When the cibolero returned to the plain, he was received with a fresh
burst of vivas, and kerchiefs were waved to greet him. One only caught
his eye,--but that was enough. He saw not the rest, nor cared to see
them. That little perfumed piece of cambric, with its lace border, was
to him an ensign of hope--a banner that would have beckoned him on to
achieve deeds of still higher daring. He saw it held aloft by a small
jewelled hand, and waved in triumph for _him_. He was happy.
He passed the stand, rode up to the carreta, and, dismounting, kissed
his mother and sister. He was followed by Don Juan, his backer;--and
there were those who noticed that the eyes of the blonde were not always
upon her brother: there was another on the ground who shared their kind
glances, and that other was the young ranchero. No one, not even the
dullest, could fail to notice that these kind glances were more than
repaid. It was an affair of mutual and understood love, beyond a doubt.
Though Don Juan was a rich young farmer, and by courtesy a "Don," yet in
rank he was but a degree above the cibolero--the degree which wealth
confers. He was not one of the high aristocracy of the place,--about
that he cared little; but he had the character of being a brave,
spirited young fellow; and in time, if he desired it, might mingle with
the "sangre azul." It was not likely he ever should--at least through
the influence of marriage. Any one who was witness to the ardent
glances exchanged between his eyes and those of the cibolero's sister,
would prophesy with ease that Don Juan was not going to marry among the
aristocracy.
It was a happy little group around the carreta, and there was feasting,
too,--dulces, and orgeat, and wine from El Taso of the best vintage.
Don Juan was not afraid to spend money, and he had no reason on that
occasion, with fifty onzas of clear gain in his pocket--a fact that by
no means sat easily on the mind of the Comandante.
The latter was observed, with a clouded countenance, strolling around,
occasionally approaching the carreta, and glancing somewhat rudely
towards the group. His glances were, in fact, directed on Rosita, and
the consciousness of his almost despotic power rendered him careless of
concealing his designs. His admiration was expressed in such a manner
that many could perceive it. The poor girl's eyes fell timidly when
they encountered his, and Don Juan, having noticed it, was not without
feelings of anger as well as uneasiness. He knew the character of the
Comandante, as well as the dangerous power with which he was armed. O
Liberty! what a glorious thing art thou! How many hopes are blighted,
how many loves crossed, and hearts crushed, in a land where thou art
not! where the myrmidons of tyranny have power to thwart the purpose of
a life, or arrest the natural flow of its affections!
Several games were yet carried on upon the plain, but they were without
general interest. The splendid feat of the cibolero had eclipsed all
lesser exhibitions for the time; besides, a number of the head men were
out of humour. Vizcarra was sad, and Roblado savage--jealous of
Catalina. The alcalde and his assistant were in a vexed state, as both
had bet heavy sums on the red cock. Both the padres had lost at
_monte_, and they were no longer in a Christian spirit. The cura alone
was in good spirits, and ready to back the "pardo" for another main.
The concluding game was at length heralded. It was to be the "_Correr
el gallo_" (running the cock). As this is rather an exciting sport, the
"_monte_" tables and other minor amusements were once more put aside;
and all prepared to watch "el gallo."
"Running the cock" is a New Mexican game in all its characteristics. It
is easily described. Thus: A cock is suspended by the limbs to a
horizontal branch, at just such a height that a mounted man may lay hold
of his head and neck hanging downward. The bird is fastened in such a
manner that a smart pluck will detach him from the tree; while, to
render this the more difficult, both head and neck are well covered with
soap. The horseman must be in full gallop while passing under the
branch; and he who succeeds in plucking down the cock is pursued by all
the others, who endeavour to rob him of the prize. He has a fixed point
to run round, and his goal is the tree from which he started. Sometimes
he is over, taken before reaching this, the cock snatched from him,--or,
as not infrequently happens, torn to pieces in the contest. Should he
succeed in getting back--still retaining the bird entire--he is then
declared victor. The scene ends by his laying his prize at the feet of
his mistress; and she--usually some pretty poblana--appears that same
evening at the fandango with the feathered trophy under her arm--thus
signifying her appreciation of the compliment paid her, as well as
giving to the _fandangueros_ ocular proof of the fact that some skilful
horseman is her admirer. It is a cruel sport, for it must be remembered
that the poor cock who undergoes all this plucking and mangling is a
_living bird_! It is doubtful whether a thought of the _cruelty_ ever
entered the mind of a New Mexican. If so, it must have been a New
Mexican _woman_; for the humanity of these is in an inverse ratio to
that of their lords. For the women it may be urged that the sport is a
custom of the country; and what country is without its cruel sports? Is
it rational or consistent to weep over the sufferings of Chanticleer,
while we ride gaily upon the heels of poor broken Reynard?
There are two modes of the "Correr el gallo." The first has been
described. The second only differs from it in the fact that the cock,
instead of being tied to a tree, is buried up to his shoulders in the
earth. The horsemen, as before, pass in routine--each bending from his
saddle, and striving to pluck the bird out of the ground. For the rest
the conditions are the same as before.
The first cock was hung to a branch; and the competitors having taken
their places in a line, the game commenced.
Several made the attempt, and actually seized the bird's head, but the
soap foiled them.
The dragoon sergeant was once more a competitor; but whether his colonel
made any further bet upon him is not known. The Comandante had gambled
enough for that day; and but for a little peculation which he enjoyed
upon the mining "derechos," and other little customs dues, he would have
felt his losses still more severely. Out of the derechos, however, he
knew he could square himself at the expense of the vice-regal
government.
