When consciousness returned, I was by the fountain, my back leaning
against its parapet edge; Rube, Garey and others were around me. From
my dripping garments, I perceived that they had _douched_ me, and one
was pouring a fiery spirit down my throat.
There were men on horseback, who had ridden into the patio--the iron
hoofs causing the court to ring. They were rangers, but not those who
had left camp in my company. Some had arrived since, and others were
still galloping up. The girls had reached the ranger camp, and told
their tale. The men had not waited for orders, or even for one another,
but rushing to their horses, took the road in twos and threes. Every
moment, a horseman, or several together, came riding forward in hot
haste, carrying their rifles, as if ready for action, and uttering loud
cries of indignation.
Wheatley had arrived among the foremost.
Poor fellow! his habitual buoyancy had departed; the gay smile was gone
from his lips. His eyes were on fire, and his teeth set in the stern
expression of heart-consuming vengeance.
Amidst the hoarse shouting of the men, I heard screaming in the shriller
voices of women. It came from without.
I rose hastily, and ran towards the spot: I saw several of the wretched
captives stripped to the waist, and men in the act of flogging them,
with mule-quirts and pieces of raw-hide rope.
I had feared it was worse; I had feared that their captors were
inflicting upon them a _retaliation in kind_. But no--angry as were my
followers, they had not proceeded to such a fiendish extremity.
It required all the authority of a command to put an end to the
distressing spectacle. They desisted at length; and the screeching and
affrighted wretches were permitted to take themselves away--all
disappearing rapidly beyond the light of the fire.
At this crisis a shout was raised: "To the rancheria, to the rancheria!"
and instantly a party, with Wheatley and Holingsworth at its head, rode
off for the village. Pedro went along with them.
I waited not for their return; I had formed a plan of action for myself,
that would admit of no delay in its execution.
At first, stunned by the blow, and the distraction of my swooning
senses, I had not been able to _think_; as soon as the confusion passed,
and I could reflect more clearly, the course I ought to pursue was at
once apparent. Vengeance I had felt as the first impulse, and a strong
desire to follow up the fiend Ijurra--night and day to follow him--
though the pursuit should lead me into the heart of the hostile ground.
This was but a momentary impulse: vengeance must be stifled for the
time. A path was to be taken that widely diverged from that of the
retreating guerrilla--_the trail of the white steed_.
Mounting Cyprio, and choosing from my band half-a-dozen of the best
_trackers_, was the work of a moment. In another, we were in the
saddle; and descending the hill, we plunged rapidly through the stream,
crossed the skirting timber, and soon rode out upon the open prairie.
Under Cyprio's guidance, we found the spot desecrated by that cruel
display. The ground was trampled by many hoofs; fragments of paper--
powder-blackened--broken rocket-sticks, and half-burnt fuses, strewed
the sward--the pyrotechnic _reliquiae_ of the fiendish spectacle.
We halted not there. By the aid of our guide and the moonlight, we rode
clear of the confusion; and taking up the trail of the horse, struck off
upon it, and were soon far out upon the prairie.
For more than a mile we advanced at a gallop. Time was everything.
Trusting to the intelligence of the Mexican boy, we scarcely scrutinised
the track, but made directly for the point where the horse had been last
seen.
Cyprio's information did not deceive us. A _motte_ of timber had served
him as a mark: the steed had passed close to its edge. Beyond it, he
had seen him no more, and the boy was sent back.
Beyond it, we found the tracks, easily recognisable by Rube, Garey, and
myself. There was a peculiarity by which we were prevented from
mistaking them: three of the prints were clearly cut in the turf--almost
perfect circles--the curve of the fourth--of the off fore-foot--was
interrupted by a slight indentation, where a piece had been broken from
the hoof. It had been done in that terrible leap upon the rocky bed of
the barranca.
Taking the trail again, we kept on--now advancing at a slower pace, and
with a greater degree of caution. Late rain had moistened the
prairie-turf, and we could perceive the racks without dismounting. At
intervals, there were stretches of drier surface, where the hoof had
scarcely left its impression. In such places, one leaped from the
saddle, and led the way on foot. Rube or Garey usually performed this
office; and so rapidly did they move along the trail, that our horses
were seldom in a walk. With bodies half bent, and eyes gliding along
the ground, they pressed forward like hounds running by the scent, but,
unlike these, the trackers made no noise. Not a word was spoken by any
one. I had no list for speech; my agony was too intense for utterance.
With Cyprio I had conversed upon the harrowing theme, and that only at
starting. From him I had gathered further details. No doubt, the
matador had performed his office. Oh, God! without ears!
Cyprio had seen blood; it was streaming adown her neck and over her
bosom: her slight garments were stained red with it. He knew not whence
it came, or why she was bleeding. He was not present when that blood
had been drawn; it was in her chamber, he thought. She was bleeding
when the ruffians dragged her forth!
Belike, too, the herredero had done his work? Cyprio had seen the
blacksmith, but not the _fierro_. He heard they had branded some at the
piazza, among others the daughter of the alcalde--_pobre Conchita_! He
did not see them brand the Dona Isolina.
The ruffian deed might have been accomplished for all that; there was
plenty of time, while the boy lay hid, or before she had been dragged
from her chamber.
How was she placed upon the horse?
Despite my heart's bitterness, as I put these interrogatories, I could
not help thinking of the Cossack legend. The famed classic picture came
vividly before my mind. Wide was the distance between the Ukraine and
the Rio Bravo. Had the monsters who re-enacted this scene on the banks
of the Mexican river--had these ever heard of Mazeppa? Possibly their
leader had; but it was still more probable that the fiendish thought was
original.
The fashion at least was. Cyprio had seen and described it.
She was laid longitudinally upon the back of the steed, her head resting
upon the point of his shoulder. Her face was downward, her cheek
touching the withers. Her arms embraced the neck, and her wrists were
made fast under the animal's throat. Her body was held in this position
by means of a belt around her waist, attached to a surcingle on the
horse--both tightly buckled. In addition to this, her ankles, bound
together by a thong, were fastened to the croup, with her feet
projecting beyond the hips!