Chapter 4 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid
The sports continue. The bull thrown by the cibolero, now cowed, walks moodily across the plain. He would not serve for a second run, so he is lazoed and led off,—to be delivered to the victor as his prize.
A second is brought forth and started, with a fresh dozen of horsemen at his heels.
These seem to be better matched, or rather the bull has not run off so well, as all overtake him at once, riding past him in their headlong speed. Most unexpectedly the animal turns in his tracks, and runs back, heading directly for the stand!
Loud screams are heard from the poblanas in the carretas—from the señoras and señoritas. No wonder. In ten seconds the enraged brute will be in their midst!
The pursuing horsemen are still far behind him. The sudden turning in their headlong race threw them out of distance. Even the foremost of them cannot come up in time.
The other horsemen are all dismounted. No man on foot will dare to check the onward rush of a goaded bull!
Confusion and loud shouting among the men, terror and screaming among the women, are the characteristics of the scene. Lives will be lost—perhaps many. None know but that they themselves may be the victims!
The strings of carretas filled with their terrified occupants flank the stand on each side; but, running farther out into the plain, form with it a sort of semicircle. The bull enters this semicircle, and guided by the carretas rushes down, heading directly for the benches, as though determined to break through in that direction. The ladies have risen to their feet, and, half-frantic, seem as though they would leap down upon the very horns of the monster they dread! It is a fearful crisis for them.
Just at this moment a man is seen advancing, lazo in hand, in front of the carretas. He is afoot. As soon as he has detached himself from the crowd, he spins the lazo round his head, and the noose shooting out is seen to settle over the horns of the bull.
Without losing a moment the man runs to a small tree that stands near the centre of the semicircle, and hastily coils the other end of the lazo around its trunk. Another moment, and he would have been too late.
The knot is scarcely tied, when a heavy pluck announces that the bull has reached the end of his rope, and the foiled brute is now seen thrown back upon his hips, with the lazo tightly noosed over his horns. He has fallen at the very feet of the spectators!
“Bravo! viva!” cried a hundred voices, as soon as their owners had sufficiently recovered from their terror to call out.
“Viva. Viva! Carlos the cibolero!”
It was he who had performed this second feat of skill and daring.
The bull was not yet conquered, however. He was only confined within a certain range—the circle of the lazo—and, rising to his feet, with a furious roar he rushed forward at the crowd. Fortunately the lazo was not long enough to enable him to reach the spectators on either side; and again he tumbled back upon his haunches. There was a scattering on all sides, as it was feared he might still slip the noose; but the horsemen had now come up. Fresh lazoes were wound about his neck, others tripped up his legs, and he was at length flung violently upon the ground and his quarters well stretched.
He was now completely conquered, and would run no more; and as but two bulls had been provided for the occasion, the “coleo de toros” was for that day at an end.
Several lesser feats of horsemanship were next exhibited, while preparations were being made for another of the grand games of the day. Those were by way of interlude, and were of various kinds. One was throwing the lazo upon the foot of a person running at full speed, noosing him around the ankle, and of course tripping him up. This was done by men both mounted and afoot; and so many accomplished it, that it could hardly be deemed a “feat:” nor was it regarded as such among the more skilful, who disdained to take part in it.
Picking up the hat was next exhibited. This consisted in the rider throwing his hat upon the ground, and then recovering it from the saddle, while his horse swept past at full gallop. Nearly every rider on the spot was equal to this feat, and only the younger ones looked upon it as a proof of skill. Of these some twenty could now be seen wheeling about at a gallop and ducking down for their sombreros, which they had previously dropped.
But it is not so easy to pick up smaller objects, and a piece of coin lying flat upon the ground tries the skill of the best “cavallero.”
The Comandante Vizcarra now stepped forth and commanded silence. Placing a Spanish dollar upon the smooth turf, he called out—
“This to the man who can take it up at the first trial. Five gold onzas that Sergeant Gomez will perform the feat!”
There was silence for a while. Five gold “onzas” (doubloons) was a large sum of money. Only a “rico” could afford to lose such a sum.
After a pause, however, there came a reply. A young ranchero stepped forth:—
“Colonel Vizcarra,” said he, “I will not bet that Sergeant Gomez cannot perform the feat; but I’ll wager there’s another on the ground can do it as well as he. Double the amount if you please.”
“Name your man!” said Vizcarra.
“Carlos the cibolero.”
“Enough—I accept your wager. Any one else may have their trial,” continued Vizcarra, addressing the crowd. “I shall replace the dollar whenever it is taken up—only one attempt, remember!”
Several made the attempt and failed. Some touched the coin, and even drew it from its position, but no one succeeded in lifting it.
At length a dragoon mounted on a large bay appeared in the list, who was recognised as the Sergeant Gomez. He was the same that had first come up with the bull, but failed to fling him; and no doubt that failure dwelling still in his thoughts added to the natural gloom of his very sallow face. He was a man of large size, unquestionably a good rider, but he lacked that symmetrical shape that gives promise of sinewy activity.
The feat required little preparation. The sergeant looked to his saddle-girths, disencumbered himself of his sabre and belts, and then set his steed in motion.
In a few minutes he directed his horse so as to shave past the shining coin, and then, bending down, he tried to seize it. He succeeded in lifting it up from the ground; but, owing to the slight hold he had taken, it dropped from his fingers before he had got it to the height of the stirrup.
