Chapter 58 - The White Chief by Mayne Reid
Carlos spoke the truth, when he gave his dog the credit of having saved his life, or, at all events, his liberty, which in the end amounted to the same thing. But for the sagacious brute having preceded him, he would certainly have entered the cave, and as certainly would he have been captured.
His cunning adversaries had taken every step necessary for securing him. They had hidden their horses far back in the cavern. They had placed themselves behind the jutting rocks—one on each side of the entrance—so that the moment he should have shown himself they were prepared to spring upon him like a brace of tigers.
Their dogs, too, were there to aid them—crouched by the side of their masters, and along with them, ready to seize upon the unsuspecting victim.
It was a well-planned ambuscade, and so far well-executed. The secrecy with which the hunters had left the settlement, and made their roundabout journey—their adroit approach to the ravine—their patient behaviour in watching till Carlos had ridden out of the way, and their then taking possession of the cave, were all admirably executed manoeuvres.
How was it possible the cibolero could be aware of, or even suspect, their presence? They did not for a moment fancy that he knew of their return from their hunting expedition. It was quite dark the night before, when they had passed up the valley to the mission; and after unpacking the produce of their hunt, which had been done without observation, the Padré Joaquin had enjoined on them not to show themselves in the town before he should send them word. But few of the mission servants, then, knew of their return; and for the rest, no one knew anything who would or could have communicated it to Carlos. Therefore, reasoned they, he could have no suspicion of their being in the cave. As to their trail up the ravine, he would not notice it on his return. He would only strike it where it led over the shingle, and, of course, there it would not be visible even in daylight.
Never was a trap better set. He would walk into the cave unsuspectingly, and perhaps leading his horse. They would spring upon him—dogs and all—and pinion him before he could draw either pistol or knife! There seemed no chance for him.
For all that there was a chance, as the yellow hunter well knew; and it was that which caused him at intervals to mutter—
“Dam! fear dog give us trouble, boy Pepe.”
To this the zambo’s only response was the bitter shibboleth—“Carajo!” showing that both were uneasy about the dog. Long before this time both had heard of the fame of Cibolo, though neither had a full knowledge of the perfect training to which that sagacious animal had attained.
They reflected that, should the dog enter the cave first, they would be discovered by him, and warning given to his master. Should he enter it before the latter had got near, the chances were that their ambuscade would prove a failure. On the other hand, should the dog remain in the rear, all would go right. Even should he approach at the same time with his master, so that the latter might get near without being alarmed, there would still be a chance of their rushing out upon and shooting either horse or rider.
Thus reasoned these two treacherous ruffians in the interim of the cibolero’s absence.
They had not yet seated themselves in the positions they designed to take by the entrance of the cave. They could occupy these at a moment’s warning. They stood under the shadow of the rocks, keeping watch down the ravine. They knew they might be a long time on their vigil, and they made themselves as comfortable as possible by consuming the meagre stock of provisions which the cibolero had left in the cave. The mulatto, to keep out the cold, had thrown the newly appropriated blanket upon his shoulders. A gourd of chingarito, which they had taken care to bring with them, enabled them to pass the time cheerfully enough. The only drawback upon their mirth was the thought of the dog Cibolo, which every now and again intruded itself upon the mind of the yellow hunter, as well as upon that of his darker confrère.
Their vigil was shorter than either had anticipated. They fancied that their intended victim might make a long ride of it—perhaps to the borders of the settlement—that he might have business that would detain him, and that it might be near morning before he would get back.
In the midst of those conjectures, and while it still wanted some hours of midnight, the mulatto, whose eyes were bent down the ravine, was seen suddenly to start, and grasp his companion by the sleeve.
“Look!—yonder, boy Pepe! Yonder come güero!”
The speaker pointed to a form approaching from the plain, and nearing the narrow part of the ravine. It was scarce visible by the uncertain light, and just possible to distinguish it as the form of a man on horseback.
