Chapter 38 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
Rube’s plan
For several minutes, Rube preserved his meditative attitude, without uttering a word or making the slightest motion. At length, a low but cheerful whistle escaped his lips, and at the same time his body became erect.
“Eh? what is’t, old boy?” inquired Garey, who understood the signal, and knew that the whistle denoted some discovery.
Rube’s reply was the interrogatory, “How long’s yur trail-rope, Bill?”
“It are twenty yards—good mizyure,” answered Garey.
“An yurs, young fellur?”
“About the same length—perhaps a yard or two more.”
“Good!” ejaculated the questioner, with a satisfied look. “We’ll fool them niggurs yit—we will!”
“Hooraw for you, old boy! you’ve hit on some plan, hain’t you?” This was Garey’s interrogatory.
“Sartintly, I hez.”
“Let’s have it then, kummarade,” said Garey, seeing that Rube had relapsed into silence; “thar ain’t much time to think o’ things—”
“Plenty o’ time, Billee! Don’t be so durned impatient, boy. Thur’s gobs o’ time. I’ll stake my ole mar agin the young fellur’s black hoss, thet we’ll be out o’ this scrape afore sun-up. Geehosophat! how thu ’ll cuss when they finds the trap empty. He, he, he!—ho, ho, hoo!”
And the old sinner continued to laugh for some seconds, as coolly and cheerfully as if no enemy was within a thousand miles of the spot.
Garey and I were chafing with impatience, but we knew that our comrade was in one of his queer moods, and it was no use attempting to push him faster than he was disposed to go.
When his chuckling fit was ended, he assumed a more serious air, and once more appeared to busy himself with the calculation of some problem. He spoke in soliloquy.
“Twenty yurds o’ Bill’s,” muttered he, “an twenty of the young fellur’s, ur forty; an myen—it ur sixteen yurds—make the hul fifty an six; ye–es, fifty-six preezactly. Then thur’s the knots to kum off o’ thet, though fornenst ’em thur’s bridles. Wagh! thur’s rope aplenty, an enough over, to string up half a score o’ them yeller-bellies, ef iver I gits holt on ’em. An won’t I! Wagh!”
During this arithmetical process, Rube, instead of gazing any longer into the barrel of his rifle, had kept his eyes wandering up and down the cliff. Before he had ceased talking, both Garey and myself had divined his plan, but we refrained from telling him so. To have anticipated the old trapper in his disclosure would have been a mortal offence.
We waited for him to make it known.
“Now, boyees!” said he at length, “hyur’s how we’ll git clur. Fust an fo’must, we’ll crawl up yanner, soon’s it gits dark enough to kiver us. Seconds, we’ll toat our trail-ropes along wi’ us. Thuds, we’ll jine the three thegither, an ef thet ain’t long enough, a kupple o’ bridles ’ll help out. Fo’th, we’ll tie the eend o’ the rope to a saplin up thur on top, an then slide down the bluff on t’other side, do ee see? Fift, oncest down on the paraira, we’ll put straight for the settlements. Sixt an lastest, when we gits thur, we’ll gather a wheen o’ the young fellur’s rangers, take a bee-line back to the mound, an gie these hyur niggurs sech a lambaystin as they hain’t hed since the war begun. Now?”
“Now” meant, What think you of the plan? Mentally, both Garey and I had already approved of it, and we promptly signified our approval.
It really promised well. Should we succeed in carrying out the details without being detected, it was probable enough that within a few hours we might be safe in the piazza of the rancheria, and quenching our thirst at its crystal well.
The anticipated pleasure filled us with fresh energy; and we instantly set about putting everything in readiness. One watched, while the other two worked.
Our lazoes were knotted together, and the four horses fastened head to head with their bridles, and secured so as to keep them behind the boulder. This done, we awaited the falling of night.
Would it be a dark night?
About this we now felt anxious. It was already closing down, and gave promise of favouring us: a layer of lead-coloured clouds covered the sky, and we knew there could be no moon before midnight.
Rube, who boasted he could read weather-sign like a “salt-sea sailor,” scrutinised the sky.
“Wal, old hos!” interrogated Garey, “what do ye think o’t? Will it be dark, eh?”
“Black as a bar!” muttered Rube in reply; and then, as if not satisfied with the simile, he added, “Black as the inside o’ a buffler bull’s belly on a burnt paraira!”
The old trapper laughed heartily at the ludicrous conceit, and Garey and I could not refrain from joining in the laugh. The guerrilleros must have heard us; they must have deemed us mad!
Rube’s prognostication proved correct: the night came down dark and lowering. The leaden layer broke up into black cumulus clouds, that slowly careered across the canopy of the sky. A storm portended; and already some big drops, that shot vertically downward, could be heard plashing heavily upon our saddles. All this was to our satisfaction; but at that moment a flash of lightning illumined the whole arch of the heavens, lighting the prairie as with a thousand torches. It was none of the pale lavender-coloured light, seen in northern climes, but a brilliant blaze, that appeared to pervade all space, and almost rivalled the brightness of day.
Its sudden and unexpected appearance filled us with dismay: we recognised in it an obstacle to our designs.
“Durn the tarnal thing!” exclaimed Rube peevishly. “It ur wuss than a moon, durn it!”
“Is it going to be the quick-forky, or the long-blazey?” inquired Garey, with a reference to two distinct modes in which upon these southern prairies, the electric fluid exhibits itself.
In the former the flashes are quick and short-lived, and the intervals of darkness also of short duration. Bolts pierce the clouds in straight, lance-like shafts, or forking and zig-zag, followed by thunder in loud unequal bursts, and dashes of intermittent rain.
The other is very distinct from this; there are no shafts or bolts, but a steady blaze which fills the whole firmament with a white quivering light, lasting many seconds of time, and followed by long intervals of amorphous darkness. Such lightning is rarely accompanied by thunder, and rain is not always its concomitant, though it was this sort we now witnessed, and rain-drops were falling.
“Quick-forky!” echoed Rube, in reply to his comrade’s interrogatory; “no—dod rot it! not so bad as thet. It ur the blazey. Thur’s no thunder, don’t ’ee see? Wal! we must grope our way up atween the glimps.”
I understood why Rube preferred the “blazey;” the long intervals of darkness between the flashes might enable us to carry out our plan.
He had scarcely finished speaking, when the lightning gleamed a second time, and the prairie was lit up like a theatre during the grand scene in a spectacle. We could see the guerrilleros standing by their horses, in cordon across the plain; we could distinguish their arms and equipments—even the buttons upon their jackets! With their faces rendered ghastly under the glare, and their bodies magnified to gigantic proportions, they presented to our eyes a wild and spectral appearance.
With the flash there was no thunder—neither the close quick clap, nor the distant rumble. There was perfect silence, which rendered the scene more awfully impressive.
“All right!” muttered Rube, as he saw that the besiegers still kept their places. “We must jest grope our way up atween the glimps; but fust let ’em see we’re still hyur.”
We protruded our faces and rifles around the rock, and in this position awaited another flash.
It came, bright as before: the enemy could not fail to have noticed us.
Our programme was already prepared: Garey was to ascend first, and take up the rope.
He only waited for the termination of another blaze. One end of the lazo was fastened round his waist, and the rope hung down behind him.
When the light gleamed again, he was ready; and the moment it went out, he glided forward to the cliff, and commenced his ascent.
Oh, for a long interval of darkness!