THE RANGERS.
On the banks of the Rio San Pedro, and on the side of a hill, stood a
_rancheria_ composed of some ten cabins, inhabited by a population of
sixty persons at the most, including men, women and children. These
people were Coras Indians, hunters and agriculturists, belonging to the
Tortoise tribe. These poor Indians lived there on terms of peace with
their neighbours, under the protection of the Mexican laws. Quiet and
inoffensive beings, during the nearly twenty years they had been
established at this place they had never once offered a subject of
complaint to their neighbours, who, on the contrary, were glad to see
them prosper, owing to their gentle and hospitable manners. Though
Mexican subjects, they governed themselves after their fashion, obeying
their caciques, and regulating in the assembly of their elders all the
difficulties that arose in their village.
On the night when we saw the squatters leave the cabin in disguise, some
twenty individuals, armed to the teeth and clothed in strange costumes,
with their faces blackened so as to render them unrecognizable, were
bivouacked at about two leagues from the rancheria, in a plain on the
river's bank. Seated or lying round huge fires, they were singing,
laughing, quarrelling or gambling with multitudinous yells and oaths.
Two men seated apart at the foot of an enormous cactus, were conversing
in a low tone, while smoking their husk cigarettes. These two men, of
whom we have already spoken to the reader, were Fray Ambrosio, chaplain
to the Hacienda de la Noria, and Andrés Garote, the hunter.
Andrés was a tall, thin fellow, with a sickly and cunning face, who
draped himself defiantly in his sordid rags, but whose weapons were in a
perfectly good condition.
Who were the men causing this disturbance? They were "rangers," but this
requires explanation.
Immediately after each of the different revolutions which have
periodically overturned Mexico since that country so pompously declared
its independence, the first care of the new president who reaches power
is to dismiss the volunteers who had accidentally swollen the ranks of his
army, and supplied him the means of overthrowing his predecessor. These
volunteers, we must do them the justice of allowing, are the very scum
of society, and the most degraded class human nature produces. These
sanguinary men, without religion or law, who have no relations or
friends, are an utter leprosy to the country.
Roughly driven back into society, the new life they are forced to adopt
in no way suits their habits of murder and pillage. No longer able to
wage war on their countrymen, they form free corps, and engage
themselves for a certain salary, to hunt the Indios Bravos--that is to
say, the Apaches and Comanches--who desolate the Mexican frontiers. In
addition to this, the paternal government of North America in Texas, and
of Mexico in the States of the Confederation, allots them a certain sum
for each Indian scalp they bring in.
We do not fancy we are saying anything new in asserting that they are
the scourge of the colonists and inhabitants, they plunder shamelessly
in every way when they are not doing worse.
The men assembled at this moment on the banks of the Rio San Pedro were
preparing for a war party--the name they give to the massacres they
organise against the redskins.
Toward midnight Red Cedar and his three sons reached the rangers' camp.
They must have been impatiently expected, for the bandits received them
with marks of the greatest joy and the warmest enthusiasm. The dice, the
cards, and botas of mezcal and whiskey were immediately deserted. The
rangers mounted their horses, and grouped round the squatters, near whom
stood Fray Ambrosio and his friend Andrés Garote.
Red Cedar took a glance round the mob, and could not repress a smile of
pride at the sight of the rich collection of bandits of every
description whom he had around him, and who recognised him as chief. He
extended his arm to command peace. When all were silent the giant took
the word.
"Señores caballeros," he said, in a powerful and marked voice, which
made all these scamps quiver with delight at being treated like honest
people, "the audacity of the redskins is growing intolerable. If we let
them alone they would soon inundate the country, when they would end by
expelling us. This state of things must have an end. The government
complains about the few scalps we supply; it says we do not carry out
the clauses of the agreement we have formed with it; it talks about
disbanding us, as our services are useless, and therefore burdensome to
the republic. It is our bounden duty to give a striking denial to these
malevolent assertions, and prove to those who have placed confidence in
us that we are ever ready to devote ourselves to the cause of humanity
and civilisation. I have assembled you here for a war party, which I
have been meditating for some time, and shall carry out this night. We
are about to attack the rancheria of the Coras, who for some years past
have had the impudence to establish themselves near this spot. They are
pagans and thieves, who have one hundred times merited the severe
chastisement we are about to inflict on them. But I implore you, señores
caballeros, display no mistaken pity. Crush this race of vipers--let not
one escape! The scalp of a child is worth as much as that of a man; so
do not let yourselves be moved by cries or tears, but scalp, scalp to
the end."
This harangue was greeted as it deserved to be; that is, by yells of
joy.
"Señores," Red Cedar continued, "the worthy monk who accompanies me will
call down the blessing of Heaven on our enterprise; so kneel down to
receive the absolution he is about to give you."
The bandits instantaneously dismounted, took off their hats, and knelt
on the sand. Fray Ambrosio then repeated a long prayer, to which they
listened with exemplary patience, repeating _amen_ after each occasion,
and he ended by giving them absolution. The rangers rose, delighted at
being thus freed from the burden of their sins, and got into their
saddles again.
Red Cedar then whispered a few words in Fray Ambrosio's ears, who bowed
his head in assent, and immediately set out in the direction of the
Hacienda de la Noria, followed by Andrés Garote. The squatter then
turned to the rangers, who were awaiting his orders.
"You know where we are going, gentlemen," he said. "Let us start, and,
before all, be silent, if we wish to catch our game in its lair; for you
know that the Indians are as cunning as opossums."
