Such rude appeal was wrung from my lips by the dread spectacle on which
my eyes rested.
I scarcely waited the echo of my words; I waited not the counsel of my
comrades; but, plunging deeply the spur, galloped down the hill in the
direction of the drove.
There was no method observed--no attempt to keep under cover. There was
no time either for caution or concealment. I acted under instantaneous
impulse, and with but one thought--to charge forward, scatter the
stallions, and, if yet in time, save her from those hurling heels and
fierce glittering teeth.
_If yet in time_--ay, such provisory parenthesis was in my mind at the
moment. But I drew hope from observing that the steed kept a ring
cleared around him: his assailants only threatened at a distance.
Had he been alone, I might have acted with more caution, and perhaps
have thought of some stratagem to capture him. As it was, stratagem was
out of the question; the circumstances required speed.
Both trappers and rangers--acting under like impulse with myself--had
spurred their horses into a gallop, and followed close at my heels.
The drove was yet distant. The wind blew from them--a brisk breeze. We
were half-way down the hill, and still the wild horses neither heard,
saw, nor scented us.
I shouted at the top of my voice: I wished to startle and put them to
flight. My followers shouted in chorus; but our voices reached not the
quarrelling caballada.
A better expedient suggested itself: I drew my pistol from its holster,
and fired several shots in the air.
The first would have been sufficient. Its report was heard, despite the
opposing wind; and the mustangs, affrighted by the sound, suddenly
forsook the encounter. Some bounded away at once; others came wheeling
around us, snorting fiercely, and tossing their heads in the air, a few
galloped almost within range of our rifles; and then, uttering their
shrill neighing, turned and broke off in rapid flight. The steed and
his rider alone remained, where we had first observed them!
For some moments he kept the ground, as if bewildered by the sudden
scattering of his assailants; but he too must have heard the shots, and
perhaps alone divined something of what had caused those singular
noises. In the loud concussion, he recognised the voice of his greatest
enemy; and yet he stirred not from the spot!
Was he going to await our approach? Had he become tamed?--reconciled to
captivity? or was it that we had rescued him from his angry rivals--that
he was grateful, and no longer feared us?
Such odd ideas rushed rapidly through my mind as I hurried forward!
I had begun to deem it probable that he would stay our approach, and
suffer us quietly to recapture him. Alas! I was soon undeceived. I
was still a long way off--many hundred yards--when I saw him rear
upward, wheel round upon his hind-feet as on a pivot, and then bound off
in determined flight. His shrill scream pealing back upon the breeze,
fell upon my ears like the taunt of some deadly foe. It seemed the
utterance of mockery and revenge: mockery at the impotence of my
pursuit; revenge that I had once made him my captive.
I obeyed the only impulse I could have at such a moment, and galloped
after as fast as my horse could go. I stayed for no consultation with
my companions; I had already forged far ahead of them. They were too
distant for speech.
I needed not their wisdom to guide me. No plan required conception or
deliberation; the course was clear: by speed alone could the horse be
taken, and his rider saved from destruction--_if yet safe_.
Oh, the fearfulness of this last reflection! the agony of the doubt!
It was not the hour to indulge in idle anguish; I repressed the emotion,
and bent myself earnestly upon the pursuit. I spoke to my brave steed,
addressing him by name; I urged him with hands and knees; only at
intervals did I inflict the cruel steel upon his ribs.
I soon perceived that he was flagging; I perceived it with increased
apprehension for the result. He had worn his saddle too long on the day
before, and the wet weary night had jaded him. He had been
over-wrought, and I felt his weariness, as he galloped with feebler
stroke. The prairie-steed must have been fresh in comparison.
But life and death were upon the issue. Her life--perhaps my own. I
cared not to survive her. She must be saved. The spur must be plied
without remorse: the steed must be overtaken, even if Moro should die!
It was a rolling prairie over which the chase led--a surface that
undulated like the billows of the ocean. We galloped transversely to
the direction of the "swells," that rose one after the other in rapid
succession. Perhaps the rapidity with which we were crossing them
brought them _nearer_ to each other. To me there appeared no level
ground between these land-billows. Up hill and down hill in quick
alternation was the manner of our progress--a severe trial upon the
girths--a hard killing gallop for my poor horse. But life and death
were upon the issue, and the spur must be plied without remorse.
A long cruel gallop--would it never come to an end I would the steed
never tire? would he never stop? Surely in time he must become weary?
Surely Moro was his equal in strength as in speed?--superior to him in
both?
Ah! the prairie horse possessed a double advantage--he had started
fresh--he was on his native ground.
I kept my eyes fixed upon him; not for one moment did I withdraw my
glance. A mysterious apprehension was upon me; I feared to look around,
lest he should disappear! The souvenirs of the former chase still
haunted me; weird remembrances clung to my spirit. I was once more in
the region of the supernatural.
I looked neither to the right nor left, but straight before me--straight
at the object of my pursuit, and the distance that lay between us. This
last I continuously scanned, now with fresh hope, and now again with
doubt. It seemed to vary with the ground. At one time, I was nearer,
as the descending slope gave me the advantage; but the moment after, the
steep declivity retarded the speed of my horse, and increased the
intervening distance.
It was with joy I crossed the last swell of the rolling prairie, and
beheld a level plain stretching before us. It was with joy I perceived
that upon the new ground I was rapidly gaining upon the steed!
And rapidly I continued to gain upon him, until scarcely three hundred
yards were between us. So near was I, that I could trace the outlines
of _her_ form--her prostrate limbs--still lashed to the croup--her
garments loose and torn--her ankles--her long dark hair dishevelled and
trailing to the ground--even her pallid cheek I could perceive, as at
intervals the steed tossed back his head to utter his wild taunting
neigh. O God! there was blood upon it!
I was near enough to be heard. I shouted in my loudest voice; I called
her by name. I kept my eyes upon her, and with throbbing anxiety
listened for a response.
I fancied that her head was raised, as though she understood and would
have answered me. I could hear no voice, but her feeble cry might have
been drowned by the clatter of the hoofs.
Again I called aloud--again and again pronouncing her name.
Surely I heard a cry? surely her head was raised from the withers of the
horse? It was so--I could not be mistaken.
"Thank Heaven, she lives!"
I had scarcely uttered the prayer, when I felt my steed yield beneath me
as though he was sinking into the bosom of the earth. I was hurled out
of the saddle, and flung head-foremost upon the plain. My horse had
broken through the burrow of the prairie marmot, and the false step had
brought him with violence to the ground.
I was neither stunned nor entangled by the fall; and in a few seconds
had regained my feet, my bridle, and saddle. But as I headed my horse
once more toward the chase, the white steed and his rider had passed out
of sight.