THE HORSE-THIEVES AND THE STAMPEDE.
"Boys," said Colonel Bowie, sitting upon his panting horse and looking
back down the river, "they saw us. I don't think we could make another
run. Dismount!"
They were barely a mile and a half above the point where they had
struck the Rio Grande, but it was time to give their horses a rest and
to consider the situation. They had halted on the brow of a bluff, and
they were looking in all directions. Not a man of them could guess
from what quarter their next disaster might come.
"Big Knife wait," replied the Lipan chief. "Castro go back for Red
Wolf."
"Guess not!" exclaimed Jim Cheyne. "Colonel, if thar isn't that thar
old cuss Tetzcatl on his mule."
Here he came, plodding along as calmly as ever, but there was very
little news that he could tell them. He could not even explain the
presence of General Bravo's regiment of lancers.
"The general said, at the Alamo, that he was going after the Apaches,"
remarked the colonel, "but here he is."
"Whoop!" rang out from the lower ground easterly. "Who-o-o-oop!"
"Red Wolf!" exclaimed Castro. "Boy no lose hair! Ugh! Heap young
brave!"
On he came, and there was no one following him. How could he have
escaped? He tried to tell how when he reached them, but before he had
finished his story of the Comanches and the lancers Tetzcatl turned his
mule toward the river.
"_Bueno!_" he said. "We can cross here. The lancers are busy. So are
the Comanches. The Lipans are on the other side and we can find them.
Come!"
"All right!" shouted Bowie. "Forward! Boys, Great Bear is our best
hold just now. He got in just in the nick of time."
The chief himself had not said so, nor had the beaten lancers. Both
sides of that fight had been severely surprised.
It seemed to the Comanches that their long chase had reached a
stopping-place, and what to do next they could not say, except to rest
their horses. As for the lancers, what was left of the fighting party
was now safe at the hacienda.
The Texans had no choice but to follow their white-headed guide. Not
one of them heard him say, as his mule waded into the river,--
"_Bueno_! The Comanches got them. It is a great satisfaction. I will
take the Texans into the mountains and give them to Huitzilopochtli.
They shall go down to him when he calls for them. The gods are hungry."
There had, indeed, been vast changes in the manner and amount of
worship paid them since the landing of Cortez. There had been a time
of fanatical devotion before that, when from twenty thousand to fifty
thousand human victims had been sacrificed annually to the terrible
divinities of the Mexicans. The scattered remnants of the old, dark
tribes, who still clung to their heathenish faith, might be as ready as
their fathers had been to offer sacrifices, but the offerings were not
so easily to be provided.
"The days have been too many," grumbled Tetzcatl, "in which not one
Spaniard stood before the altar. We have had to give them mission men,
women, children. They shall have six white men from the North."
Those Mexican Indians who, from time to time, had nominally accepted
the religion brought to them by the missionaries of the Church of Rome
were not to be classed as Spaniards exactly, but they would answer as
less valuable substitutes. Perhaps they were really as available for
sacrificial purposes as had been the yearly prisoners of war, entirely
unconverted heathen, who had been slaughtered at the _teocallis_, or
idol temples, before any Spaniards were to be had.
Altogether ignorant of the religious fate intended for them, the Texans
gained the southerly bank of the river, but their guide did not pause
there. He spurred his mule, waved his hand to them, and pushed onward.
He was upon ground that he knew, and their weary day's journey ended in
a dense forest, where they could believe themselves safe, for the time,
from their enemies.
"Night come," said Castro to his son. "Red Wolf go see Mexicans. No
take horse."
"Ugh!" replied the young warrior. "Find lancers. See hacienda. Where
great chief go?"
"Castro find Comanches," replied his father. "Big Knife keep camp.
Tetzcatl hunt Lipans. Texan sleep."
It was a time for vigorous scouting, but the condition of the horses
required that the scouts should use their own legs. No one went out at
once, however. After a hearty supper they all lay down for a while.
All but Tetzcatl. Nobody could say just at what moment the old
Tlascalan disappeared, leaving his mule behind him.
"Boys," remarked Joe, "we're all here and we ain't corked up, but thar
isn't a blamed thing we can do. It's been a pretty tough kind of spree
far as we've gone."
"Wall, ye-es," drawled Jim Cheyne, "and thar's no tellin' what 'll turn
up next."
"Jesso," came from another ranger, "and we needn't crow loud. Thar
wouldn't ha' been a head o' ha'r left among us if it hadn't been for
that cub o' Castro's; he's a buster."
