CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE AMBUSCADE.
The nigh breeze had swept the clouds away; the sky, of a deep azure, wasstudded with an infinity of stars; the night was limpid, the atmosphereso transparent as to allow the slightest varieties of the landscape tobe distinguished. About four leagues from Santa Fe, a numerous band ofhorsemen was following a path scarce traced in the tall grass, whichapproached the town with countless turns and windings. These horsemen,who marched in rather decent order, were nearly 600 in number, andformed the regiment of dragoons so anxiously expected by GeneralVentura.
About ten paces ahead rode four or five officers gaily chattingtogether, among whom was the colonel. The regiment continued its marchslowly, advancing cautiously, through fear of losing its way in aperfectly strange country. The colonel and his officers who had alwaysfought in the States bordering the Atlantic, found themselves now forthe first time in these savage countries.
"Caballeros," the colonel suddenly remarked, "I confess to you that I amcompletely ignorant as to our whereabouts. Can any one of you throw alight on the subject? This road is fearful, it seems to lead nowhere,and I am afraid we have lost our way."
"We are all as ignorant as yourself on that head, colonel," an officeranswered, "not one of us could say where we are."
"On my word!" the colonel went on, taking a glance of satisfactionaround, "We are not in a hurry to reach Santa Fe. I suppose it makeslittle difference whether we get there today or tomorrow. I believe thatthe best thing for us to do is to bivouac here for the rest of thenight; at sunrise we will start again."
"You are right, colonel," the officer said, whom he seemed to addressmost particularly, "a few hours' delay is of no consequence, and we runthe risk of going out of our course."
"Give the order to halt."
The officer immediately obeyed; the soldiers, wearied with a longnight's march, greeted with shouts of joy the order to stop. Theydismounted. The horses were unsaddled and picketed, campfires werelighted, in less than an hour the bivouac was arranged.
The colonel, in desiring to camp for the night, had a more serious fearthan that of losing his way; it was that of falling in with a party of_Indios bravos._
The colonel was brave, and had proved it on many occasions; grown grayin harness, he was an old soldier who feared nothing in the worldparticularly; but accustomed to warfare in the interior of the Republic,had never seen opposed to him any but civilised foes, he professed forthe Indians that instinctive fear which all the Mexicans entertain, andhe would not risk a fight with an Apache or Comanche war party in themiddle of the night, in a country whose resources he did not know, andrun the risk of having his regiment cut to pieces by such Proteanenemies. On the other hand, he was unaware that the governor of Santa Fehad such pressing need of his presence, and this authorised him inacting with the utmost precaution. Still, as soon as the bivouac wasestablished, and the sentries posted, the colonel sent off a dozenresolute men under an Alferez, to trot up the country and try to procurea guide.
We will observe, in passing, that in Spanish America, so soon as youleave the capitals, such as Lima, or Mexico, roads, such as weunderstand them in Europe, no longer exist; you only find paths traced,in nine cases out of ten, by the footprints of wild beasts, and whichare so entangled one with the other, that, unless you have been longaccustomed to them, it is almost impossible to find your way. TheSpaniards, we grant, laid out wide and firm roads, but since the War ofIndependence, they had been cut up, deteriorated and so abandoned by theneglect of the ephemeral governments that have followed each other inMexico, that with the exception of the great highways of communicationin the interior of the country, the rest had disappeared under theherbage.
The little squad of troopers sent out to beat up the country had startedat a gallop, but it soon reduced its pace, and the soldiers and sergeantbegan laughing and talking, caring little for the important mission withwhich they were intrusted. The moon rose on the horizon, shedding herfantastic rays over the ground. As we have said, it was one of thoselovely nights of the American desert full of strange odours. A majesticsilence hovered over the plain, only disturbed at intervals by thosesounds, without any known cause, which are heard on the savannahs, andwhich seem to be the respiration of the sleeping world. Suddenly themockingbird sung twice, and its plaintive and soft song resoundedmelodiously through the air.
"Hallo," one of the dragoons said, addressing his comrade, "that's abird that sings very late."
"An evil omen," the other said with a shake of his head.
"_Canarios_! What omen are you talking about, comrade?"
"I have always heard say," the second, speaker remarked sententiously,"that when you hear a bird sing on your left at night it predictsmisfortune."
"The deuce confound you and your prognostics."
At this moment the song, which appeared previously some distance off,could be heard much more close, and seemed to come from some trees onthe side of the path the dragoons were following. The Alferez raised hishead and stopped, as if mechanically trying to explain the sound thatsmote his ears; but all became silent again, so he shook his head andcontinued his conversation. The detachment had been out more than anhour. During this long stroll, the soldiers had discovered nothingsuspicious; as for the guide they sought, it is needless to say thatthey had not found him, for they had not met a living soul. The Alferezwas about to give orders to return to camp, when one of the trooperspointed out to him some heavy, black forms, apparently prowling aboutunsuspiciously.
"What on earth can that be?" the officer asked, after carefullyexamining what was pointed out to him.
"_Caspita_," one of the dragoons exclaimed, "that is easy to see; theyare browsing deer!"
"Deer!" said the Alferez, in whom the hunter's instinct was suddenlyaroused, "there are at least thirty; suppose we try to catch some."
"It is difficult."
"Pshaw!" another soldier shouted, "It is light enough for each of us tosend them a bullet."
"You must by no means use your carbines," the Alferez interposedsharply; "if our shots, re-echoed through the mountains, caught the earsof the Indians, who are probably ambushed in the thickets, we should beruined."
"What is to be done, then?"
"Lasso them, _caspita_, as you wish to try and catch them."
"That is true; I did not think of that."
The dragoons, delighted at the opportunity of indulging in theirfavourite sport, dismounted, fastened their horses to the roadside treesand seized their lassos. They then advanced cautiously toward the deer,which continued grazing tranquilly, without appearing to suspect thatenemies were so near them. On arriving at a short distance from thegame, the dragoons separated in order to have room for whirling theirlassos, and making a covering of each tree, they managed to approachwithin fifteen paces of the animals. Then they stopped, exchangedglances, carefully calculated the distance, and, at a signal from theirleader, sent their lassos whizzing through the air.
A strange thing happened at this moment, however. All the deer hidesfell simultaneously to the ground, displaying Valentine, Curumilla, anda dozen Comanche warriors, who, profiting by the stupor of the troopersat their extraordinary metamorphosis, hunted the hunters by throwinglassos over their shoulders and hurled them to the ground. The tendragoons and their leader were prisoners.
"Well, my friends," Valentine said with a grin, "how do you like thatsort of fun?"
The startled dragoons made no reply, but allowed themselves to be bound;one alone muttered between his teeth:--
"I was quite sure that villain of a mockingbird would bring us ill luck;it sang on our left. That never deceives, _Canarios!_"
Valentine smiled at this sally. He then placed two fingers in his mouthand imitated the cry of the mockingbird with such perfection, that thesoldier looked up at the trees. He had scarce ended, when a rustling washeard among the bushes, and a man leaped between the hunters and theirprisoners. It was Eagle-wing, the sachem of the Coras.
The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West Page 39