THE CONTRA-GUERRILLAS.
The last time we saw George Ackerman he was dressed in his cousin's
nobby suit, and was riding away from camp between the two
cattle-thieves, whom Philip, his uncle's cook, had placed upon his
trail. He was their prisoner, and they seemed determined to keep him
too; for one of them, in order to prevent all attempts at escape, held
fast to one end of a lariat, the other end of which was tied around the
neck of George's horse.
The boy was not frightened in the least--he never was, unless he saw
something to be frightened at--but he was anxious and uneasy, as any
body would have been under the same circumstances. He began to believe
now, that Springer told the truth; and that his capture was the result
of the plans his uncle had laid to get him out of the way, so that Ned
could lay claim to the property. But beyond that he was all in the dark.
As long as George remained within sight of the camp he turned in his
saddle, now and then, to look back at the boys from whom he had been so
unexpectedly separated. They were disconsolate enough, if one might
judge by their actions. Gus Robbins was standing in the edge of the
timber gazing stupidly after the prisoner and his captors, as if he had
not yet been able to make up his mind, whether he was awake or dreaming;
and Ned was walking back and forth, wringing his hands and making other
demonstrations indicative of a very agitated state of mind.
"There is nothing for him to cry over," thought George, who was
surprised at his cousin's want of pluck. "He can't get lost if he tries;
and he will be sure to meet his father in Brownsville. He had no
business to shoot those cattle, for I told him he would get himself into
trouble by it."
When the camp and its two unhappy occupants had been left out of sight
behind the swells, George turned to take a good look at his captors.
They were dressed in Mexican costumes; but for all that, he knew that
they were Americans. They were a hard-looking pair; and if he had had
any intention of appealing to their sympathies, one glance at their
faces would have been enough to drive all such thoughts out of his mind.
"I always heard that the Ackermans was a plucky lot, but I didn't allow
to find a kid like you so mighty cool an' keerless like," said one of
the men, after he had looked in vain for some signs of alarm in his
captive's countenance. "Look here! You said that you knew all about
Fletcher, an' I ax you again, who told you about him?"
"And I give you the same reply that I did before," returned George,
"It's my own business. Were you with Fletcher on the night he made the
attack on our rancho?"
"Mebbe we was, an' mebbe we wasn't," replied the man.
"I hardly thought you would confess it," said George. "Philip thought he
was doing a very smart thing when he left that door open, so that you
could go into the house; didn't he?"
George's captors seemed greatly astonished at this question. They stared
fixedly at him for a moment and then they looked at each other.
"You didn't succeed in getting the money-box, did you?" continued
George, who knew that the men would have given something handsome to
know where he received all his information. "You got nothing at the
ranche but a horse--a dark chestnut with white mane and tail, and four
white feet."
"He is over the river now," said one of the men, who was so amazed, that
he spoke before he thought what he was doing.
"I know it."
"Wal, go on. What else do you know?"
"I know that you expect to receive a thousand head of fat cattle, as
your reward, for making a prisoner of me. You can tell Fletcher, for his
satisfaction, that the next time he wants to put a spy into any of the
ranches in this country, he had better select a more reliable man than
that Mexican cook. There!" added George, to himself, "If I am not very
much mistaken, Philip is in a fair way to see as much trouble as he has
tried to get me into."
There could be no doubt about that, if the expression on the faces of
the boy's captors, was any index of the thoughts that were passing
through their minds. He had purposely aroused their suspicions against
the cook, and the significant glances they exchanged with each other,
had a volume of meaning in them.
"When I get home, the first thing I do will be to tell Jake to kick
Philip out of the house," said George, again communing with himself. "Of
course, Fletcher will want to know who told me all these things, and it
would never do to say that I got my information from Springer. I say,"
he added, aloud, "where do you fellows make your home, anyhow?"
"You'll see when you get thar," replied one of the men.
"I suppose you were with Fletcher on the night he jumped down on me and
stampeded my cattle, were you not?" continued George.
"Mebbe we was, an' mebbe we wasn't."
"I know who was there."
"Who?"
