THE HUNT OF WILD HORSES.
Don Miguel Zarate and his two friends did not reach the hacienda till
late. They were received in the porch by Don Pablo and Doña Clara, who
manifested great joy at the sight of the French missionary, for whom
they felt a sincere esteem and great friendship. Spite of all his care,
Fray Ambrosio had always seen his advances repelled by the young people,
in whom he instinctively inspired that fear mingled with disgust that is
experienced at the sight of a reptile.
Doña Clara, who was very pious, carried this repulsion to such a pitch
that she only confessed her faults and approached the holy table when
Father Seraphin came to spend a few days at the hacienda.
Fray Ambrosio was too adroit to appear to notice the effect his presence
produced on the hacendero's children: he feigned to attribute to
timidity and indifference on religious matters what was in reality a
strongly expressed loathing for himself personally. But in his heart a
dull hatred fermented against the two young folk, and especially against
the missionary, whom he had several times already attempted to destroy
by well-laid snares.
Father Seraphin had always escaped them by a providential chance; but in
spite of the chaplain's obsequious advances, and the offers of service
he did not fail to overwhelm him with each time they met, the missionary
had thoroughly read the Mexican monk. He had guessed what fearful
corruption was hidden beneath his apparent simplicity and feigned piety:
and while keeping to himself the certainty he had acquired, he remained
on his guard, and carefully watched this man, whom he suspected of
incessantly planning some dark treachery against him. Don Miguel left
his children with the missionary, who immediately took possession of him
and dragged him away, lavishing on him every possible attention. The
hacendero retired to his study with General Ibañez, when the two men
drew up a list of the persons they intended to invite; that is to say,
the persons Valentine proposed to get out of the way, though they were
innocent of his scheme. The general then mounted his horse, and rode off
to deliver the invitations personally. For his part Don Miguel sent off
a dozen peons and vaqueros in search of the wild horses, and to drive
them gradually toward the spot chosen for the hunt.
Gen. Ibañez succeeded perfectly: the invitations were gladly accepted,
and the next evening the guests began arriving at the hacienda, Don
Miguel receiving them with marks of the most profound respect and lavish
hospitality.
The governor, General Isturitz, Don Luciano Pérez, and seven or eight
persons of inferior rank were soon assembled at the hacienda. At sunrise
a numerous party, composed of forty persons, left the hacienda, and
proceeded, accompanied by a crowd of well-mounted peons, towards the
meet. This was a vast plain on the banks of the Rio del Norte, where the
wild horses were accustomed to graze at this season. The caravan
produced the most singular and picturesque effect with the brilliant
costumes of the persons who composed it, and their horses glittering
with gold and silver. Starting at about four a.m. from the hacienda,
they reached four hours later a clump of trees, beneath whose shade
tents had been raised and tables laid by Don Miguel's orders, so that
they might breakfast before the hunt.
The riders, who had been journeying for four hours, already exposed to
the rays of the sun and the dust, uttered a shout of joy at the sight of
the tents. Each dismounted: the ladies were invited to do the same,
among them being the wives of the governor and General Isturitz, and
Doña Clara, and they gaily sat down round the tables.
Toward the end of the breakfast Don Pablo arrived, who had started the
evening previously to join the vaqueros. He announced that the horses
had been started, that a large manada was now crossing the Plain of the
Coyotes, watched by the vaqueros, and that they must make haste if they
wished to have good sport. This news augmented the ardor of the hunters.
The ladies were left in camp under the guard of a dozen well-armed
peons, and the whole party rushed at a gallop in the direction indicated
by Don Pablo.
The Plain of the Coyotes extended for an enormous distance along the
banks of the river. Here and there rose wooded hills, which varied the
landscape that was rendered monotonous by the tall grass, in which the
riders disappeared up to their waists. When the hunting party reached
the skirt of the plain Don Miguel ordered a halt, that they might hold a
council, and hear the report of the leader of the vaqueros.
The races of wild horses that nowadays people the deserts of North
America, and especially of Mexico, is descended from Cortez' cavalry.
Hence it is a pure breed, for at the period of the Spanish conquest only
Arab horses were employed. These horses have multiplied in really an
extraordinary manner. It is not rare to meet with manadas of twenty and
even thirty thousand head. They are small, but gifted with an energy and
vigour of which it is impossible to form a fair idea without having seen
them. They accomplish without fatigue journeys of prodigious length.
Their coat is the same as that of other horses, save that during winter
it grows very long, and frizzy like the wool of sheep. In spring this
species of fur falls off. The American horses may be easily trained.
Generally, so soon as they find themselves caught they easily submit to
the saddle.
The Mexicans treat their steeds very harshly, make them journey the
whole day without food or drink, and only give them their ration of
maize and water on reaching the bivouac, where they let them wander
about the whole night under guard of the _nena_, a mare whose bell the
horses follow, and will never leave. It is not from any cruel motive,
however, that the Mexicans treat their horses thus, for the riders are
very fond of their animals, which at a given moment may save their
lives. But it seems that this mode of treatment, which would be
impracticable in Europe, is perfectly successful in Mexico, where the
horses are much better off than if treated in a more gentle way.
The leader of the vaqueros made his report. A manada of about ten
thousand head was two leagues off on the plain, quietly grazing in the
company of a few elks and buffaloes. The hunters scaled a hill, from the
top of which they easily saw on the horizon a countless mob of animals,
grouped in a most picturesque way, and apparently not at all suspecting
the danger that threatened them.
To hunt the wild horses men must be like the Mexicans, perfect centaurs.
I have seen the _jinetes_ of that country accomplish feats of
horsemanship before which our Europeans would turn pale.
