Chapter 35 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
El Zorro
The new object of dread was a large gun, which had been brought upon the ground by one of those lately arrived. In all probability, it belonged to El Zorro, as it was in his hands we first observed it. It appeared to be a long musket, or elephant-gun, such as the “roers” in use among South African hunters.
Whatever sort of weapon it was, we soon found to our annoyance that it pitched an ounce of lead nearly twice as far as any of our rifles, and with sufficient precision to make it probable that, before the sun had set, El Zorro would be able to pick off our horses, and perhaps ourselves, in detail.
It would be half-an-hour before darkness should screen us with its friendly shelter, and he had already commenced practice. His first shot had been fired. The bullet struck the cliff close to my own head, scattering the fragments of gypsum rock about my ears, and then fell, flattened like a Spanish dollar, at my feet.
The report was far louder than that of either carbine or escopette; and an ejaculation from Rube, as he saw the effect of the shot, followed by his usual ominous whistle, told that the old trapper was not disposed to make light of this new piece of ordnance. Neither was Garey. His look testified to what all three of us were thinking—which was, that this mode of attack was likely to put us in a more awkward dilemma than we had yet been placed in. El Zorro might shoot us down at his leisure. With our rifles, we could neither answer his fire, nor silence it. Our peril was obvious.
The salteador had delivered his first shot “off hand,” for we had seen him level the piece. Perhaps it was fortunate for us he had not taken aim over a “lean;” but fortune from that source was not going to favour us any farther; for we now observed Ijurra stick two lances obliquely in the ground, so that they crossed each other at a proper height, thus forming as perfect a rest as marksman could have desired.
As soon as the gun was reloaded, El Zorro knelt behind the lances, placed his barrel in the fork, and once more took aim.
I felt satisfied he was aiming at me, or my horse. Indeed, the direction of the long dark tube would have told me so; but I saw Ijurra directing him, and that made me sure of it.
I had little fear for myself. I was sheltered sufficiently, but I trembled for the brave horse that shielded me.
I waited with anxious heart. I saw the blaze of the priming as it puffed upward; the red flame projected from the muzzle, and simultaneously I felt the shock of the heavy bullet striking upon my horse.
Splinters of wood flew about my face; they were fragments of the saddle-tree. The ball had passed through the pommel, but my noble steed was untouched! It was a close shot, however—too close to allow of rejoicing, so long as others of the like were to follow.
I was getting as “riled” as Rube himself, when, all at once, a significant shout from the old trapper drew my attention from El Zorro and his gun.
Rube was on my right, and I saw that he was pointing along the bottom of the cliff to some object in that direction I could not see what it was, as his horses were in the way; but the next moment I observed him hurrying them along the cliff, at the same time calling to Garey and myself to follow.
I lost no time in putting my horse in motion, and Garey as hastily trotted after.
We had not advanced many paces, before we comprehended the strange behaviour of our companion.
Scarcely twenty yards from where we had first halted, a large rock rested upon the plain. It was a fragment that had fallen from the cliff, and was now lying several feet from its base; it was of such size, and in such a position, that, there was ample space behind it to shelter both men and horses—room for us all!
We were only astonished we had not observed it sooner; but this was not to be wondered at, for its colour corresponded exactly with that of the cliff, and it was difficult, even at twenty yards’ distance, to distinguish it from the latter. Besides, our eyes, from the moment of our halting, had been turned in another direction.
We did not stay to give words to our surprise; but hurrying our horses along with us, with joyful exclamations glided behind the rock.
It was not an echo of our joy, but a cry of disappointed rage, that pealed along the line of the guerrilla. They saw at once that their long gun would no longer avail them, and both Ijurra and his marksman were now seen dancing over the ground like madmen. El Zorro’s métier was at an end.
A more perfect “harbour of refuge” could not have been found in all prairie-land. As Garey alleged, it “beat tree-timber all hollow!” A little fortress, in fact, in which we might defy even twice the number of our assailants—unless, indeed, they should wax desperately brave, and try us hand to hand.
Our sudden disappearance had created a new sensation in their ranks. From their shouts, we could tell that some of them regarded it with feelings of wonder—perhaps with emotions of a still stronger kind. We could hear the exclamations “Carrai!” “Carrambo!” with the phrase “los demonios!” passing from mouth to mouth. Indeed, from the position which they occupied, it must have appeared to them that we had gone into the cliff—for the separation of the rock from the wall behind it was not perceptible from the plain, else we should have perceived it as we rode forward.
If our enemies knew of this outlying boulder, it was strange they had left the way open to so safe a retreat—strange, since it did not correspond with the cunning they had otherwise given proofs of—and yet stranger they should be ignorant of its existence. Most of them were natives of this frontier, and must have frequently visited the mesa, which was one of the “lions” of the district.
Perhaps they had never troubled their thoughts about it. There is no people who take less interest in the rare features of their beautiful country than the Mexicans. Nature charms them not. A Mexican dwelling with a garden around it is a rarity—a lawn or a shrubbery is never seen; but indeed nature has bounteously supplied them with all these. They dwell amidst scenes of picturesque beauty; they gaze over green savannas—down into deep barrancas—up to the snow-crowned summits of mighty mountains—without experiencing one emotion of the sublime. A tortured bull, a steel-galved cock, Roman candles, and the Chinese wheel, are to them the sights of superior interest, and furnish them with all their petty emotions. So is it with nations, as with men who have passed the age of their strength, and reached the period of senility and second childhood.
But there was another, and perhaps a better, reason why none of our adversaries should be intimate with the locality. As my companions alleged, the spot was a favourite halting-place of the Comanches—they have an eye for the picturesque—but perhaps the existence of a spring that was near had more to do in guiding the preference of these “lords of the prairies.” The mesa, therefore, had for years been dangerous ground, and little trodden by the idle curious. Possibly not one of the heroes we saw before us had for years ventured so far out upon the plains.