"Springer. He used to herd cattle for my father, you know, and I
recognised him the moment I put my eyes on him. He was shot right
there," said George, placing the forefingers of each hand on his legs to
indicate the spots where Zeke's bullets had found a lodgement. "He was
badly injured, too, and I don't believe he ever got back across the
river."
"Wal, he did," said one of the men. "He had a hard time of it, but he
got through all right, an' he's thar now."
"I am very glad to hear it," said George, to himself. "That's just what
I was trying to get at. If I can find him, perhaps he will help me
escape."
George held no further conversation with his captors during the ride,
for they were busy talking with each other. As they conversed wholly in
the Spanish language, George could not understand what they said, but
still he knew that they were talking about Philip, for he heard his name
mentioned now and then, and it was almost always coupled with an oath.
They seemed to think that their trusted spy had been guilty of
treachery, and they made a report to that effect when they got across
the river.
It was five miles to the nearest belt of timber, and while they were
travelling toward it, the cattle-thieves exercised the utmost caution,
stopping on the top of every swell and sweeping their eyes around the
horizon to make sure that there was no one in sight. But they reached
the timber without being seen by anybody, and there they camped to wait
until dark. They did not think it safe to approach the ford in broad
daylight. George now had an opportunity to finish the nap from which he
had been so rudely awakened, and the cattle-thieves took turns in
standing guard.
When night came, he was ordered into the saddle again and led toward the
ford, his captors taking the same precautions as before to prevent his
escape. They crossed the river in safety, and as soon as their horses
had mounted the opposite bank, they were put to their full speed. There
was no need of concealment now, for the cattle-thieves were among
friends who, had they been pursued by ranchemen or troops from Texas,
would have done everything in their power to aid them to escape.
They now had a journey of eighteen miles before them, and it required
but a little over two hours for them to accomplish it. It was so dark at
first that George could not see his hand before him; but the moon arose
after a while, and then he was able to see that they were following a
well-beaten trail, which ran in a tortuous course through the hills.
This trail finally led them into a wide valley, from the middle of which
arose the whitewashed walls of what had been a comfortable rancho.
Their horses' hoofs rang out loudly on the pavement as they rode
unchallenged into the open gateway and along the arched passage that led
to the spacious _patio_ or court-yard. It was deserted, save by a few
goats that were feeding at a pile of fodder in one corner, and a
disconsolate dog or two which, having been awakened from his sleep, was
stealing off under the shadow of the walls to find a new resting-place.
On the four sides of the court-yard, doorways without doors yawned
darkly at the intruders. In front of one of these doors the
cattle-thieves dismounted, and while one remained outside to guard the
prisoner, the other entered with the horses, which he hitched there and
supplied with a feed of corn. When he came out again, he brought the
saddles and blankets with him.
"Now then," said he, as he led the way into one of the adjoining
apartments, "we'll go in here. Thar's plenty of room in our hotel, and
thar's no need of crowdin' the boarders. Spread your blanket down
anywheres, young fellow, and don't try to skip outen here durin' the
night, fur we always sleep with one eye open."
As if to put all attempts at escape out of the question, the speaker
spread his own couch in front of the door and stretched himself upon it.
A bed which consists simply of a blanket and saddle is quickly made up,
and George, who had not yet recovered from the fatigue of his five days'
journey on foot, fell fast asleep almost as soon as he took possession
of it. When he awoke at daylight he was not a little astonished at what
he saw. The rooms opening off the court-yard, which had been so silent
and apparently deserted when he rode into the rancho had, during his
sleep, given up a most unexpected tenantry--men, women, children, goats
and dogs, so many, in fact, that it was a wonder where they all came
from. A confused babel of voices saluted his ears, and finally awoke his
captors, who made no effort to restrain him when he put on his sombrero
and walked out into the courtyard.
Having heard some astonishing stories told of the almost regal state
maintained by wealthy Mexican rancheros before the war, George looked
about him with the greatest interest. On every side he saw the lingering
remains of departed grandeur. In the centre of the court-yard was a
ruined fountain, and beyond it was a long column of fluted pillars,
with gaily-carved capitals. In front of these pillars were the remains
of a garden, now trodden hard with the pressure of many feet, but still
affording a little sustenance to a few flowerless shrubs and one or two
sickly orange and fig trees. Upon the broad stone verandah on the other
side of the fluted columns the master of the house had doubtless feasted
his guests, or smoked and dozed away the time in his hammock, while the
fountain played merrily and the air was redolent of the perfume of
flowers. Now slouching figures, clad in rusty leather trowsers and
velvet jackets, and smoking villainous cigarettes, swaggered through the
court-yard, and from the adjoining rooms, with their tessellated floors
and frescoed ceilings, came the impatient calls of hungry cattle and
horses, which were growing tired of waiting for their breakfast.
