On arriving at the month of the ravine he halted--not in the middle of
the plain, but under the shadow of the rocks--the same rocks where the
hunters had placed themselves in ambush. He did not dismount, but sat
in his saddle, gazing up the canon, and listening for some token of the
expected pursuit.
He had not been long in this spot when he perceived a dark object
approaching him. It gave him joy, for he recognised Cibolo coming along
his trail. The next moment the dog was by his stirrup. The cibolero
bent down in his saddle, and perceived that the poor brute was badly cut
and bleeding profusely. Several gashes appeared along his side, and one
near his shoulder exhibited a flap of hanging skin, over which the red
stream was pouring. The animal was evidently weak from loss of blood,
and tottered in his tracks.
"Amigo!" said Carlos, "you have saved my life to a certainty. It's my
turn to save yours--if I can."
As he said this he dismounted, and, taking the dog in his arms, climbed
back into the saddle.
For a while he sat reflecting what to do, with his eyes turned in the
direction from which he expected the pursuit.
He had now no doubt as to who were the occupants of the cave. The bay
of the hound was satisfactory evidence of the presence of the yellow
hunter, and of course the zambo was along with him. Carlos knew of no
other bloodhound in the settlement--the one heard must be that of the
mulatto.
For some minutes he remained by the rocks, considering what course he
had best take.
"I'll ride on to the grove," reflected he, "and hide in it till Antonio
comes. They can't track me this night--it will be too dark. The whole
sky is becoming clouded--there will be no more moon to-night I can lie
hid all day to-morrow, if they don't follow. If they do, why, I can see
them far enough off to ride away. My poor Cibolo, how you bleed!
Heavens, what a gash! Patience, brave friend! When we halt, your
wounds shall be looked to. Yes! to the grove I'll go. They won't
suspect me of taking that direction, as it is towards the settlements.
Besides they can't trail me in the darkness. Ha! what am I thinking
of?--not trail me in the darkness! What! I had forgotten the
bloodhound! O God, preserve me! These fiends can follow me were it as
dark as pitch! God preserve me!"
An anxious expression came over his countenance, and partly from the
burden he held in his arms, and partly from the weight of his thoughts,
he dropped into an attitude that betokened deep depression. For the
first time the hunted outlaw showed symptoms of despair.
For a long while he remained with his head leaning forward, and his body
bent over the neck of his horse.
But he had not yet yielded to despair.
All at once he started up, as if some thought, suddenly conceived, had
given him hopes. A new resolution seemed to have been taken.
"Yes!" he soliloquised, "I shall go to the grove--direct to the grove.
Ha! you bloodthirsty yellow-skin, I'll try your boasted skill. We shall
see--we shall see. Maybe you'll get your reward, but not that you are
counting upon. You have yet something to do before you take the scalp
of Carlos the cibolero!"
Muttering these words he turned his horse's head, renewed his hold of
the dog and the bridle, and set off across the plain.
He rode at a rapid pace, and without casting a look behind him. He
appeared to be in a hurry, though it could not be from fear of being
overtaken. No one was likely to come up with him, so long as he kept on
at such a pace.
He was silent, except now and then when he addressed some kind word to
the dog Cibolo, whose blood ran over his thighs, and down the flanks of
the horse. The poor brute was weak, and could no longer have kept his
feet.
"Patience, old friend!--patience!--you shall soon have rest from this
jolting."
In less than an hour he had reached the lone grove on the Pecos--the
same where he had lately parted with Antonio. Here he halted. It was
the goal of his journey. Within that grove he had resolved on passing
the remainder of the night, and, if not disturbed, the whole of the
following day.
The Pecos at this point, and for many miles above and below, ran between
low banks that rose vertically from the water. On both sides its
"bottom" was a smooth plain, extending for miles back, where it stepped
up to a higher level. It was nearly treeless. Scattered clumps grew at
distant intervals, and along its margin a slight fringing of willows.
This fringe was not continuous, but broken here and there by gaps,
through which the water might be seen. The timber clumps were composed
of cotton-wood trees and live-oak, with acacias forming an underwood,
and occasionally plants of cactus growing near.
These groves were so small, and so distant from each other, that they
did not intercept the general view of the surface, and a person
occupying one of them could see a horseman, or other large object, at a
great distance. A man concealed in them could not have been approached
by his enemy in daylight, if awake and watching. At night, of course,
it was different, and the security then afforded depended upon the
degree of darkness.
The "motte" at which the cibolero had arrived was far apart from any of
the others, and commanded a view of the river bottom on both sides for
more than a mile's distance. The grove itself was but a few acres in
size, but the fringe of willows running along the stream at both ends
gave it, when viewed from a distance, the appearance of a wood of larger
dimensions. It stood upon the very bank of the stream, and the selvedge
of willows looked like its prolongation. These, however, reached but a
few feet from the water's edge, while the grove timber ran out several
hundred yards into the plain.
About this grove there was a peculiarity. Its central part was not
timbered, but open, and covered only with a smooth sward of
gramma-grass. It was, in fact, a glade, nearly circular in shape, and
about a hundred yards in diameter. On one side of this glade the river
impinged, its bank being almost a tangent line to it. Here there was a
gap in the timber, so that out of the glade could be obtained a view of
the bottom on the other side of the stream. Diametrically opposite to
this gap another opening, of an avenue-like form, led out into the
adjacent plain, so that the grove was in reality bisected by an open
line, which separated it into two groves, nearly equal in extent. This
separation could only be observed from certain positions in the plain--
one on each side of the river.
The glade, the avenue of a dozen yards loading from it to the outside
plain, and the plain itself, were all perfectly level, and covered with
a smooth turf. Any object upon their surface would be easily
perceptible at a distance. The grove was thickly stocked with
underwood--principally the smaller species of "mezquite." There was
also a network of vines and llianas that, stretching upward, twined
around the limbs of the live-oaks--the latter forming the highest and
largest timber of all. The underwood was impenetrable to the eye,
though a hunter could have crept through it in pursuit of game. At
night, however, even under moonlight, it appeared a dark and impassable
thicket.
On one side of the glade, where the ground was dry and sandy, there
stood a small clump of _pitahaya_ cactus. There were not over a dozen
plants in all, but two or three of them were large specimens, sending up
their soft succulent limbs nearly as high as the live-oaks. Standing by
themselves in massive columns, and so unlike the trees that surrounded
them, they gave a peculiar character to the scene; and the eye,
unaccustomed to these gigantic candelabra, would scarce have known to
what kingdom of nature they belonged--so unlike were they to the
ordinary forms of vegetation.
Such were the features of the spot where the hunted outlaw sought
shelter for the night.