Chapter 27 - Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora by Mayne Reid
The Lone Fire in the Forest
The motive for this hasty departure from the hacienda was unknown only to Benito and the other domestics. The cavalier adventurers were aware of its object though two of them, Baraja and Oroche, had no very clear understanding upon the matter. The fumes of the mezcal were still in their heads, and it was with difficulty they could balance themselves in the saddle. They were sensible of their situation, and did their best to conceal it from the eyes of the chief.
“Am I straight in my stirrups?” whispered Oroche addressing himself to Baraja.
“Straight as a bamboo!” replied the other. “Do I appear firm?” inquired he in turn.
“Firm as a rock,” was the response.
Thanks to the efforts they were making to keep themselves upright, Don Estevan, as he glanced over the ranks of his followers, did not observe anything amiss. Cuchillo, however, knowing that they were not in a fit state for inspection regarded them with an anxious glance.
As Don Estevan was about to mount, the outlaw rode up to him, and pointing to the others with an expressive gesture, said, “If your honour desires me to act as guide, and give the order of march, I am ready to enter upon my duties.”
“Very well,” replied Don Estevan, springing into the saddle, “commence at any moment, but let us be gone as soon as possible.”
“Benito!” shouted the newly appointed guide, “take the remuda and recua in advance; you will wait for us at the bridge of the Salto de Agua.”
Benito, with the other attendants, obeyed the order in silence; and the moment after were moving with their respective charges along the road leading to Tubac. A little later the cavalcade rode out of the court-yard of the hacienda, and turning round the wall of the enclosure, guided by Cuchillo, proceeded toward the breach through which Tiburcio had passed. The guide was riding by the side of Don Estevan.
“We have found his traces,” said he to the chief, as they moved forward; “he is down in the forest.”
“Where?”
“Do you see a light yonder shining through the trees?”
The mysterious light was gleaming, just as Tiburcio had first seen it from his window. It was to this that Cuchillo directed the attention of the chief.
“Yes,” replied the latter, “what of it?”
“It is the camp-fire of some travellers; and in all probability the fellow will be found there. So,” continued he, with a hideous smile, “we are going to give chase to a wild colt—which will be better than hunting Don Augustin’s wild horses—and here are the three hunters.”
As the outlaw said this, he pointed with his whip, first to himself, and then to his two comrades, Oroche and Baraja.
“They have both espoused our quarrel,” he added.
“From what motive?” inquired the Spaniard.
“That motive which the hound has in taking the part of the hunter against the stag,” answered the outlaw, with a significant smile; “they only follow their instincts, and they are two animals with formidable teeth.”
At this moment the moon shone out, and gleaming upon the carbines and knives of the two adventurers, seemed to confirm the assertion of Cuchillo. But the light proved disadvantageous to Baraja and Oroche, for it enabled Don Estevan to perceive that they were far from steady in their seats.
“Why, these fellows are drunk!” cried he, turning upon the guide a look of furious reproach. “Are these the assistants you count upon?”
“True, your honour,” replied Cuchillo, “they are not exactly sober; but I hope soon to cure them. I know of a remedy that will set them all right in five minutes. It is the fruit of the jocuistle, which grows abundantly in these parts. I shall find it as soon as we have reached the woods.”
Don Estevan was forced to swallow his chagrin in silence. It was not the time for vain recriminations; and above all, Tiburcio had first to be found, before the services of either of the inebriated gentlemen would be called into requisition.
In a few seconds’ time the party had reached the breach in the wall. Cuchillo dismounted, and striking a light, pointed out to the others the traces left by Tiburcio. There could be seen some fragments freshly fallen from the wall, evidently detached by the feet of one passing over; but what was of more consequence, they were stained with drops of blood. This must have been Tiburcio’s.