The sergeant, who, as already stated, had the advantage of a tall figure
and a tall horse, was able to get a full grasp at the neck of the bird;
and being already provided, as was afterwards ascertained, with a
fistful of sand, he took the prize with him, and galloped off.
But there were swifter horses than his on the ground; and before he
could double the turning-post he was overtaken by an active vaquero, and
lost a wing of his bird. Another wing was plucked from him by a second
pursuer; and he returned to the tree with nothing but a fragment left!
Of course he received neither _vivas_ nor cheers.
Carlos the cibolero took no part in this contest. He knew that he had
won glory enough for that day--that he had made both friends and
enemies, and he did not desire to swell the list of either. Some of the
bystanders, however, began to banter him, wishing, no doubt, to see him
again exhibit his fine horsemanship. He withstood this for some time,
until two more cocks were plucked from the tree--the vaquero already
alluded to carrying one of them clear, and laying it at the feet of his
smiling sweetheart.
A new thought seemed now to have entered the mind of Carlos, and he was
seen riding into the lists, evidently about to take part in the next
race.
"It will be some time before I can be present at another fiesta,"
remarked he to Don Juan. "Day after to-morrow I start for the plains.
So I'll take all the sport I can out of this one."
An innovation was now introduced in the game. The bird was buried in
the ground; and its long neck and sharp-pointed bill showed that it was
no cock, but a snow-white "gruya," one of the beautiful species of
herons common in these regions. Its fine tapering neck was not soiled
with soap, but left in its natural state. In this case the chances of
failure lay in the fact that, loosely buried as it was, the gruya would
not allow its head to be approached by a hand, but jerked it from side
to side, thus rendering it no easy matter to get hold of it.
The signal being given, away went the string of horsemen! Carlos was
among the last, but on coming up he saw the white bending neck still
there. His hand was too quick for the bird, and the next moment it was
dragged from the yielding sand, and flapping its snowy wings over the
withers of his horse.
It required not only speed on the part of Carlos, but great adroitness,
to pass the crowd of horsemen, who now rushed from all points to
intercept him. Here he dashed forward--there reined up--anon wheeled
round a rider, and passed behind him; and, after a dozen such
manoeuvres, the black horse was seen shooting off towards the
turning-post alone. This passed, he galloped back to the goal, and
holding up his prize, unstained and intact, received the applause of the
spectators.
There was a good deal of guessing and wondering as to who would be the
recipient of the trophy. Some girl of his own rank, conjectured the
crowd; some poblana or ranchero's daughter. The cibolero did not seem
in haste to gratify their curiosity; but, after a few minutes, he
astonished them all, by flinging the gruya into the air, and suffering
it to fly off. The bird rose majestically upward, and then, drawing in
its long neck, was seen winging its way toward the lower end of the
valley.
It was observed that before parting with the bird Carlos had plucked
from its shoulders the long gossamer-like feathers that distinguish the
heron species. These he was tying into a plume.
Having accomplished this, he put spurs to his horse, and, galloping up
to the front of the stand, he bent gracefully forward, and deposited the
trophy at the feet of _Catalina de Cruces_!
A murmur of surprise ran through the crowd, and sharp censure followed
fast. What! a cibolero,--a poor devil, of whom nothing was known,
aspire to the smiles of a rico's daughter? It was not a compliment. It
was an insult! Presumption intolerable!
And these critiques were not confined to the senoras and senoritas. The
poblanas and rancheros were as bitter as they. These felt themselves
slighted--passed by--regularly jilted--by one of their own class.
Catalina de Cruces, indeed!
Catalina--her situation was pleasant, yet painful--painful, because
embarrassing. She smiled, then blushed, uttered a soft "_Gracias,
cavallero_!" yet hesitated a moment whether to take up the trophy. A
scowling father had started to his feet on one side, on the other a
scowling lover. The last was Roblado.
"Insolent!" cried he, seizing the plume, and flinging it to the earth;
"insolent!"
Carlos bent down from his saddle, once more laid hold of the plume, and
stuck it under the gold band of his hat. Then, turning a defiant glance
upon the officer, he said, "Don't lose your temper, Captain Roblado. A
jealous lover makes but an indifferent husband." And transferring his
look to Catalina, he added with a smile, and in a changed tone,
"Gracias, senorita!"
As he said this he doffed his sombrero, and, waving it gracefully,
turned his horse and rode off.
Roblado half drew his sword, and his loud "Carrajo!" along with the
muttered imprecations of Don Ambrosio, reached the ears of the cibolero.
But the captain was far from brave, with all his swagger; and seeing
the long _machete_ of the horseman strapped over his hips, he vented his
spite in threats only, and suffered Carlos to depart.
The incident had created no small excitement, and a good deal of angry
feeling. The cibolero had roused the indignation of the aristocracy,
and the jealousy and envy of the democracy; so that, after all his
brilliant performances, he was likely to leave the field anything but a
favourite. The wild words of his strange old mother had been widely
reported, and national hatred was aroused, so that his skill called
forth envy instead of admiration. An angel indeed, should he have been
to have won friendship there--he an Americano--a "heretico"--for in this
far corner of the earth fanaticism was as fierce as in the Seven-hilled
City itself during the gloomiest days of the Inquisition!
Mayhap it was as well for Carlos that the sports were now ended, and the
fiesta about to close.
In a few minutes the company began to move off. The mules, oxen, and
asses, were yoked to the carretas--the rancheros and rancheras climbed
inside the deep boxes; and then, what with the cracking of quirts, the
shouts of drivers, and the hideous screaming of the ungreased axles, a
concert of sounds arose that would have astonished any human being,
except a born native of the soil.
In half-an-hour the ground was clear, and the lean coyote might be seen
skulking over the spot in search of a morsel for his hungry maw.