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Chapter 55 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid

Carlos, on leaving his cave, proceeded with the caution natural to one circumstanced as he was. But this night he was more than usually careful. He scanned every bush and rock that stood near his path, and that might have sheltered an enemy. Why to-night more cautious than before? Because a suspicion had crossed his mind—and that, too, having reference to the very men who were at the moment in ambush so near him!

At various times of late had his thoughts reverted to these men. He knew them well, and knew the hostile feelings with which both, but particularly the mulatto, regarded him. He thought of the probability of their being set upon his trail, and he knew their capability to follow it. This had made him more uneasy than all the scouting of the dragoons with their unpractised leaders. He was aware that, if the cunning mulatto and his scarce less sagacious comrade were sent after him, his cave would not shelter him long, and there would be an end to his easy communication with the settlement.

These thoughts were sources of uneasiness; and would have been still more so, had he not believed that the hunters were absent upon the plains. Under this belief he had hopes of being able to settle his affairs and get off before their return. That morning, however, his hopes had met with discouragement.

It was a little after daylight when he returned to his hiding-place. Antonio, watched closely by the spies, had not been able to reach the rendezvous until a late hour,—hence the detention of Carlos. On going back to his cave he had crossed a fresh trail coming in from the northern end of the Llano Estacado. It was a trail of horses, mules, and dogs; and Carlos, on scrutinising it, soon acquainted himself with the number of each that had passed. He knew it was the exact number of these animals possessed by the yellow hunter and his comrade; and this startled him with the suspicion that it was the return trail of these men from their hunt upon the prairies!

A further examination quite assured him of the truth of this. The footprints of one of the dogs differed from the rest; and although a large one, it was not the track of the common wolf-dog of the country. He had heard that the yellow hunter had lately become possessed of a large bloodhound. These must be his tracks!

Carlos rode along the trail to a point where it had crossed an old path of his own leading to the ravine. To his astonishment he perceived that, from this point, one of the horsemen, with several of the dogs, had turned off and followed his own tracks in that direction! No doubt the man had been trailing him. After going some distance, however, the latter had turned again and ridden back upon his former course.

Carlos would have traced this party farther, as he knew they must have passed on the evening before. But as it was now quite day, and their trail evidently led to the settlements, he dared not ride in that direction, and therefore returned to his hiding-place.

The incident had rendered him thoughtful and apprehensive throughout the whole of that day; and as he rode forth his reflections were upon this very subject—hence the caution of his movements.

As he emerged from the ravine, the dog, as stated, made a demonstration, by suddenly turning toward the rocks, and uttering a low growl. This caused Carlos to halt, and look carefully in that direction. But he could see nothing that appeared suspicious; and the dog, after a moment’s pause, appeared satisfied and trotted on again.

“Some wild animal, perhaps,” thought Carlos, as he set his horse in motion, and continued on over the plain.

When fairly out into the open ground, he quickened his pace; and after a ride of about six or seven miles arrived on the banks of the Pecos. Here he turned down-stream, and, once more riding with caution, approached a grove of low timber that grew upon the bank. This grove was the point of rendezvous.

When within a hundred yards of it, the cibolero halted upon the plain. The dog ran on before him, quartered the grove, and then returned to his master. The horseman then rode boldly in under the shadow of the trees, and, dismounting, took station upon one side of the timber, to watch for the coming of his expected messenger.

His vigil was not of long duration. In a few minutes a man on foot, bent into a crouching attitude, was seen rapidly advancing over the plain. When he had arrived within three hundred yards of the grove, he stopped in his tracks, and uttered a low whistle. To this signal the cibolero replied, and the man, again advancing as before, was soon within the shadow of the grove. It was Antonio.

“Were you followed, amigo?” asked Carlos.

“As usual, master; but I had no difficulty in throwing them off.”

“Hereafter it may not be so easy.”

“How, master?”

“I know your news—the yellow hunter has got back?”

“Carrambo! it is even so! How did you hear it, master?”

“This morning, after you had left me, I crossed a trail—I knew it must be theirs.”

“It was theirs, master. They came in last evening but I have worse news than that.”

“Worse!—what?”

“They’re after you!”

“Ha! already? I guessed that they would be, but not so soon. How know you, Anton!”

“Josefa—she has a brother who is a kind of errand-boy to Padré Joaquin. This morning the Padré took him over to the Presidio, and from there sent him to guide Captain Roblado to the yellow hunter’s hut. The Padré threatened the boy if he should tell any one; but on his return to the mission he called on his mother; and Josefa, suspecting he had been on some strange errand—for he showed a piece of silver—got it all out of him. He couldn’t tell what Roblado and the hunters talked about, but he fancied the latter were preparing to go somewhere as he left them. Now, putting one thing with another, I’m of the mind, master, they’re on your trail.”

“No doubt of it, amigo—I haven’t the slightest doubt of it. So—I’ll be chased out of my cave—that’s certain. I believe they have a suspicion of where I am already. Well, I must try to find another resting-place. ’Tis well I have got the wind of these rascals—they’ll not catch me asleep, which no doubt they flatter themselves they’re going to do. What other news?”

“Nothing particular. Josefa saw the girl Vicenza last night in company with José, but she has had no opportunity of getting a word with the señorita, who is watched closely. She has some business with the portero’s wife to-morrow. She hopes to hear something from her.”

“Good Antonio,” said Carlos, dropping a piece of money into the other’s hand, “give this to Josefa—tell her to be active. Our hopes rest entirely with her.”

“Don’t fear, master!” replied the half-blood. “Josefa will do her best, for the reason that,” smiling, “her hopes, I believe, rest entirely upon me.”

Carlos laughed at the naïve remark of his faithful companion, and then proceeded to inquire about other matters,—about his mother and sister, about the troopers, the spies, and Don Juan.

About the last Antonio could give him no information that was new. Don Juan had been arrested the day after the affair at the Presidio, and ever since had been kept a close prisoner. The charge against him was his having been an accomplice of Carlos, and his trial would take place whenever the latter should be captured.

Half-an-hour was spent in conversation, and then Carlos, having received from the half-blood the packages containing provisions, prepared to return to his hiding-place in the Llano Estacado.

“You will meet me here to-morrow night again, Anton,” said he at parting. “If anything should happen to prevent me coming, then look for me the night after, and the night after that. So buenas noches, amigo!”

“Buenos noches, mi amo!” (“Good night, master!”)

And with this salutation the friends—for they were go—turned their backs on each other and parted.

Antonio went crouching back in the direction of the valley; while the cibolero, springing to his saddle, rode off toward the frowning bluffs of the Llano.

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