“Carr-rr-a-ai! it is—carr-r-ai!” replied the zambo, after peering for some time through the darkness.
“Keep close in, boy Pepe! hwish! Pull back dog! take place—lie close—I watch outside—hwish!”
The zambo took his station according to the plan they had agreed upon; while the yellow hunter, bloodhound in hand, remained by the entrance of the cave. In a few moments the latter was seen to start up with a gesture of alarm.
“Dam!” he exclaimed. “Dam! told you so—till lost—ready, boy Pepe—dog on our trail!”
“Carajo, Man’l! what’s to be done?” eagerly inquired the zambo.
“In—in—let come in—kill ’im in cave—in!”
Both rushed inside and stood waiting. They had hastily formed the design of seizing the cibolero’s dog the moment he should enter the cave, and strangling him if possible.
In this design they were disappointed; for the animal, on reaching the mouth of the cave, refused to enter, but stopped upon the ledge outside and commenced barking loudly.
The mule uttered a cry of disappointment, and, dropping the bloodhound, rushed forward, knife in hand, to attack Cibolo. At the same moment the hound sprang forward, and the two dogs became engaged in a desperate conflict. This would have terminated to the disadvantage of the hound, but, in another moment, all four—mulatto, zambo, hound, and wolf—were assailing Cibolo both with knives and teeth. The latter, seeing himself thus overmatched, and having already received several bad cuts, prudently retreated among the rocks.
He was not followed, as the ruffians had still some hopes that the cibolero, not suspecting what it could mean, might yet advance towards the cave. But these hopes were of short duration. Next moment through the dim light they perceived the horseman wheel round, and gallop off towards the mouth of the ravine!
Exclamations of disappointment, profane ejaculations, and wild oaths, echoed for some minutes through the vaulted cavern.
The excited ruffians at length became more cool, and, groping about in the darkness, got hold of their horses, and led them out upon the ledge. Here they stopped to give farther vent to their chagrin, and to deliberate on their future course.
To attempt immediate pursuit would not avail them, as they well know the cibolero would be many a mile out of their reach before they could descend to the plain.
For a long time they continued to give utterance to expressions of chagrin, mingled with anathemas upon the head of the dog, Cibolo. At length becoming tired of this, they once more set their heads to business.
The zambo was of opinion it would be useless to go farther that night—they had no chance of coming up with the cibolero before morning—in daylight they would more easily make out his trail.
“Boy Pepe, fool!” was the mulatto’s reply to these observations. “Track by daylight—be seen—spoil all, fool Pepe!”
“Then what way, brother Man’l?”
“Dam! forgot bloodhound? Trail by night fast as ride—soon overtake güero.”
“But, brother Man’l, he’s not going to stop short of ten leagues from here! We can’t come up with him to-night, can we?”
“Fool again, boy Pepe! Stop within ten miles—stop because won’t think of bloodhound—won’t think can trail ’im—stop, sure. Dam! that dog played devil—thought he would—dam!”
“Malraya! he won’t trouble us any more.”
“Why think that, boy Pepe?”
“Why, brother Man’l! because I had my blade into him. He’ll not limp much farther, I warrant.”
“Dam! wish could think so—if could think so, give double onza. But for dog have güero now. But for dog, get güero before sun up. Stop soon—don’t suspect us yet—don’t suspect hound—stop, I say. By mighty God—sure!”
“How, brother Man’l? you think he’ll not go far off?”
“Sure of it. Güero not ride far—nowhere to go—soon trail ’im—find ’im asleep—crawl on ’im but for dog—crawl on ’im sure.”
“If you think so, then I don’t believe you need trouble yourself about the dog. If he lives twenty minutes after the stab I gave him, he’s a tough brute, that’s all. You find the güero, I promise you’ll find no dog with him.”
“Hope so, boy Pepe—try anyhow. Come!” Saying this, the yellow hunter straddled his horse, and followed by the zambo and the dogs commenced moving down the rocky channel of the ravine.