THE SNARES SNARED
Although, as far as the eye could reach, the plateau appeared one
unbroken level it was crossed, midway, by an unwooded valley; and, as
he gained upon it, the herd of mustangs which Carlos had seen feeding
upon the hither side of this hidden valley suddenly disappeared from
his view.
He ran lightly forward toward this vanishing point of his coveted
possession, thinking:
“That’s queer! They, certainly, were horses and no mirage--such as we
saw on that other plain. That was strange, too; the things we saw in
the sky-picture were just what we have since come to know so well;
railroad, cars, station, water-tank and all! In the mirage everything
was upside down, but the horses I saw just now were walking on four
feet, their backs right side up, and quietly feeding. Well, if I keep
on I’ll surely find them. And how I’ll astonish Jack when I ride
back on a creature so much finer than his old worn-outs! I’ll choose
the very handsomest of the band and, if I have half-luck, I’ll catch
it--thus!”
He whirled his lasso around his head, flung it, and deftly cleft the
cactus spike toward which he had aimed.
“Well done, Carlos! Excellent! Ha! I’m proud of my father’s son this
day. I didn’t know I had learned so well. If Miguel were here he’d push
out his lips and say: ‘Ah! it might be worse!’ Poor old Miguel! and
Dennis so jealous of him.”
Tossing the cactus aside he rewound his lariat for fresh efforts. At
that moment, a wild turkey flew over his head; so low that it was
almost within reach and so slowly that he knew it had been wounded in
some manner.
“It’s not manly sport to catch a hurt creature yet--a bird on the wing,
even a broken one--I’ll try. I’m glad Carlota isn’t here for she’d call
me cruel. She’s a darling little sister but, sometimes, she does make a
big fuss about--nothing at all.”
Watching his chance, he flung the riata upward and caught the wounded
thing. It fell at his feet, dying, and a curious chill crept through
the lad’s veins.
“That’s because of silly old Marta. I’ve listened to her omens till I
always remember them, and _that’s_ ignorance, my father says. Yet, ‘Who
snares the wounded shall himself be snared.’ Pooh! I’ve put it out of
misery, anyway. Ha! There’s a road-runner! It’s not hurt and how, if
besides my horse, I take back fresh game for our suppers? Then, indeed,
will that boy think that ‘poor Carlos,’ who must trudge afoot while his
neighbor rides, is of some account in camp.”
Again he flung his slender cord and this time he failed. But nothing
discouraged, he wound it afresh, to be ready for more serious business
and believing that the horses must be very near.
They were; much nearer than he thought; for as he turned toward the
west, he saw close before him the beginning of that hidden, treeless,
valley into which they had retreated.
His approach had been unnoticed. The herd had found a “tank,” or one of
the large, hollow rocks filled with water, with which nature supplies
her children’s need in that land of few streams. The animals were
drinking deeply, eagerly, and his selection could be carefully made.
After it had been, Carlos thought, that he, also, would quench his
thirst at the “tank” but--business first!
Deciding which was the very finest one of all the band, he took
careful, deliberate aim, shot the _riata_, and caught the unsuspecting
beast by one of its forelegs.
Then there was consternation in the herd but, careless of other
endangering hoofs or aught but his capture, the well-trained lad rushed
forward headlong and closed with his captive. This was no new task
for him. He had been taught the trick of “catching and throwing” by
more than one employee, or passing sojourner, at Refugio, while his
steel-like young muscles well endured the strain now put upon them. He
had been an apt pupil and it was Miguel’s boast that the lad could beat
his instructors at their own business. Yet the contest which ensued
between the wild mustang and the excited boy was long and severe.
There was will on each side but the human will was aided by watchful
intelligence; and when the young horse-breaker had gained a seat upon
his captive’s back he was satisfied, though some would have fancied the
battle but just begun.
“Fight--caper--rear--buck--kick--do your worst! Have a care! Now,
quiet--quiet, there, and--steady!”
He got his fingers to the animal’s nostrils and his lips to its ear,
and what magic influence there was thus exerted only those wise in
horse-lore can explain. The result was amazing. The mustang quivered
in fear, tried once more, and futilely, to throw the boy from its
back, then stood stock-still. Then Carlos relaxed his own muscles and
suddenly was impelled to look up.
As silently as he had stolen upon the unconscious herd in the valley
so silently he had himself been surrounded. Indians to right of
him--Indians to the left of him--Indians everywhere!
Odd! But his first thought was that silly adage of old Marta:
“Who snares the wounded shall himself be snared.”
Then he rallied. He was as brave as most lads, braver than many. He
had done some wonderful deeds of skill, that day, and his veins still
thrilled with pride in his own achievements. Of Indians in general he
was not afraid; and he saw, at once, that these did not wear the dress
of the hostile Apaches. Yet their faces were stern and uncompromising
as, in silence, the eldest of the company advanced and laid his hand on
the youngster’s shoulder.
This old man nodded toward another brave, who seemed to give assent,
and in that same terrifying silence the others grouped themselves about
their chief. He signaled a youth, who promptly passed to Carlos’s side,
where he still sat upon the subdued mustang and, with the pretty lariat
which had done such clever work that day, bound its owner’s arms behind
his back.
Poor Carlos! This indignity, to be tied like a criminal and with his
own rope, was so bitter that anger rose and banished fear. He tossed
his head defiantly, squared his shoulders, and gazed unflinchingly down
the shallow valley along which he must ride to his fate.
Those who followed glanced admiringly at his superb little figure,
riding proud and unsupported, and many nods of satisfaction were
exchanged among them. Such a small brave would be a worthy addition to
their tribe.
After a time, the valley turned sharply toward the northwestern
mountains, and the prisoner fixed his gaze upon them, sadly thinking:
“How little did I dream of entering them like this! Poor, poor Carlota!
Her heart will break.”
Stop! He must not think of Carlota. He must think of nothing that would
unman him. If he must die there, in the wilderness, it should be as
became his father’s son!