Chapter 51 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
An Official Black List
The incidents of the day preyed upon my spirits, and I was far from feeling easy about the future. I knew that my betrothed would be true till death; and I felt ashamed that I had doubted her, even for a moment. About her loyalty I had no uneasiness, and I mentally vowed never more to give way to suspicion.
It was no thought of that that now troubled me, but an anxiety about her personal safety; and this grew stronger the more I pondered upon it, till it assumed almost the form of a fear.
The man who had used such bitter threats, and behaved with so much rudeness, would scarcely stop at anything. ’Tis true I had deprived him of much of his power over her, by stripping him of the dangerous documents; but it was not this time, nor was he the man, to stand upon nice distinctions of legality, where jealousy and cupidity were the incentives to action. Holding a sort of irresponsible office as the chief of what was less a patriotic guerrilla than a band of brigands, it was difficult to tell what such a monster might or might not attempt. In our absence from the post the ruffian would be full master of the neighbourhood. What deed might he not accomplish with impunity, holding his power directly from the unprincipled dictator, whom he was accustomed to imitate as a model, and who would indorse any act of villainy, provided it was the act of one of his own satellites? I shuddered as I reflected.
The reappearance of Ijurra and his band—for I doubted not that his followers were near—their reappearance in that vicinity, and at such a crisis—just as we were being withdrawn—had something ominous in it. They must have known ere this of the plan of campaign designed for the American army. Wheatley’s rumour had proved well founded. The new commander-in-chief, Scott, had arrived upon the ground, and three-fourths of the “army of occupation” had been draughted to form the expedition destined to act upon Vera Cruz. As this greedy general stripped our old favourite “Rough and Ready” of only his best troops, we had the consolation of knowing that the “rangers” were among the “picked;” though, for all that, many of us would have preferred remaining with the brave veteran who had already led us so often to victory. I can answer for Wheatley and myself; I might also vouch for Holingsworth, though far different were his motives for wishing to remain on the Rio Grande. His sweetheart was revenge—in his breast long cherished—to his heart faithful and true.
I have said that our design must have been known to the enemy ere this; indeed our army was already in movement. Troops and brigades were marching upon Brazos Santiago, and Tampico, there to be embarked for the south, and all that were to go had received their orders. The provinces on the Rio Grande were not to be entirely abandoned, but the army left there was to have its lines contracted, and would therefore cover much less ground. Not only was our little post to be deserted, but the neighbouring town, which had long been the head-quarters of a division, was also to be evacuated. No force of ours would remain within fifty miles of the rancheria; and perhaps no American troop would ever again visit that isolated village. The reflection rendered me more than melancholy.
No doubt of it, then, the enemy was apprised of our movements. In our special case—that we the rangers were to march on the following morning, was well known to the people of the neighbourhood. It had been known to them for several days; and it had not passed unobserved by us that the citizens of the place—those who were not Ayankieados—had lately shown themselves more sulky and inhospitable, in proportion as the time approached for our departure. This brusquerie had led to several street-conflicts, in which knives had been drawn and blood spilled, and much “bad blood” begotten on both sides.
Another circumstance was not unnoticed amongst us. Ribald pasquinades, rudely written, and accompanied by threats of proscription, were at this time thrust under the doors of such of the citizens as had been friendly to us. Even the alcalde had received some documents of this character—perhaps emanating from a jealous tiendero who had looked with bitter eye upon the courtship of Wheatley and Conchita. It was not till afterwards I learned that similar missives had “come to hand” in a quarter that more concerned myself.
Some scouted the absurdity of these acts—alleging that they sprung from personal enmity, or originated in the mob-patriotism of the leperos. It was not so, as we afterwards learned; the government of the country—or, at all events, several of its prominent members—countenanced the meanness; and at their instigation, a “black list” was made out in every town and village through which the American army had occasion to pass. Let the minister, Señor O—, make answer to this accusation.
I was musing on this disagreeable theme, after my return from the cerro, and endeavouring to sketch out some plan for the safety of my betrothed during my absence; but my thoughts proved barren.
With a sort of faint hope that the villain Ijurra might yet fall into our hands, I had despatched Holingsworth—nothing loath for the duty—with a party of rangers upon his trail, and I was impatiently awaiting their return.
The voice of Wheatley aroused me from my reverie.
“Well, lieutenant, what is it?”
“Only that precious boy,” answered he, with a significant smile, at the same time ushering “Cyprio” into the room.
The lad carried a note, which I opened. A green sprig of juniper was enclosed, and the simple word “tuya” was written in pencil.
I knew the symbol well. The juniper is tuya in that most beautiful of tongues, and tuya from a lady signifies “yours.”
“Anything more?” I asked of the messenger.
“Nothing, Señor Capitan,” answered the intelligent boy; “only to inquire if you had arrived safe.”
She had been anxious then!
I separated the branchlet into two equal parts: one I placed in my bosom; the other, having fervently kissed, I enclosed in a folded sheet, upon which I wrote the words—
“Tuyo—tuyo—hasta la muerte!”
Cyprio bore back my parting message.
At midnight Holingsworth and his party came in from the scout. Nothing had been seen of the guerrilla.