Chapter 62 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
Wolves on the Track
The wolves, then, were after him!
The trackers had made out their footprints in the mud of the arroyo. Both kinds had been there—the large brown wolf of Texas, and the small barking coyote of the plains. A full pack there had been, as the trappers could tell by the numerous tracks, and that they were following the horse, the tracks also testified to these men of strange intelligence. How knew they this? By what sign?
To my inquiries, I obtained answer from Garey.
Above the spring-branch extended a shelving bank; up this the steed had bounded, after drinking at the pool. Up this, too, the wolves had sprung after: they had left the indentation of their claws in the soft loam.
How knew Garey that they were in pursuit of the horse?
The “scratches” told him they were going at their fastest, and they would not have sprung so far had they not been pursuing some prey. There were footmarks of no other animal except theirs, and the hoof-prints of that steed; and that they were after him was evident to the trapper, because the tracks of the wolves covered those of the horse.
Garey had no more doubt of the correctness of his reasoning, than a geometrician of the truth of a theorem in Euclid.
I groaned in spirit as I was forced to adopt his conclusion. But it was all probable—too probable. Had the steed been alone—Unembarrassed—free—it was not likely the wolves would have chased him thus. The wild-horse in his prime is rarely the object of their attack; though the old and infirm—the gravid mare, and the feeble colt—often fall before these hungry hunters of the plains. Both common wolf and coyote possess all the astuteness of the fox, and know, as if by instinct, the animal that is wounded to death. They will follow the stricken deer that has escaped from the hunter; but if it prove to be but slightly harmed, instinctively they abandon the chase.
Their instinct had told them that the steed was not ridden by a free hand; they had seen that there was something amiss; and in the hope of running down both horse and rider, they had followed with hungry howl.
Another fact lent probability to this painful conjecture; we knew that by the mesa were many wolves.
The spring was the constant resort of ruminant animals, deer and antelopes; the half-wild cattle of the ganaderos drank there, and the tottering calf oft became the prey of the coyote and his more powerful congener, the gaunt Texan wolf. There was still another reason why the place must of late have been the favourite prowl of these hideous brutes: the débris of our skirmish had furnished them with many a midnight banquet. They had ravened upon the blood of men and the flesh of horses, and they hungered for more.
That they might succeed in running down the steed, cumbered as he was, was probable enough. Sooner or later, they would overtake him. It might be after a long, long gallop over hill and dale, through swamp and chapparal; but still it was probable those tough, tireless pursuers would overtake him. They would launch themselves upon his flanks; they would seize upon his wearied limbs—upon hers, the helpless victim on his back—both horse and rider would be dragged to the earth—both torn—parted in pieces—devoured!
I groaned under the horrid apprehension.
“Look thar!” said Garey, pointing to the ground, and holding his torch so as to illuminate the surface; “the hoss has made a slip thar. See! hyar’s the track o’ the big wolf—he hes sprung up jest hyar; I can tell by the scratch o’ his hind-claws.”
I examined the “sign.” Even to my eyes it was readable, and just as Garey had interpreted it. There were other tracks of wolves on the damp soil, but one had certainly launched himself forward, in a long leap, as though in an effort to fasten himself upon the flanks of some animal. The hoof-mark plainly showed that the steed had slipped as he sprang over the wet grass; and this had tempted the spring of the watchful pursuer.
We hurried on. Our excited feelings hindered us from causing longer than a moment. Both rangers and trappers snared my eagerness, as well as my apprehensions. Fast as the torches could be carried, we hurried on.
Shortly after parting from the mesa, there occurred a change in our favour. The lights had been carried under hats to protect them from the rain. This precaution was no longer required. The storm had passed—the shower ceasing as suddenly as it had come on; the clouds were fast driving from the face of the firmament. In five minutes more, the moon would shine forth. Already her refracted rays lightened the prairie.
We did not stay for her full beam; time was too precious. Still trusting to the torches, we hurried on.
The beautiful queen of the night kept her promise. In five minutes, her cheering orb shot out beyond the margin of the dark pall that had hitherto shrouded it; and her white disc, as if purified by the storm, shone with unwonted brightness. The ground became conspicuous almost as in day; the torches were extinguished, and we followed the trail more rapidly by the light of the moon.
Here, still in full gallop, had passed the wild-horse, and for miles beyond—still had he gone at utmost speed. Still close upon his heels had followed the ravenous and untiring wolves. Here and there were the prints of their clawed feet—the signs of their unflagging pursuit.
The roar of water sounded in our ears: it came from the direction towards which the trail was conducting us, a stream was not far distant.
We soon diminished the distance. A glassy sheet glistened under the moonlight, and towards this the trail trended in a straight line.
It was a river—a cataract was near, down which the water, freshened by the late rain, came tumbling, broken by the rocks into hummocks of white foam. Under the moonlight, it appeared like an avalanche of snow. The trappers recognised an affluent of the Rio Bravo, running from the north—from the high steppe of the Llano Estacado.
We hurried forward to its bank, and opposite the frothing rapids. The trail conducted us to this point—to the very edge of the foaming water. It led no farther. There were the hoof-marks forward to the brink, but not back. The horse had plunged into the torrent.