"So's his dad," remarked Jim; "but whar are they now?"
He was looking, as he spoke, at the spot where he had seen them spread
their blankets. Those were there, but neither a young Lipan nor an old
one.
"They ain't in this camp," said Joe, after a wider search. "Gone
visitin'?"
They had not gone together. A very little later the chief was wading
into the river at a place somewhat below where Tetzcatl had led them
across, and he was alone.
His son was at the same time slipping along among the bushes and trees
toward the Hacienda Dolores. He was making rapid headway, and his
bright, black eyes were dancing with excitement. Fatigue was a thing
he seemed to know little about. Probably it had rested him to sit down
long enough to eat his supper.
The old hacienda had a number of lights burning in it that night, and
there were campfires kindled here and there outside of the wall for the
lancers. There were a few tents, but the greater part of the force was
compelled to bivouac upon its blankets. The Comanches were known not
to have crossed the Rio Grande, and there was no fear of a night
attack, so that only the ordinary sentries and patrols had been posted.
The most important of these were in charge of the "corral," where the
cavalry horses were picketed, and with them a large drove of
half-trained mustangs which had been gathered to fill the places of
such animals as were from time to time used up by reckless riders. The
rancheros are horsemen, but they are almost horse-killers in their
merciless spurring.
"Heap pony!" said Red Wolf to himself, when at last he was able to
crawl along the ground, within watching distance of the corral.
"Mexican bad eye. Lose pony. Great Bear send brave. Ugh!"
An indistinct shadow was moving along not many yards from him. Another
lay very still a little farther off, but this latter shadow was the
body of the sentry who had gone to sleep on his post. There was no one
there now but Red Wolf to note the passage of several more shadows, not
in uniform. He crept a little farther and lay still in a hollow. He
hardly breathed, for it was equally dangerous to retreat or to go
forward.
"Lie down heap," he thought. "See what come. Ugh! Comanche bring
horse. Pin pony. Go back for more."
That was precisely what had been done by the daring and expert red
horse-thieves. They were unsurpassed in that line of business, and
they had made their selections with care. Only the best of the animals
tethered near that point by the lancers had been selected for removal.
Nevertheless, the red men were few. They could not spare a sentry.
They did but secure their first string of prizes by lariats and pins
before they went in for another lot.
"Big Knife want horse," remarked the young Lipan to himself. "Red Wolf
take. Comanche lose pony."
It was short creeping, and then the pins were out and the string of
stolen quadrupeds was once more in motion. Their feet hardly made a
sound upon the sand as they went. They were led on to the shelter of
some bushes, and there Red Wolf left them that he might once more snake
his way back to his perilous post of observation. It seemed like going
to almost certain death, but he worked his stealthy way along until he
could see a tall warrior, leading several ponies, come to a sudden halt
at the place where the first captures had been left.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the warrior. "Heap pony gone. More braves come take
'em. Good. Take more pony."
He believed, therefore, that his own tribesmen had been there, but at
that moment a shrill "Who-o-o-op" sounded from the darkness near him.
Almost unconsciously, or from the force of habit, he replied to it with
his own war-cry. Following that came a dozen more from within the
corral. One after another, in quick succession, every Mexican sentinel
fired off his musket in sudden alarm. A bugler caught up his bugle and
began to blow it loudly. It was a hubbub of mingled sounds, but the
warriors in the corral sprang each upon the back of the nearest pony
and plied his whip savagely upon the frightened animals around him.
Horses neighed, mules brayed, red men whooped, cavalrymen shouted, and
the net result was a wild stampede of every brute that was loose or
that could break his tether. Of course, they all ran after the first
to get away, and these had struck out into the open country.
It was no time for Red Wolf to care what became of the drove, the
hacienda, or the Comanches. He had retreated after sounding his
mischievous whoop, and he was now on the back of one of the stolen
horses, with the others following patiently in a string behind him.
They at least had escaped being stampeded, and at the same time a large
number of their four-footed comrades were on their way to the river
under the care of the successful warriors of Great Bear.
There was no danger that General Bravo's crack regiment would be in
pursuit of anybody very early the next morning.
The night was indeed nearly gone when Jim Cheyne, standing sentry for
the Texans, was hailed from among the bushes,--
"Red Wolf! Want Big Knife. Bring pony."
