Chapter 99 - The Hunt of the Wild Horse by Mayne Reid
The Crisis
The renegade, having raised the unresisting captive in his arms, proceeded to carry her from the spot. He scarcely carried her; her feet, naked and bound, trailed along the grass, both together.
He passed the lodge, and was going towards the copse, in an oblique direction. The savages who saw him made no attempt to interfere, shouted some lewd phrases, and laughed!
I waited neither to see nor hear more.
Still keeping within the timber, I glided along its edge; with quick but noiseless step I went, making for the same point towards which the ruffian ravisher was tending.
I arrived first; and, stooping under the shadow of the trees, waited, with knife in hand, firm grasped and ready.
His burden had delayed him; he had stopped midway to rest; and was now scarcely ten paces from the edge of the grove, with the girl still in his arms, and apparently leaning against him.
There was a momentary wavering in my mind, as to whether I should not then rush forth, and strike the coup. The chance seemed as good a one as I might get.
I was about deciding in the affirmative, when I saw that Hissoo-royo had again taken up his warden, and was moving towards me. He was making directly for the spot where I stood. The crisis was near!
It was even nearer than I thought. The man had scarcely made three steps from the point of rest, when I saw him stumble and fall to the earth, carrying the captive along with him!
The fall appealed accidental. I might have deemed it so, but for the wild shout with which it was accompanied. Something more than a mere stumble elicited that fearful cry!
There was a short struggle upon the ground—the bodies became separated. One was seen to spring suddenly back; I saw it was Isolina! There was something in her hand—both moonlight and firelight gleamed upon a crimsoned blade!
She who grasped it bent for an instant downward—its keen edge severed the thongs from her limbs, and the moment after, she was running in full flight across the level sward of the camp-ground!
Without reflection, I sprang out of the covert and rushed after.
I passed the renegade, who had half-regained his feet, and appeared but slightly wounded. Astonishment as much as aught else seemed to hold him to the spot. He was shouting and swearing—calling for help, and uttering threats of vengeance.
I could have slain him, and was half-inclined to the act; but there was no time to stay. I only thought of overtaking the fugitive, and aiding her in her flight.
The alarm was given—the camp was in commotion—fifty savages were starting upon the chase.
As we ran, my eyes fell upon a horse—a white horse. It was the steed; a man was leading him by a lazo. He was taking him from the fires towards the ground occupied by the mustangs; he was going to picket him on the grass.
Horse and man were directly in front of us, as we ran—in front of the fugitive. She was making towards them; I divined her intention.
In a few seconds he was up to the horse, and had seized the rope.
The Indian struggled, and tried to take it away from her; the red blade gleamed in his eyes, and he gave back.
He still clung to the rope; but in an instant it was cut from his hands, and, quick as thought, the heroic woman leaped upon the back of the steed, and was seen galling away!
The Indian was one of the horse-guards, and was therefore armed; he carried bow and quiver. Before the horse had galloped beyond reach, he had bent his bow, and sent an arrow from the string.
I heard the “wheep” of the shaft, and fancied I heard it strike; but the steed kept on!
I had plucked up one of the long spears, as I ran across the camp. Before the Indian could adjust another arrow to the string, I had thrust him in the back.
I drew out the spear, and, keeping the white horse in view, ran on.
I was soon in the midst of the mustangs; many of them had already stampeded, and were galloping to and fro over the ground. The guards were dismayed, but as yet knew not the cause of the alarm. The steed with his rider passed safely through their line.
I followed on foot, and as fast as I could run. Fifty savages were after me; I could hear their shouts.
I could hear them cry “Wakono,” but I was soon far in advance of all. The horse-guards, as I passed them, were shouting “Wakono!”
As soon as I had cleared the horse-drove, I again perceived the steed; but he was now some distance off. To my joy he was going in the right direction—straight for the yuccas upon the hill. My men would see and intercept him?
I ran along the stream with all speed. I reached the broken bank, and, without stopping, rushed into the gully for my horse.
What was my astonishment to find that he was gone! my noble steed gone, and in his place the spotted mustang of the Indian!
I looked up and down the channel; I looked along its banks—Moro was not in sight!
I was puzzled, perplexed, furious. I knew no explanation of the mystery—I could think of none. Who could have done it? Who? My followers must have done it. Rube must have done it? but why? In my hot haste, I could find no reason for this singular behaviour.
I had no time to reflect—not a moment.
I drew the animal from the water, and leaping upon his back, rode out of the channel.
As I regained the level of the plain, I saw mounted men, a crowd of them coming from the camp. They were the savages in pursuit; one was far ahead of the rest, and before I could turn my horse to flee, he was close up to me. In the moonlight I easily recognised him—it was Hissoo-royo the renegade.
“Slave!” shouted he, speaking in the Comanche tongue, and with furious emphasis, “it is you who have planned this. Squaw! coward! you shall die! The white captive is mine—mine, Wakono! and you—”
He did not finish the sentence. I still carried the Comanche spear; my six months’ service in a lance-regiment now stood me in stead; the mustang behaved handsomely, and carried me full tilt upon my foe.
In another instant the renegade and his horse were parted; the former lay levelled upon the grass, transfixed with the long spear, while the latter was galloping riderless over the plain!
At this crisis I perceived the crowd coming up, and close to the spot. There were twenty or more, and I saw that I should soon be surrounded.
A happy idea came opportunely to my relief. All along I had observed that I was mistaken for Wakono. The Indians in the camp had cried “Wakono;” the horse-guards shouted “Wakono” as I passed; the pursuers were calling “Wakono” as they rode up; the renegade had fallen with the name upon his lips: the spotted horse; the robe of jaguar-skins, the plumed head-dress, the red hand, the white cross, all proclaimed me Wakono!
I urged my horse a length or two forward, and reined up in front of the pursuers. I raised my arm, and shook it in menace before their faces; at the same instant, I cried out in a loud voice—
“I am Wakono! Death to him who follows!”
I spoke in Comanche. I was not so sure of the correctness of my words—either of the pronunciation or the syntax—but I had the gratification to perceive that I was understood. Perhaps my gestures helped the savages to comprehend me—the meaning of these was not to be mistaken.
From whatever cause, the pursuers made no further advance; but one and all, drawing in their horses, halted upon the spot.
I stayed not for further parley; but, wheeling quickly round, galloped away from them, as fast as the mustang could carry me.