Chapter 29 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
The Mesa
After a breakfast of buffalo-flesh, seasoned with splendid appetites, and washed down by a cup of cold water from the arroyo, we “saddled up,” and headed for a high butte, just visible over the plain.
My companions knew the landmark well. It lay directly in our route. We should pass near its base, and a ride of ten miles farther would bring us to the end of our journey; indeed, the eminence was within sight of the rancheria. From the roof of the alcalde’s house I had frequently noticed it outlined against the horizon, in a north-westerly direction from the village. In clear weather only was it visible.
Struck with the singularity of this prairie-mound, I had longed to examine it, and had even projected a visit to it; but circumstances had prevented me from carrying out my intention. I was at length to have the pleasure of a nearer acquaintance with it.
I have called it singular. Most isolated hills are conical, dome-shaped, or ridge-like; this one differed from the usual configuration—hence its singularity. It presented the appearance of a huge box set upon the prairie, not unlike that rare formation, the “cofre,” which crowns the summit of the mountain Perote. Its sides in the distance appeared perfectly vertical, and its top horizontal as the plain on which it rested.
As we drew nearer, I could perceive by the dark parapet-like band along its crest that it was covered with a growth of timber. This was the more readily observed from contrast with the perpendicular sides, which were almost of a snowy whiteness, on account of the gypsum, chalk, or milky quartz of which the rock was composed.
The most peculiar feature of the mound was perhaps its apparently regular form—a perfect parallelopipedon. But it was striking in other respects. Its sides glistened fantastically under the rays of the sun, as though it were studded with settings of glass. This, however, was easily accounted for; and I knew that the sparkling effect was produced by plates of mica or selenite that entered into the composition of the rock. I had seen large mountains that presented a similar appearance. More than one such exist in the great American Saara, in whose glittering cliffs, viewed from afar, may be found the origin of that wild chimera, the mountain of gold.
Although neither a mountain of gold nor silver, the mound in question was an object of rare interest. A very enchanted castle it did appear, and it was difficult to assign its formation to nature alone. Human agency, one could not help fancying, must have had something to do in piling up a structure so regular and compact.
But he who has travelled over much of the earth’s surface will have met with many “freaks” of nature, exhibiting like appearance of design, in her world of inorganic matter. It was, in fact, one of those formations, of which many are met with in the plateaux-lands of America, known in Spanish phraseology as mesas. This name is given to them in allusion to the flat table-like tops, which distinguish them from other elevated summits.
Sometimes one of these mesas is found hundreds of miles from any similar eminence; more frequently a number of them stand near each other, like truncated cones—the summits of all being on the same level, and often covered with a vegetation differing materially from that of the surrounding plains.
Geologists have affirmed that these table-tops are the ancient level of the plains themselves; and that all around, and intervening between them, has either sunk or submitted to the degradation of water!
It is a vague explanation, and scarcely satisfies the speculative mind. The mesa of Mexico is still a geological puzzle.
As we approached this singular object, I could not help regarding it with a degree of curiosity. I had seen mesa heights before—in the “mauvaise terre,” upon the Missouri, in the Navajo country west of the Rocky Mountains, and along the edges of the “Llano Estacado,” which of itself is a vast mesa.
The mound before us was peculiar, from its very regular form, and the sparkling sheen of its cliffs. Its complete isolation, moreover, added to the effect—for no other eminence appeared in sight. The low hills that bordered the Rio Grande could barely be distinguished in the distance.
On getting nearer to it, its character became somewhat altered; the square box-like form appeared less regular, and it was then perceived that the parallelopipedon was not perfect. Slight ledges could be traced traversing the face of its cliffs, and here and there the rectangular lines were broken to the eye. Nature, after all, had not been so exact in her architecture.
Yet, with every deduction, it was a singular structure to look upon, not the less so that its summit was inaccessible to human foot. A precipice fifty yards sheer fronted outward on all sides. No one had ever scaled this precipice—so alleged my companions, who were well acquainted with the locality.
We had approached within less than a mile of its base; our conversation had dropped—at least so far as I was concerned; my thoughts were occupied with the mound, and my eyes wandering over its outlines.