"Colonel," shouted Jim, "here's that buster boy again. He's been
stealing ponies from the Greasers. He'll do."
"He will!" exclaimed Bowie, springing to his feet and coming forward.
In a few minutes more he said it again, and so did they all with
emphasis, but the colonel added, gloomily,--
"It's almost sun-up, boys. What I want is to hear from Tetzcatl and
Castro and the Lipans."
"Glad we've a lot of fresh mounts, anyhow," said Joe. "What we need
most is to be able to git away."
"We will go to the river-bank first," said Bowie. "Castro is to meet
us there. Even Tetzcatl believed the Lipans had gone across the river."
"If they did it's all day with them," replied Cheyne, but Red Wolf did
not at all understand him. He was just then, under Colonel Bowie's
instructions, selecting for his own use the very best of the fine
animals he had so daringly captured and brought to camp.
The camp-fires were soon blazing, but little time could be given to
breakfast. Their present position was too perilous. Parties of
lancers would surely be out, and there were too many of them. Besides,
there were the Comanches, and no man knew when or where they might make
their appearance.
It was bright morning when the little cavalcade, with its fine supply
of extra horses, filed out from among the woods and went slowly
northward.
"I kind o' wish we were all back at the Alamo," remarked Joe.
"We won't go in that direction jest yit," said Jim Cheyne. "We'd
better ride clean across the continent."
"Halt!" sprang from the lips of Colonel Bowie. "Here he comes! My
God, boys! What's happened?"
Not with his usual swiftly gliding step, but staggering and panting as
if in pain, the old Tlascalan appeared at a little distance ahead of
them. He was alone, and he motioned to them to stay where they were.
"Find Comanche," suggested Red Wolf.
Bowie was silent, but when the old man drew near enough he asked,--
"Did you sight the Lipans?"
"All gone!" gasped Tetzcatl.
"Castro?"
"Gone!" came faintly back. "Great Bear's whole band. My mule! We
must push on! They are crossing the Rio!"
Bowie sprang to the ground and strode forward.
"Man alive!" he said. "Where are you hurt? Tell us the rest of it
while I fix you up. Jim, get that plaster and scissors out of my
saddle-bags. We mustn't lose him just now."
Off came the _serape_ from the old man's shoulders and an awful gash
was discovered. His left arm told of an arrow, and there was a deep
cut on his head. He was tough indeed to have carried all those hurts
with him across the Rio Grande.
"I'm surgeon enough," remarked the colonel. "I don't believe he can
live, boys, but we must do the best we can. Put him on his mule."
The wounds had been dressed with much care and skill, but the wounded
man had hardly seemed to think of them. Briefly and clearly he told of
his scouting beyond the river; of a meeting with Castro and then with
the party of Lipans. There had been an attempt to rejoin the Texans,
but in making it the entire force of Great Bear, called out by the
return of the horse-thieves from the hacienda, had suddenly swarmed
around them. Tetzcatl had escaped mainly because he was on foot, but a
lance-thrust in the dark and the arrows that fell like snow had done
their work upon him. Here he was now, to say as persistently as ever,--
"Gold! The treasure of Montezuma."
"What do we care for gold just now?" grumbled Jim Cheyne. "I'm
thinkin' of the ha'r on my head."
Tetzcatl raised his uninjured arm, as he sat upon his mule, and pointed
toward the hacienda.
"Bravo's lancers," he said, "sweeping the whole country."
"Fact!" said Jim, but Tetzcatl now pointed northward.
"Great Bear and his Comanches all the way to the Alamo."
"That's about so," came from one of the rangers. "We can't git through
'em."
Once more Tetzcatl turned, and now he pointed westward.
"Apaches!" he said. "Bowie must come with me. A few days' ride. Then
he will come back with his ponies loaded."
He spoke with some difficulty, and at the end of his very pointed
remarks he spurred his mule, as if he were going his own way whether or
not the Texans were to follow.
"Boys," said Bowie, "what do you say?"
"Thar isn't a word to say," growled Joe. "We've jest got to git. Come
on, fellers. This crowd's travelling gold or no gold."
"The coast 'll be clear by the time we want to come back," said the
colonel. "We shall hardly meet an enemy going or coming."
So they turned and rode on after the old Tlascalan. Behind them
quietly followed the Lipan boy. His young face was clouded with
sorrow, but the only words that escaped him were,--
"Castro! Great chief of the Lipans! Gone! Red Wolf will strike the
Comanches!"