While thus inactive, my mind yielded itself up to the contemplation of
painful probabilities. Horrid spectacles passed before my imagination.
I saw the white horse galloping over the plain, pursued by wolves, and
shadowed by black vultures. To escape these hungry pursuers, I saw him
dash into the thick chapparal, there to encounter the red panther or the
fierce prowling bear--there to encounter the sharp thorns of the
acacias, the barbed spines of the cactus, and the recurving claw-like
armature of the wild aloes. I could see the red blood streaming adown
his white flanks--not _his_ blood, but that of the helpless victim
stretched prostrate along his back. I could see the lacerated limbs--
the ankles chafed and swollen--the garments torn to shreds--the drooping
head--the long loose hair tossed and trailing to the earth--the white
wan lips--the woe-bespeaking eyes--Oh! I could bear my reflections no
longer. I sprang to my feet, and paced the prairie with the aimless,
unsteady step of a madman.
Again the kind-hearted trapper approached, and renewed his efforts to
console me.
"We could follow the trail," he said, "by torch or candle light, almost
as fast as we could travel; we should be many miles along it before
morning; maybe before then we should get sight of the steed. It would
not be hard to surround and capture him; now that he was half-tamed, he
might not run from us; if he did, he could be overtaken. Once in view,
we would not lose sight of him again. The saynyora would be safe
enough; there was nothing to hurt her: the wolves would not know the
`fix' she was in, neyther the `bars' nor `painters.' We should be sure
to come up with her before the next night, an would find her first-rate;
a little tired and hungry, no doubt, but nothing to hurt. We should
relieve her, and rest would set all right again."
Notwithstanding the rude phrase in which these consolatory remarks were
made, I appreciated their kind intention.
Garey's speech had the effect of rendering me more hopeful; and in
calmer mood, I awaited the return of Quackenboss and the Canadian.
These did not linger. Two hours had been allowed them to perform their
errand; but long before the expiration of that period, we heard the
double tramp of their horses as they came galloping across the plain.
In a few minutes they rode up, and we could see in the hands of Le Blanc
three whitish objects, that in length and thickness resembled stout
walking-canes. We recognised _les chandelles magnifiques_.
They were the property of the church--designed, no doubt, to have
illumined the altar upon the occasion of some grand _dia de fiesta_.
"Voila! mon capitaine!" cried the Canadian, as he rode forward--"voila
les chandelles! Ah, mon Dieu! c'est von big sacrilege, et je suis bon
Chretien--buen Catolico, as do call 'im ze dam Mexicaine; bien--ze bon
Dieu me forgive--God ve pardon vill pour--for ze grand necessitie; sure
certaine he will me pardon--Lige et moi--ze brave Monsieur Quack'bosh."
The messengers had brought news from the village. Some rough
proceedings had taken place since our departure. Men had been punished;
fresh victims had been found under the guidance of Pedro and others of
the abused. The trees in the church enclosure that night bore horrid
fruit.
The alcalde was not dead; and Don Ramon, it was supposed, still
survived, but had been carried off a prisoner by the guerrilla! The
rangers were yet at the rancheria; many had been desirous of returning
with Le Blanc and Quackenboss, but I had sent orders to the lieutenants
to take all back to camp as soon as their affair was over. The fewer of
the troop that should be absent, the less likelihood of our being
missed, and those I had with me I deemed enough for my purpose. Whether
successful or not, we should soon return to camp. It would then be time
to devise some scheme for capturing the leader and prime actor in this
terrible tragedy.
Hardly waiting to hear the story, we lighted the great candles, and
moved once more along the trail.
Fortunately, the breeze was but slight, and only served to make the huge
waxen torches flare more freely. By their brilliant blaze, we were
enabled to take up the tracks, quite as rapidly as by the moonlight. At
this point, the horse had been still going at full gallop; and his
course, as it ran in a direct line, was the more easily followed.
Dark as the night was, we soon perceived we were heading for a point
well known to all of us--the prairie mound; and, under a faint belief
that the steed might have there come to a stop, we pressed forward with
a sort of hopeful anticipation.
After an hour's tracking, the white cliffs loomed within the circle of
our view--the shining selenite glancing back the light of our tapers,
like a wall set with diamonds.
We approached with caution, still keeping on the trail, but also keenly
scrutinising the ground in advance of us--in hopes of perceiving the
object of our search. Neither by the cliff, nor in the gloom around,
was living form to be traced.
Sure enough the steed had halted there, or, at all events, ceased from
his wild gallop. He had approached the mound in a walk, as the tracks
testified; but how, and in what direction, had he gone thence? His
hoof-prints no longer appeared. He had passed over the shingle, that
covered the plain to a distance of many yards from the base of the
cliff, and no track could be found beyond!
Several times we went around the mesa, carrying our candles everywhere.
We saw skeletons of men and horses, with skulls detached, fragments of
dresses, and pieces of broken armour--souvenirs of our late skirmish.
We looked into our little fortress, and gazed upon the rock that had
sheltered us; we glanced up the gorge where we had climbed, and beheld
the rope by which we had descended still hanging in its place: all these
we saw, but no further traces of the steed!
Round and round we went, back and forward, over the stony shingle, and
along its outer edge, but still without coming upon the tracks. Whither
could the horse have gone!
Perhaps, with a better light, we might have found the trail; but for a
long hour we searched, without striking upon any sign of it. Perhaps we
might still have found it, even with our waxen torches, but for an
incident that not only interrupted our search, but filled us with fresh
apprehension, and almost stifled our hopes of success.
The interruption did not come unexpected. The clouds had for some time
given ample warning. The big solitary drops that at intervals fell with
plashing noise upon the rocks, were but the _avant-couriers_ of one of
the great rainstorms of the prairie, when water descends as if from a
shower-bath. We knew from the signs that such a storm was nigh; and
while casting around to recover the trail, it came down in all its fury.
Almost in an instant our lights were extinguished, and our bootless
search brought to a termination.
We drew up under the rocks, and stood side by side in sullen silence.
Even the elements seemed against me. In my heart's bitterness, I cursed
them.