I was endeavouring to make out the character of the vegetation which seemed to flourish luxuriantly on its summit. The dark foliage was evidently that of some species of acicular trees, perhaps the common red cedar (Juniperus Virginiana), but there were others of lighter hue—in all likelihood pinons, the pines with edible cones, peculiar to this region. I noticed, also, growing upon the very edge of the cliff, yuccas and aloes, whose radiating blades, stretching out, curved gracefully over the white rock. Forms of cactus, too, were apparent, and several plants of the great pitahaya rose high above the cliff, like gigantic candelabra—strange objects in such a situation.
My companions seemed to have no eyes for these rare vegetable beauties; I could hear them at intervals engaged in conversation; but the subject had no reference to the scene, and I paid little attention to what they were saying.
All at once I was startled by the voice of Garey, giving utterance to the emphatic announcement—
“Injuns, by God!”
“Indians!—where?”
The interrogation as it escaped my lips, was half involuntary, and needed no reply. Garey’s glance guided me; and following its direction, I observed a string of horsemen just debouching from behind the mesa, and spurring forward upon the plain.
Both my companions had drawn bridle, and halted. I followed their example; and all three of us sat in our saddles, scanning this sudden apparition of mounted men. A dozen had now cleared themselves from behind the mesa, and were riding towards us.
We were yet nearly a mile from them; and at that distance it is difficult to distinguish a white man from an Indian—I should rather say impossible. Even at half the distance, the oldest prairie-men are sometimes puzzled. The garments are often not very dissimilar, and sun-bronze and dust confound the complexions.
Although Garey, at first sight of them, had pronounced the horsemen to be Indians—the most probable supposition under the circumstances—it was but a random conjecture, and for some time we remained in doubt.
“If they’re Injuns,” suggested Garey, “they’re Comanche.”
“An if thur Kimanch,” added Rube, with ominous emphasis, “we’ve got to fight. If thur Kimanch, thur on the war-trail, an thur’ll be mischief in ’em. Wagh! Look to yur flints an primin!”
Rube’s counsel was instantly followed. Necessity quickened our precautions. All of us well knew, that, should the approaching horsemen turn out to be Comanches, we had no alternative but fight.
This warlike nation occupies the whole western area of Texas, ranging from the Rio Grande on the south, to the Arkansas on the north. They are to-day, with their kindred tribes, the most powerful Indian alliance on the continent. They affect the ownership of all prairie-land, styling themselves its “lords,” though their sovereignty towards the north is successfully disputed by the Pawnees, Sioux, Blackfeet, and others as warlike as they. From the earliest times, they have been the fiend of the Texan settler; and a detailed account of their forays and pillaging expeditions would fill a score of volumes. But from these they have not gone back unscathed. The reprisals have outnumbered the assaults, and the rifle of the border-ranger has done its work of vengeance.
In Mexico they have found less puissant defenders of the hearth and home; and into the north-eastern provinces of that unhappy country, the Comanches have been for the last half-century in the habit of making an annual expedition of war and plunder. In fact, plunder has become the better part of their subsistence, as they usually return from these rieving incursions laden with spoil, and carrying with them vast droves of horses, mules, horned cattle, and captive women!
For a short time, these dusky freebooters were at peace with the Anglo-American colonists of Texas. It was but a temporary armistice, brought about by Houston; but Lamar’s administration, of a less pacific character, succeeded, and the settlers were again embroiled with the Indians. War to the knife was declared and carried on; red and white killed each other on sight. When two men met upon the prairie, the colour of the skin determined the relations between them! If they differed in this, the were enemies without parley, and to kill the other was the first thought of each. The lex talionis was the custom of the hour.
If the rancour could possibly have been augmented, an incident had just transpired calculated to produce that effect. A band of Comanche warriors had offered their services to the commander-in-chief of the American army. They held the following language:—
“Let us fight on your side. We have no quarrel with you. You are warriors: we know it, and respect you. We fight against the cowardly Mexicans, who robbed us of our country. We fight for Moctezuma!”
These words, uttered along the whole northern frontier of Mexico, are full of strange import.
The American commander prudently declined the Comanche alliance; and the result was the bitter triangular war in which, as already noticed, we were now engaged.
If, then, the approaching horsemen were Indians of the Comanche tribe, Rube’s forecast was correct; we had “got to fight.”
With this understanding, we lost no time in putting ourselves in an attitude of defence.
Hastily dismounting, and sheltering our bodies behind those of our horses, we awaited the approach of the band.