Chapter 52 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid
The mulatto and zambo—Manuel and Pepe were their respective names—in half-an-hour after were ready for the road. Their preparations did not cost them half that time; but a quarter of an hour was spent on the guisado, and each smoked a husk cigarrito, while their horses were grinding up the half-dozen heads of green maize that had been thrown them.
Having finished their cigars, the hunters leaped into their saddles, and rode off.
The mulatto was armed with a long rifle, of the kind used by American hunters, and a knife of the sort since known as a “Bowie,” with a strong thick blade keenly pointed and double-edged for some inches from the point—a terrible weapon in close combat. These arms he had brought with him from the Mississippi valley, where he had learnt how to use them.
The zambo carried an escopeta strapped in a slanting direction along the flap of his saddle, a machete upon his thigh, and a bow with a quiver of arrows hung over his back. The last of these weapons—for certain purposes, such as killing game, or when a silent shot may be desirable—is preferred to any sort of fire-arms. Arrows can be delivered more rapidly than bullets, and, should the first shot fail, the intended victim is less likely to be made aware of the presence of his enemy.
In addition to these weapons, both had pistols stuck in their belts, and lazos hanging coiled from their saddle-bows.
Behind them on the croup each carried his provisions—a few strips of tasajo with some cold tortillas tied in a piece of buckskin. A double-headed calabash for water, with sundry horns, pouches, and bags, completed their equipment. A pair of huge gaunt dogs trotted behind their horses’ heels, fierce and savage-looking as their masters. One was the wolf-dog of the country, the other a Spanish bloodhound.
“What road, Man’l?” inquired the zambo as they parted from the hut; “straight down to the Pecos?”
“No, Pepe boy: must climb, go round. Seen making down valley, somebody guess what we’re after—send him word we’re coming. He suspect—we not grow rich so easily. No—must get up by old track—cross to dry gully—down that to Pecos. Take longer—make things surer, boy Pepe.”
“Carrambo!” exclaimed Pepe. “It’s a murderous climb. My poor beast’s so jaded with the buffalo running, that he’ll scarce get up. Carrai!”
After a short ride through the thicket and along the bottom of the cliffs, they arrived at a point where a ravine sloped to the upper plain. Up the bottom of this ravine was a difficult pass—difficult on account of its steepness. Any other horses than mountain-reared mustangs would have refused it, but these can climb like cats. Even the dogs could scarcely crawl up this ascent. In spite of its almost vertical slope, the hunters dismounted, crawled up, and, pulling their horses after them, soon reached the table-land above.
After breathing themselves and their animals, they once more got astride, and, heading northward, rode rapidly off over the plain.
“Now, boy Pepe,” muttered the mulatto, “chance meet any sheep-keepers, going after antelope; you hear?”
“Ay, Man’l; I understand.”
These were the last words exchanged between them for ten miles. They rode in file—the mulatto in the lead, the zambo in his tracks, and the dogs following in the rear. These two went also in file, the bloodhound heading the wolf.
At the end of ten miles they reached a dry river channel, that ran transversely across their route. It was the same which Carlos and his party had followed on the day of their escape after the affair at the Presidio. The hunters entered it, and, turning downward, as Carlos had done, followed it to its mouth upon the banks of the Pecos. Here was a grove of timber, which they entered, and, having dismounted, tied their horses to the trees. These animals, though lately arrived from a long journey, and now having passed over more than thirty miles at a brisk rate, showed no symptoms of being done up. Lean though they were, they possessed the tough wiry strength of their race, and either of them could have gone another hundred miles without breaking down.
This their masters well knew, else they would have gone upon their man-hunt with less confidence of success.
“May gallop away on his fine black,” remarked the mulatto, as he glanced at the mustangs. “Soon overhaul him again—won’t we, boy Pepe?”
“Chinga! we will.”
“Brace of hacks tire out racer,—won’t they, boy Pepe?”
“Chingara! So they will, Man’l.”
“Don’t want to try that game though—do the job easier; won’t we, boy Pepe?”
“I hope so, Man’l.”
“Cibolero in the cave sure—stays there—no better place for him. Won’t be caught sleeping,—troopers never follow him up the pass. Convenient to valley. Goes back and forward spite of spies. Tracks could lead nowhere else—sure in the cave, horse and all. When? that the trouble, boy Pepe.”
“Es verdad! if we knew when he was in, or when he was out, either.”
“Ay, knew that, no difficulty,—set our trap easy enough, boy Pepe.”
“He must surely be there in daytime?”
“Just been thinking—goes to the settlements—must be by night, that’s clear—goes there, boy Pepe, maybe not to rancho, somewhere near. Must go to meet Anton. Not like Anton meet him at cave—güero too sharp for that—goes out to meet Anton, sure!”
“Might we not track Anton?”
“Might track Anton—no good that—would have to deal with both together. Besides, don’t want kill Anton—no ill-will to Anton—make things worse if find Anton with him. Never do, boy Pepe—have hands full with güero himself—plenty do capture him. Must not forget capture—not kill—leave that to them. No use track Anton—know where t’other keeps. If didn’t know that, then might track Anton.”