“You see,” said the outlaw to Don Estevan, “that he must have passed this way. Ah! if I had only given him another inch or two. After all,” added he, speaking to himself, “it is better I didn’t. I shall be twenty onzas the richer that I didn’t settle with him then. Now,” continued he, once more raising his voice, “where can he have gone, unless to yonder fire in the woods?”
A little farther on in the direction of the forest, other spots of fresh blood were discovered upon the dry calcareous surface of the soil. This appeared to confirm the conjecture of the guide—that Tiburcio had proceeded towards the camp-fire.
“If your honour,” resumed Cuchillo, addressing himself to his chief, “will go forward in company with the Señor Diaz, you will reach a stream running upon your left. By following down its bank for some distance, you will come to a bridge constructed with three or four trunks of trees. It is the bridge of the Salto de Agua. Just before reaching it, your honour will see a thick wood on the right. Under cover of that you can remain, until we three have finished our affair and rejoin you. Afterwards we can overtake the domestics. I have ordered them forward, for the reason that such people should not be privy either to our designs or actions.”
In this arrangement Cuchillo exhibited the consummate skill of the practiced bandit. Don Estevan, without offering any opposition to his plan, rode off as directed, in company with Diaz; while the outlaw, with his two chosen acolytes turned their horses’ heads in the direction of the fire.
“The fire betokens a halt of travellers, beyond doubt,” remarked Diaz to Don Estevan; “but who these travellers can be is a thing that puzzles me.”
“Travellers like any others, I suppose,” rejoined the Spaniard, with an air of abstraction.
“No, that is not likely. Don Augustin Peña is known for his generous hospitality for twenty leagues around. It is not probable that these travellers should have halted so near his hacienda without knowing it. They must be strangers to the country I fancy, or if not, they have no good purpose in camping where they are.”
Pedro Diaz was making almost the same observations that had occurred to Tiburcio at an earlier hour of the night.
Meanwhile, Cuchillo, with his two comrades, advanced towards the edge of the forest. As soon as they had reached it the guide dismounted from his horse.
“Stay here,” said he, “while I go fetch something to cure you of your ill-timed drunkenness.”
So saying he glided in among the trees, and in a few seconds came out again, carrying with him several oblong yellow-coloured fruits that resembled ripe bananas. They were the fruits of the jocuistle, a species of asimina, whose juice is an infallible remedy against the effects of intoxication. The two inebriates ate of the fruit according to Cuchillo’s direction; and in a minute or two their heads were cleared of the fumes of the mezcal as if by enchantment.
“Now to business!” cried Cuchillo, without listening to the apologies his comrades were disposed to make—“to business! You will dismount and lead your horses forward by the bridle, until you can see the fire; and when you hear the report of my gun, be ready, for I shall then fall back upon you.”
“All right,” responded Oroche, “we are both ready—the Señor Baraja and myself—to sacrifice all private interests to the common good.”
Cuchillo now parted with the two, leading his horse ahead of them. A little farther on he tied the animal to the branch of a tree, and then stooping downward he advanced on foot. Still farther on he dropped upon his hands and knees, and crept through the underwood like a jaguar stealing upon its prey.
Now and then he paused and listened. He could hear the distant lowing of the wild bulls, and the crowing of the cocks at the hacienda, mingled with the lugubrious notes of the great wood owl, perched near him upon a branch. He could hear the distant sound of water—the cataract of the Salto de Agua—and, in the same direction, the continuous howling of the jackals.
Again the assassin advanced—still creeping as before. Presently he saw before him the open glade, lit up by the flame of the camp-fire. On the edge nearest him, stood a huge button-wood tree, from whose base extended a number of flat ridge-like processes, resembling the bastions of a fortification. He perceived that, behind these he would be concealed from the light of the fire; while he himself could command a view of every object within the glade.
In another moment he was crouching under the trunk of the button-wood. His eyes gleamed with a fierce joy, as he gazed in the direction of the fire, around which he could distinguish the forms of three men—two of them seated, the other stretched along the ground, and apparently asleep.