I stayed to hear no more, but drove the spur against the ribs of my
horse, till he sprang in full gallop along the road. Eager as were my
men to follow, 'twas as much as they could do to keep up.
We no longer thought of scouts or cautious marching. The trappers had
mounted, and were galloping with the rest. We thought only of _time_.
We rode for the hacienda de Vargas, straight up the river. Although it
was beyond the rancheria, we could reach it without passing through the
latter--which lay some distance back from the stream. We could return
to the village afterwards, but first for the hacienda. There I wished
to arrive in the shortest time possible.
The miles flew behind us, like the dust of the road.
Oh, should we not be in time! I feared to calculate the length of the
interval since the boy had heard that rabble rout. Was it more than an
hour? Five miles to the rancho, and he on foot. Had he travelled
rapidly? Yes, here and there; but he had made a stop: some men had
passed him, and he had hidden in the bushes till they were out of sight.
He had been more than an hour on the way--nearly two, and one would be
enough for the execution of the darkest deed. Oh, we should not arrive
in time!
There was no delay now. We were going at top-speed, and in silence,
scarcely exchanging a word. Alone might be heard the clattering of
hoofs, the chinking of bits, or the ringing of steel scabbards. Neither
the slimy gutter nor the deep rut of _carreta_ wheels stayed our
advance; our horses leaped over, or went sweltering through them.
In five minutes we came to the _rinconada_, where the road forked--the
left branch leading to the village. We saw no one, and kept on by the
right--the direct road to the hacienda. Another mile, and we should
reach the house; a quarter of that distance, and we should come in sight
of it; the trees alone hindered our view of its walls. On--on!
What means that light? Is the sun rising in the west? Is the chapparal
on fire? Whence comes the yellow gleam, half intercepted by the trunks
of the trees? Is it not the moon!
"Ho! the hacienda is in flames!"
"No--it cannot be? A house of stone, with scarcely enough timber to
make a blaze! It cannot be that?"
It is not that. We emerge from the forest; the hacienda is before our
eyes. Its white walls gleam under a yellow light--the light of fire,
but not of a conflagration. The house stands intact. A huge bonfire
burns in front of the portal; it was this that caused the glare through
the forest.
We draw up and gaze upon it with surprise. We behold a huge pile--the
material supplied from the household stock of dry faggots--a vast blaze
drowning the pale moonshine. We can see the hacienda, and all around
it, as distinctly as by the light of day!
For what purpose this holocaust of crackling acacias?
Around the fire we behold many forms, living and moving. There are men,
women, dogs, and saddled horses. Huge joints are roasting over the red
coals, and others, roasted, are being greedily eaten. Are they savages
who surround that blazing pile?
No--we can see their faces with full distinctness, the white skins and
black beards of the men, the cotton garments of the women; we can see
sombreros and serapes, cloth cloaks and calzoneros of velveteen, sashes
and sabres; we can distinguish their voices as they shout, sing, and
carouse; we note their lascivious movements in the national dance--the
_fandango_. No Indians they--'tis a bivouac of the guerrilleros--the
ruffians for whom we are in search!
Oh, that I had listened to the voice of prudence, and adopted the
strategy of a surround! But my blood was boiling, and I feared to lose
even a moment of time, lest we might be too late. But one or two of my
followers counselled delay, and, as the event proved, they were the
wisest. The rest, like myself, were impatient for action.
The word was given: and like hounds, fresh loosed from the leash, we
rushed forward with charging cheer.
It was the madness of fools. Well knew our enemy the hoarse Texan
"hurrah!" It had been shouted to terrify them, when there was no need.
They would never have stood ground.
The shout warned them, causing them to scatter like a herd of deer. The
steep hill proved too heavy for our horses; and before we could reach
its summit, the main body of the guerrilla had mounted and scampered off
into the darkness. Six of them fell to our shots; and as many more,
with their she-associates, remained prisoners in our hands; but as usual
that subtle coward had contrived to escape.
Pursuit was idle; they had taken to the dark woods beyond the hill.