A shout, half of applause and half of disapprobation, came from the crowd. Most were disposed to favour him on Vizcarra’s account. Not that they loved Colonel Vizcarra, but they feared him, and that made them loyal.
The cibolero now rode forth upon his shining black. All eyes were turned upon him. His handsome face would have won admiration, but for its very fairness. Therein lay a secret prejudice. They knew he was not of their race!
Woman’s heart has no prejudice, however; and along that line of dark-eyed “doncellas” more than one pair of eyes were sparkling with admiration for the blond “Americano,” for of such race was Carlos the cibolero.
Other eyes than woman’s looked favourably on the cibolero, and other lips murmured applause. Among the half-brutalised Tagnos, with bent limbs and downcast look, there were men who dreamt of days gone by; who knew that their fathers were once free; who in their secret assemblies in mountain cave, or in the deep darkness of the “estufa,” still burned the “sacred fire” of the god Quetzalcoatl—still talked of Moctezuma and Freedom.
These, though darker than all others, had no prejudice against the fair skin of Carlos. Even over their benighted minds the future had cast some rays of its light. A sort of mysterious presentiment, apparently instinctive, existed among them, that their deliverers from the yoke of Spanish tyranny would yet come from the East—from beyond the great plains!
The cibolero scarce deigned to make any preparation. He did not even divest himself of his manga, but only threw it carelessly back, and left its long skirt trailing over the hips of his horse.
Obedient to the voice of his rider, the animal sprang into a gallop; and then, guided by the touch of the knees, he commenced circling round the plain, increasing his speed as he went.
Having gained a wide reach, the rider directed his horse towards the glittering coin. When nearly over it he bent down from the saddle, caught the piece in his fingers, flung it up into the air, and then, suddenly checking his horse underneath, permitted it to drop into his outstretched palm!
All this was done with the ease and liability of a Hindoo juggler. Even the prejudiced could not restrain their applause; and loud vivas for “Carlos the cibolero” again pealed upon the air.
The sergeant was humiliated. He had for a long time been victor in these sports—for Carlos had not been present until this day, or had never before taken part in them. Vizcarra was little better pleased. His favourite humbled—himself the loser of ten golden onzas—no small sum, even to the Comandante of a frontier Presidio. Moreover, to be jibed by the fair señoritas for losing a wager he had himself challenged, and which, no doubt, he felt certain of winning. From that moment Vizcarra liked not “Carlos the cibolero.”
The next exhibition consisted in riding at full gallop to the edge of a deep “zequia” which passed near the spot. The object of this was to show the courage and activity of the rider as well as the high training of the steed.
The zequia—a canal used for irrigation—was of such width that a horse could not well leap over it, and deep enough to render it no very pleasant matter for a horseman to get into. It therefore required both skill and daring to accomplish the feat. The animal was to arrive upon the bank of the canal in full run, and to be drawn up suddenly, so that his four feet should rest upon the ground inside a certain line. This line was marked at less than two lengths of himself from the edge of the drain. Of course the bank was quite firm, else the accomplishment of such a feat would have been impossible.
Many succeeded in doing it to perfection; and an admirable piece of horsemanship it was. The horse, suddenly checked in his impetuous gallop, upon the very brink of the zequia, and drawn back on his haunches, with head erect, starting eyeballs, and open smoking nostrils, formed a noble picture to look upon. Several, however, by way of contrast, gave the crowd a ludicrous picture to laugh at. These were either faint-hearted riders, who stopped short before arriving near the bank, or bold but unskilful ones, who overshot the mark, and went plunge into the deep muddy water. Either class of failure was hailed by groans and laughter, which the appearance of the half-drowned and dripping cavaliers, as they weltered out on the bank, rendered almost continuous. On the other hand, a well-executed manoeuvre elicited vivas of applause.
No wonder that, under such a system of training and emulation, these people are the finest riders in the world, and such they certainly are.
It was observed that Carlos the cibolero took no part in this game. What could be the reason? His friends alleged that he looked upon it as unworthy of him. He had already exhibited a skill in horsemanship of a superior kind, and to take part in this would be seeking a superfluous triumph. Such was in fact the feeling of Carlos.
But the chagrined Comandante had other views. Captain Roblado as well—for the latter had seen, or fancied he had seen, a strange expression in the eyes of Catalina at each fresh triumph of the cibolero. The two “militarios” had designs of their own. Base ones they were, and intended for the humiliation of Carlos. Approaching him, they inquired why he had not attempted the last feat.
“I did not think it worth while,” answered the cibolero, in a modest tone.
“Ho!” cried Roblado, tauntingly; “my good fellow. You must have other reasons than that. It is not so contemptible a feat to rein up on the edge of that ‘zanca.’ You fear a ducking, I fancy?”
This was uttered in a tone of banter, loud enough for all to hear; and Captain Roblado wound up his speech with a jeering laugh.
Now, it was just this ducking that the militarios wished to see. They had conceived hopes, that, if Carlos attempted the feat, some accident, such as the slipping or stumbling of his horse, might lead to that result; which to them would have been as grateful as it would have been mortifying to the cibolero. A man floundering out of a muddy ditch, and drenched to the skin, however daring the attempt that led to it, would cut but a sorry figure in the eyes of a holiday crowd; and in such a situation did they wish to see Carlos placed.
Whether the cibolero suspected their object did not appear. His reply does not show. When it was heard, the “zequia” and its muddy water were at once forgotten. A feat of greater interest occupied the attention of the spectators.