“Can’t we get near the cave in daylight, Man’l? I don’t have a good memory of the place.”
“Mile—no nearer—unless he sleep—when sleep? Tell me that, boy Pepe!”
“And suppose he be awake?”
“See us enter the cañon, mile off—jump into saddle, pass up to plain above—maybe three days before find him again—maybe not find at all, boy Pepe.”
“Well, brother Man’l—I have a plan. Let us get near the mouth of the cañon, and hide outside of it till night—then as soon as it is dark creep into where it narrows. He will come down that way to go out. What then? we can have a shot at him as he passes!”
“Pooh, boy Pepe! Think lose chance of half reward—risk whole by shot in dark? Dam! no—have whole or none—set us up for life—take him alive, take him alive, sure.”
“Well then,” rejoined the zambo, “let him pass out of the cañon, and when he’s gone clear out of reach we can go up, get into the cave, and wait his return. What say you to that?”
“Talk sense now, boy Pepe—something like plan about that—what we do—but not go inside cañon till güero clear away. Only near enough see him go out, then for cave—right plan to take him. Sun near dawn, time we start—come!”
“Vamos!”
Both mounted, and rode forward to the bank of the river. There was no ford at the spot, but what of that? With scarce a moment’s delay they plunged their horses into the stream and swam across. The dogs followed their example, and all came out dripping on the opposite bank. The evening was chill, but what was heat or cold to such men? Nothing signified their wet clothes to them; and without halting they rode straight forward to the ceja of the Llano Estacado, and having reached it turned to the right, and rode along the base of the bluffs.
After following the line of the ceja for two or three miles they approached a spur of the cliff that ran out into the plain, and gradually tapered to a point, sinking lower as it receded from the Llano. It ended in a clump, or rather several clusters, of isolated rocks and boulders that stood near each other. The place was not timbered, but the dark rocks irregularly piled upon each other gave it a shaggy appearance; and among their crevices, and the spaces between them, was ample room for even a large party both of men and horses to lie concealed.
The end of this rocky promontory was the point towards which the mulatto was steering. It formed one side of the ravine in which lay the cave, while another similar ridge bounded the ravine on its southern side. Between them a deep bay indented the cliff, from which a narrow difficult pass opened up to the high plain above. It was the same ravine in which the cattle of the young ranchero Don Juan had been slaughtered! These were no longer to be seen, but their bones were still visible, scattered over the plain, and already bleached white. The wolves, vultures, and bears, had prepared them for that.
The man-hunters at length reached their destination; and, having led their horses in among the loose boulders, fastened them securely. They then crept up through crevices in the rocks, until they had reached the crest of the ridge. From this point they commanded a view of the whole mouth of the land-bay, about three hundred yards in width, so that no object, such as a man or horse, could pass out or in without their observing it—unless the night should chance to be very dark indeed. But they expected moonlight, by the help of which not even a cat could enter the ravine without their seeing it.
Having found a spot to their liking, they lay down, with their bodies concealed from any one who might be passing on the plain below either in front of or behind them. Their horses were already hidden among the large masses of rock.
To the minds of both their purposed plan of action was clearly understood. They had their reasons for believing that the cibolero, during his period of outlawry, was dwelling in a cave that opened into this ravine, and which was well-known to the mulatto; that Carlos came out in the night, and approached the settlements—the place was but ten miles from his own rancho—and that he was met somewhere by Antonio, who gave him information of what was going on, bringing him provisions at the same time.
It was their intention to wait until Carlos should pass out, then occupy the cave themselves, and attack him on his return. True they might have waylaid him on his going forth, but that might result in a failure. Catch him they could not while mounted. They might have crept near enough to get a shot at him, but, as the mulatto had said, that would have risked their losing him altogether.
Moreover, neither wanted to take only his scalp. The mulatto in particular had resolved on earning the double price by taking him alive. Even though it cost them some additional risk, his capture would doubly reward them, and for money these desperadoes were ready to venture anything. Withal, they were not so daring as to have cared for an open encounter. They knew something of the mettle of “el güero,” but they trusted to the advantage they should obtain over him by stratagem. On starting out they had resolved to follow him up, and steal upon him when asleep—and the plan which they had now formed had been the result of cogitations by the way. In Manuel’s mind it had been developed long before the suggestion of the zambo.
They rested their hopes upon the belief that their victim would not know that they were after him—he could not have heard of their return from the buffalo-hunt, and therefore would be less on the alert. They knew if Carlos became aware that they were upon his trail he would pursue a very different course from that observed towards his soldier-pursuers. From these he could easily hide at any time upon the Llano Estacado, but it was different with men like the hunters, who, though they might not overtake him at the first burst, could follow on and find him again wherever he should ride to.
But both mulatto and zambo believed that their presence would be unsuspected by the güero, until they had laid hands upon him. Hence their confidence of success.
They certainly had taken measures that promised it, supposing their hypothesis to be correct—that is, supposing the cibolero to be in the cave at that moment, and that during the night he should come out of the ravine.
They were soon to know—the sun had already gone down. They would not have long to watch.