The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  Next day he followed his hunting with increased ardour. He was nowprovided with the means of transport to any amount. There was no fearhe should have to leave either his robes or tasajo behind. With his ownmules, he had now thirty-five; and that number, with the three carretas,would carry a splendid freight--of the value of hundreds of dollars.

  He had already obtained some dressed robes from the Indians. For thesehe had parted with everything for which an Indian would trade. Even thebuttons from off his jacket and those of his men, the bullion bands andshining tags of their sombreros--everything about them that glittered!

  Their arms of course not. These the Wacoes did not want. They hadsimilar ones themselves, and could manufacture them at will. They wouldhave purchased the long brown rifle; but that was a souvenir Carloswould not have parted with for a score of mules.

  For the next day or two the cibolero continued his hunting. He foundthe buffalo grow every hour more excited and wild. He noticed, too,that the "running" gangs came from the north, while the Wacoes werehunting to the southward of his camp! It could not be the latter thatwere disturbing them. Who then?

  On the third night after his trade with the Indians, Carlos had retiredto rest with his people. Antonio kept watch until midnight, at whichhour he was to be relieved by one of the peons.

  Antonio had grown very sleepy. His hard riding after the buffalo hadwearied him; and he was doing his best to keep awake for the lasthalf-hour of his vigil, when a snort reached his ears from the directionof the _mulada_.

  This brought him to himself. He placed his ear to the ground andlistened. Another snort louder than the first came from the _mulada_--another--and another--quick in succession!

  "What can it mean? Coyotes? or, perhaps, a bear? I shall wake mymaster," said Antonio to himself.

  Stealing gently to the side of Carlos, the half-blood shook the sleeperby the arm. A slight shake was enough, for in an instant the cibolerowas upon his feet and handling his rifle. He always resorted to thisweapon in cases of danger, such as a hostile attack by Indians, usinghis bow only in the chase.

  After a word or two had passed between Carlos and Antonio the threepeons were awaked, and all five stood to their arms. The little partyremained in the midst of the carretas, which had been drawn up so as toform a small triangular corral. The high boxes of these would be anexcellent protection against arrows; and, as there was no fire in thecamp to make a light, they could not be seen from without. The camp,moreover, was shadowed by the thick foliage of the mulberries, whichrendered it still more obscure; while its occupants commanded a view ofthe prairie in front. But for the wood copses which stood at intervals,they could have seen the whole ground both up and down the valley andalong its sides. These copses, however, might have concealed any numberof foes.

  The hunters remained silent, listening intently. At one time theyfancied they could see a dark form crouching along the ground in thedirection of the _mulada_, that was picketed not a hundred yards off.The light, however, was so uncertain, not one of the five could be sureof this. Whatever it was, it moved very slowly, for it appeared toremain near the same spot.

  Carlos at length set himself to observe it more closely. He stole outfrom the corral, and, followed by Antonio, crawled along the ground.When the two had got nearer the dark object, it was distinctly seen tomove.

  "There _is_ something!" whispered the cibolero.

  At that moment the mules again snorted, and one or two of them struckthe ground with their hoofs, as if startled.

  "It must be a bear, I fancy," continued Carlos. "It has the appearanceof one. It will stampede the animals--a shot will be less likely to doso."

  As he said this he raised his rifle, and, taking aim as well as thedarkness would allow him, pulled trigger and fired.

  It seemed as if the shot had invoked all the demons of the infernalregions. A hundred voices burst forth in one simultaneous yell, thehoofs of a hundred horses rang upon the turf, the _mulada_ got intomotion, the mules squealing and plunging violently, and the next momentevery one of them had broken their lariats, and were running at afurious gallop out of the valley! A dark band of yelling horsemen wasseen closing in after and driving them off; and, before Carlos couldrecover from his surprise, both mules and Indians had disappeared out ofsight and hearing!

  Not a single one remained of the whole _mulada_. The ground upon whichthey had been picketed was swept perfectly clear!

  "An estampeda!" said the cibolero, in a husky voice; "my poor mules--allgone--_every_ one of them! A curse upon Indian duplicity!"

  Carlos had not the slightest doubt but that the marauders were theWacoes--the very same from whom he had purchased the mules. He knewthat such an occurrence was by no means rare--that oftentimes thetraders are robbed in this way; and not unusual is it for them topurchase a second time the very animals thus carried off, and from thesame Indians who have stolen them!

  "A curse upon Indian duplicity!" he repeated with indignant emphasis."No wonder they were so free and generous in their barter! It was but aplot on the part of the cowardly thieves to take from me my whole cargo,without daring to do so openly. _Carajo_! I am lost!"

  This last phrase was uttered in a tone that partook equally of anger andgrief.

  The cibolero was certainly placed in an unpleasant situation. All hishopes--lately running so high--were crushed in a single moment. Hiswhole property taken from him--the object of his enterprise lost--hislong, perilous, and painful journeyings made for nothing. He shouldreturn empty-handed, poorer than when he set out--for his own fivepack-mules were gone among the rest. The oxen, and his faithful steed,tied to the carretas, alone remained. These would scarce serve to carryprovision for himself and party on their journey home; no cargo--not abale of hides--not a "bulta" of meat more than would be required fortheir own food!

  These reflections all passed through the mind of the cibolero in thespace of a few moments, as he stood gazing in the direction in which themarauders had gone. He made no attempt to follow--that would have beenworse than useless. On his splendid horse he might have overtakenthem--only to die on the points of their lances!

  "A curse upon Indian duplicity!" he once more repeated; and then, risingto his feet, walked back to the corral, and gave orders for the oxen tobe drawn close up and firmly fastened to the carretas. Another surprisemight be attempted by some lingering party of the savages; and, as itwould be unsafe to go to sleep, the cibolero and his four companionsremained awake and on the alert for the remainder of the night.