to the outskirts of the
village, and we expected soon to be under shelter, when we were all
three brought to a sudden halt by the sharp hail of the sentry, who
called out the usual interrogatory--
"Who goes there?"
"Friends!" I replied; "'tis you, Quackenboss?"
I had recognised the voice of the soldier-botanist, and under the
lightning saw him standing by the trunk of a tree.
"Halt! Give the countersign!" was the response in a firm, determined
tone.
I did not know this masonic pass-word. On riding out, I had not thought
of such a thing, and I began to anticipate some trouble. I resolved,
however, to make trial of the sentry.
"We haven't got the countersign. 'Tis I, Quackenboss. I am--"