The band started at a gallop, Red Cedar and his sons being at their
head. It was one of those calm nights which predispose the soul to
reverie, such as America alone has the privilege of possessing. The dark
blue sky was spangled with an infinite number of stars, in the centre of
which shone the majestic Southern Cross, sparkling like a king's mantle;
the atmosphere was extraordinarily transparent, and allowed objects to
be noticed at a great distance; the moon profusely spread around her
silvery rays, which gave the scenery a fantastic appearance; a
mysterious breeze sported through the tops of the great trees; and at
times vague rumours traversed the space, and were lost in the distance.
The gloomy horsemen still went on, silent and frowning, like the
phantoms of the ancient legends, which glide through the shadows to
accomplish a deed without a name. At the end of scarce an hour the
rancheria was reached. All were resting in the village--not a light
flashed in the hut. The Indians, wearied with the hard toil of the day,
were reposing, full of confidence in the sworn faith, and apprehending
no treason.
Red Cedar halted twenty yards from the rancheria, and drew up his
horsemen so as to surround the village on all sides. When each had taken
his post, and the torches were lighted, Red Cedar uttered the terrible
war cry of the Apaches, and the rangers galloped at full speed on the
village, uttering ferocious howls, and brandishing the torches, which
they threw on the cabins.
A scene of carnage then took place which the human pen is powerless to
describe. The unhappy Indians, surprised in their sleep, rushed
terrified and half naked out of their poor abodes, and were pitilessly
massacred and scalped by the rangers, who waved with a demoniac laugh
their smoking, blood-dripping scalps. Men, women, and children, all were
killed with refinements of barbarity. The village, fired by the rangers'
torches, soon became an immense funebral pile, in which victims and
murderers were huddled pell-mell.
Still a few Indians had succeeded in collecting. Formed in a compact
troop of twenty men, they opposed a desperate resistance to their
assassins, exasperated by the odour of blood and the intoxication of
carnage. At the head of this band was a half-nude, tall Indian of
intelligent features, who, armed with a ploughshare, which he wielded
with extreme force and skill, felled all the assailants who came within
reach of his terrible weapon. This man was the cacique of the Coras. At
his feet lay his mother, wife, and two children--dead. The unhappy man
struggled with the energy of despair. He knew his life would be
sacrificed, but he wished to sell it as dearly as possible.
In vain had the rangers fired on the cacique--he seemed invulnerable:
not one of the bullets aimed at him had struck him. He still fought, and
the weight of his weapon did not seem to fatigue his arm. The rangers
excited each other to finish him; but not one dared to approach him.
But this combat of giants could not endure longer. Of the twenty
companions he had round him on commencing the struggle, the cacique now
only saw two or three upright: the rest were dead. There must be an end.
The circle that inclosed the hapless Indian drew closer and closer.
Henceforth it was only a question of time with him. The rangers,
recognising the impossibility of conquering this lion-hearted man, had
changed their tactics: they no longer attacked him, but contented
themselves with forming an impassable circle round him, waiting
prudently for the moment when the strength of the prey, which could not
escape them, was exhausted, in order to rush upon him.
The Coras understood the intention of his enemies. A contemptuous smile
contracted his haughty lips, and he rushed resolutely toward these men
who recoiled before him. Suddenly, with a movement quicker than thought,
he threw with extraordinary strength the ploughshare among the rangers,
and bounding like a tiger, leaped on a horse, and clutched its rider
with superhuman vigour.
Ere the rangers had recovered from the surprise this unforeseen attack
occasioned in them, by a desperate effort, and still holding the
horseman, the chieftain drew from his girdle a short sharp knife, which
he buried up to the hilt in the flanks of the horse. The animal uttered
a shriek of pain, rushed headlong into the crowd, and bore both away
with maddening speed.
The rangers, rendered furious at being played with by a single man, and
seeing their most terrible enemy escape them, started in pursuit; but
with his liberty the Coras had regained all his energy: he felt himself
saved. In spite of the desperate efforts the rangers made to catch him
up, he disappeared in the darkness.
The cacique continued to fly till he felt his horse tottering under him.
He had not loosed his hold of the horseman, who was half strangled by
the rude embrace, and both rolled on the ground. This man wore the
costume of the Apache Indians. The Coras regarded him for an instant
attentively, and then a smile of contempt played round his lips.
"You are not a redskin," he said, in a hollow voice; "you are only a
paleface dog. Why put on the skin of the lion when you are a cowardly
coyote?"
The ranger, still stunned by the fall he had suffered, and the hug he
had endured, made no reply.
"I could kill you," the Indian continued; "but my vengeance would not be
complete. You and yours must pay me for all the innocent blood you have
shed like cowards this night. I will mark you, so that I may know you
again."
Then, with fearful coolness, the Coras threw the ranger on his back, put
his knee on his chest, and burying his finger in the socket of his eye,
gave it a sharp rotatory movement, and plucked out his eyeball. On this
frightful mutilation, the wretch uttered a cry of pain impossible to
describe. The Indian got up.
"Go!" he said to him. "Now I am certain of finding you again whenever I
want you."
At this moment the sound of hoofs could be heard a short distance off:
the rangers had evidently heard their comrade's cry, and were hurrying
to his aid. The Coras, rushed into the bushes and disappeared. A few
moments later the rangers came up.
"Nathan, my son!" Red Cedar shouted as he leaped from his horse and
threw himself on the body of the wounded man. "Nathan, my firstborn, is
dead!"
"No," one of the rangers answered; "but he is very bad."
It was really the squatter's eldest son whom the cacique had mutilated.
Red Cedar seized him in his arms, placed him before him on the saddle,
and the band started again at a gallop. The rangers had accomplished
their task: they had sixty human scalps hanging from their girdles. The
rancheria of the Coras was no longer aught save a pile of ashes.
Of all the inhabitants of this hapless village only the cacique
survived; but he would suffice to avenge his brothers.