While George was wondering where the master was, and what had happened
to bring about so great a change in the house, he walked slowly along
the court-yard, glancing into all the rooms as he passed, and no one
spoke to him, or even seemed to notice him. He took a survey of the
verandah, which was littered with blankets, ponchos, saddles and
weapons, and was about to retrace his steps, when he heard a suppressed
exclamation of astonishment near him, and turned quickly to find himself
face to face with his father's old herdsman, the cattle-thief who had
warned him against his Uncle John. He sat on his blanket, with his back
against the wall, and the crutches which lay by his side proved that he
had not yet fully recovered from the wounds that had been inflicted upon
him by Zeke's Winchester.
"Hallo, Springer!" exclaimed George, starting forward; but as he was
about to mount the steps leading to the verandah, the man threw up his
hand, with a warning gesture.
"Keep your distance," said he, in a low tone. "We mustn't be too
friendly, kase thar's too many watchin' you!"
"Humph!" exclaimed George. "There doesn't seem to be anybody watching
me. I have been all around the court-yard, and nobody said a word to
me."
"No difference," replied Springer. "They all know you, and have got
their eyes on you. Don't you think now that I knowed what I was talking
about when I told you that your uncle wasn't no friend of your'n? Where
did they find you?"
"They surprised and captured me while I was on my way to Brownsville,"
replied George, who, still adhering to the resolution he had already
made that he would not discuss private family matters with such a fellow
as Springer, hastened to add, "Who runs this rancho, and what are these
men doing here? Are they all cattle-thieves? There must be five or six
hundred of them."
"The house belongs to Don Miguel de--something; I disremember the last
name," answered Springer. "You see he thought when Max came over here,
him and the French soldiers would be sure to clean out Juarez; so the
Don, he accepts some kind of an office under the emperor, and Juarez, he
confiscates his property, and Max, he sends a regiment here to watch
things. But they don't find nothing much to watch, all the property
'ceptin' the house havin' been took away, an' so they settles down to
cattle stealin'."
"Then these men are Maximilian's soldiers, are they?" said George.
"Yes; they're the contra-guerrillas, and a bad lot they are, too."
"I have heard of them," said George, with an involuntary shudder. "The
people in Brownsville and Matamoras say there is not a man in the whole
crowd who has not committed some crime."
"No more is there," replied Springer. "I'd oughter know, kase I belong
to 'em."
"Is Fletcher the colonel of the regiment?"
"No. He's only the boss of the cattle stealin' expeditions, kase he
knows the country and the ranches on the other side of the river
better'n any body else. His idea of stealing you was a little private
speculation of his'n, an' thar's only a few of us into it. Philip is the
one that put him up to it. You see, he heard your uncle an' that boy of
his'n talkin' agin you, an' wishin' you was out of the way so't they
could have the ranche all theirselves, an' Philip, he skirmished around
in that sly way of his'n till he got on your uncle's blind side, an'
then he told him that if he'd promise to leave a thousand head of cattle
where they could be stole easy, he'd see that you didn't never trouble
him no more. I wouldn't tell you no lie about this business," added
Springer, earnestly. "You give me grub and water when I was starvin' fur
'em, an' put me on my hoss, an' give me a chance for my life, when
nobody else wouldn't a done it; an' I'm goin' to do you a good turn to
pay you for it, if I can."
"Well, it is quite in your power to do me a good turn," said George,
quietly. "You can help me get away from here."
"O, no, I can't do that," exclaimed Springer. "I want to put you on your
guard against your uncle an' cousin, so that you will look out for them.
They mean harm to you, sure's you're born!"
"And it seems that they have carried out their plans, too," said George,
dolefully. "Have you any idea what these fellows intend to do with me?"