After the vaquero's report Don Miguel and his friends held a council,
and this is the resolution they came to. They formed what is called in
Mexico the grand circle of the wild horses; that is to say, the most
skilful riders were echeloned in every direction at a certain distance
from each other, so as to form an immense circle. The wild horses are
extremely suspicious: their instinct is so great, their scent is so
subtle, that the slightest breath of wind is sufficient to carry to them
the smell of their enemies, and make them set off at headlong speed.
Hence it is necessary to act with the greatest prudence, and use many
precautions, if a surprise is desired.
When all the preparations were made the hunters dismounted, and dragging
their horses after them, glided through the tall grass so as to contract
the circle. This manoeuvre had gone on for some time, and they had
sensibly drawn nearer, when the manada began to display some signs of
restlessness. The horses, which had hitherto grazed calmly, raised their
heads, pricked their ears, and neighed as they inhaled the air. Suddenly
they collected, formed a compact band, and started at a trot in the
direction of some cottonwood trees which stood on the banks of the
river. The hunt was about to commence.
At a signal from Don Miguel six well-mounted vaqueros rushed at full
speed ahead of the manada, making their lassoes whistle round their
heads. The horses, startled by the apparition of the riders, turned back
hastily, uttering snorts of terror, and fled in another direction. But
each time they tried to force the circle, horsemen rode into the midst
of them, and compelled them to turn back.
It is necessary to have been present at such a chase, to have seen this
hunt on the prairies, to form an idea of the magnificent sight offered
by all these noble brutes, their eyes afire, their mouths foaming, their
heads haughtily thrown up, and their manes fluttering in the wind, as
they bounded and galloped in the fatal circle the hunters had formed
round them. There is in such a sight something intoxicating, which
carries away the most phlegmatic, and renders them mad with enthusiasm
and pleasure.
When this manoeuvre had lasted long enough, and the horses began to grow
blinded with terror, at a signal given by Don Miguel the circle was
broken at a certain spot. The horses rushed, with a sound like thunder,
toward this issue which opened before them, overturning with their
chests everything that barred their progress. But it was this the
hunters expected. The horses, in their mad race, galloped on without
dreaming that the road they followed grew gradually narrower in front of
them, and terminated in inevitable captivity.
Let us explain the termination of the hunt. The manada had been cleverly
guided by the hunters toward the entrance of a cañon, or ravine, which
ran between two rather lofty hills. At the end of this ravine the
vaqueros had formed, with stakes fifteen feet long, planted in the
ground, and firmly fastened together with cords of twisted bark, an
immense corral or inclosure, into which the horses rushed without seeing
it. In less than no time the corral was full; then the hunters went to
meet the manada, which they cut off at the risk of their lives, while
the others closed the entrance of the corral. More than fifteen hundred
magnificent wild horses were thus captured at one stroke.
The noble animals rushed with snorts of fury at the walls of the
inclosure, trying to tear up the stakes with their teeth, and dashing
madly against them. At length they recognised the futility of their
efforts, lay down, and remained motionless. In the meanwhile a
tremendous struggle was going on in the ravine between the hunters and
the rest of the manada. The horses confined in this narrow space made
extraordinary efforts to open a passage and fly anew. They neighed,
stamped, and flew at everything that came within their reach. At length
they succeeded in regaining their first direction, and rushed into the
plain with the velocity of an avalanche. Several vaqueros had been
dismounted and trampled on by the horses, and two of them had received
such injuries that they were carried off the ground in a state of
insensibility.
With all the impetuosity of youth Don Pablo had rushed into the very
heart of the manada. Suddenly his horse received a kick which broke its
off foreleg, and it fell to the ground, dragging its rider with it. The
hunters uttered a cry of terror and agony. In the midst of this band of
maddened horses the young man was lost, for he must be trampled to death
under their hoofs. But he rose with the rapidity of lightning, and quick
as thought seizing the mane of the nearest horse, he leaped on its back,
and held on by his knees. The horses were so pressed against one another
that any other position was impossible. Then a strange thing
occurred--an extraordinary struggle between the horse and its rider. The
noble beast, furious at feeling its back dishonoured by the weight it
bore, bounded, reared, rushed forward; but all was useless, for Don
Pablo adhered firmly.
So long as it was in the ravine, the horse, impeded by its comrades,
could not do all it might have wished to get rid of the burden it bore;
but so soon as it found itself on the plain it threw up its head, made
several leaps on one side, and then started forward at a speed which
took away the young man's breath.
Don Pablo held on firmly by digging his knees into the panting sides of
his steed; he unfastened his cravat, and prepared to play the last scene
in this drama, which threatened to terminate in a tragic way for him.
The horse had changed its tactics; it was racing in a straight line to
the river, resolved to drown itself with its rider sooner than submit.
The hunters followed with an interest mingled with terror the moving
interludes of this mad race, when suddenly the horse changed its plans
again, reared, and tried to fall back with its rider. The hunters
uttered a shout of agony. Don Pablo clung convulsively to his animal's
neck, and, at the moment it was falling back, he threw his cravat over
its eyes with extraordinary skill.
The horse, suddenly blinded, fell back again on its feet, and stood
trembling with terror. Then the young man dismounted, put his face to
the horse's head, and breathed into its nostrils, while gently
scratching its forehead. This operation lasted ten minutes at the most,
the horse panting and snorting, but not daring to leave the spot. The
Mexican again leaped on the horse's back, and removed the bandage; it
remained stunned--Don Pablo had tamed it[1]. Everybody rushed toward the
young man, who smiled proudly, in order to compliment him on his
splendid victory. Don Pablo dismounted, gave his horse to a vaquero, who
immediately passed a bridle round its neck, and then walked toward his
father, who embraced him tenderly. For more than an hour Don Miguel had
despaired of his son's life.
[1] This mode of taming horses is well known to the Indians, and we
submit the fact to our readers without comment.