"They ain't agoin' to do nothing to you," said Springer, encouragingly.
"They've just going to hold fast to you, that's all; an' as long as
Fletcher has got you under his thumb, he's just as good as owner of the
Ackerman ranche an' all the cattle that's onto it. You see?"
"No, I don't," answered George.
"Wal, then I'll make it plain to you. A'most all the beef we get for our
army comes from over the river. The soldiers eat a power of it, an' when
the quartermaster wants some more, he'll send word to Fletcher, an'
Fletcher, he'll send word to your uncle by that Mexican cook of his'n
to bring in another thousand head so't we can steal 'em, an' your uncle,
he'll have to do it; kase if he don't, Fletcher, he'll blow the whole
thing, an' what would the neighbors do to your Uncle John? They'd handle
him rough, I tell you!"
George made no reply. He could not bear to think of what the settlers
would do if they were acquainted with the fact that Uncle John had
deliberately caused his nephew to be captured and carried off by the
guerrillas in order that he might obtain possession of his property. It
was very probable that they would "handle him rough," and that, too,
without the aid of judge or jury.
"But look here, Springer," said George, after a moment's reflection.
"You told me that you were to receive only a thousand head of cattle for
capturing me. When you get them you can't demand any more."
"We can an' we will," said Springer, stoutly. "We'll ax for cattle just
as often as we please, an' your Uncle John, he dassen't say no to us.
That's Fletcher's plan."
"This is a pretty state of affairs," said George, angrily. "Must I pay
for my capture out of my own pocket, and then stand still and allow
myself to be stripped clean?"
Springer shrugged his shoulders as if to say that the boy could answer
these questions in any way he pleased, and the latter, after turning the
situation over in his mind, said with all the bitterness he could throw
into his tones:
"I am not going to stay here and be robbed in this way. The Mexican
government can't protect me, and my own government won't, for fear of
hurting the feelings of you cattle-stealing gentlemen, and I am going to
take care of myself. Springer, you must assist me to escape."
We must pause here for a moment to give the reader some idea of the
state of affairs on our Texan border at the time of which we write, for
George was quite correct when he said that the Mexican government could
not protect him and that his own government would not.
From the days of Jacob Sadelmayer, who visited the Apache country about
the year 1744, until within a few years past, the Mexican people allowed
themselves to be regularly and systematically robbed by bands of raiding
Indians who were armed with nothing more formidable than bows and
arrows. During our civil war, and for years afterward, these Indians
turned their attention to the frontier settlements of Texas, and forced
them back a hundred and fifty miles. Our government uttered some feeble
protests, but it was not to be expected that a people who had for so
many years submitted to the forays of these savages, were going to make
vigorous warfare upon them for our protection. It was not to their
interest to do so, for the reason that as long as these raiders could
find market for their plunder in Mexico, and could retreat there to get
out of reach of our troops, they allowed the Mexicans themselves to rest
in peace.
At the time George Ackerman was taken prisoner, Maximilian, having been
abandoned by the French soldiers, who had been withdrawn on the demand
of our government, was making his last stand against Juarez. His
soldiers were deserting him by hundreds, and as the most of them would
rather steal than work any day, they formed themselves into bands, and
plundered their own countrymen and the Texans with the greatest
impartiality. Fletcher and his band nominally belonged to one of
Maximilian's regiments, but they were nothing better than professional
thieves. They formed a sort of foraging party; but instead of foraging
upon the enemy, they raided upon the Texans, drove off their cattle and
sold them to Maximilian's commissary. These raiding parties were almost
always pursued, and although some of them were overtaken and punished,
the majority succeeded in crossing the river, where they were safe. The
Mexican authorities would not arrest them, and our troops dared not
follow them over the Rio Grande for fear of bringing on a war with
Mexico. Texan ranchemen, when they passed through Mexican towns, often
found property there that had been stolen from them, but their demands
for it were met with derision and contempt.
This was the way matters stood on the morning that George Ackerman found
himself a prisoner among the Contra-Guerrillas. His chances for seeing
home and friends again would have been much better if the United States
and Mexico had been at war and he had been captured in battle, for then
he might have looked forward to an exchange; but as it was, there was no
such hope for him.