The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

  Three days had elapsed from the time that the yellow hunter and hiscompanion had started on their expedition. Those who sent them werebeginning to grow impatient for some news of them. They did not allowthemselves to doubt of the zeal of their employes,--the reward wouldsecure that,--and scarce did they doubt of their success. The latterseemed to all three--Roblado, Vizcarra, and the Padre--but a consequenceof the former. Still they were impatient for some report from thehunters--if not of the actual capture, at least that the outlaw had beenseen, or that they were upon his trail.

  On reflection, however, both Padre and officers saw that it would not belikely they should have any report before the hunters themselves cameback, either with or without their captive.

  "No doubt," suggested the monk, "they are after him every hour, and weshall hear nothing of them until they have laid hands upon the hereticrascal."

  What a startling piece of news it was to this charming trio, when a_hatero_ brought the information to the settlement that he had seen twodead bodies upon the plain, which he recognised as those of the Missionhunters--Manuel and Pepe.

  His report was that he had seen them near a grove upon the Pecos,--thatthey were torn by the wolves and vultures--but that what still remainedof their dress and equipments enabled him to make out who they were--forthe hatero had chanced to know these men personally. He was sure theywere the mulatto and Zambo, the hunters of the mission.

  At first this "mysterious murder," as it was termed, could not beexplained--except upon the supposition that the "Indios bravos" had doneit. The people knew nothing of the duty upon which the hunters had beenlately employed. Both were well enough known, though but little noticewas taken of their movements, which lay generally beyond the observationof the citizen community. It was supposed they had been out upon one oftheir usual hunts, and had fallen in with a roving band of savages.

  A party of dragoons, guided by the hatero, proceeded to the grove; andthese returned with a very different version of the story.

  They had ascertained beyond a doubt that both the hunters had beenkilled, not by Indian arrows, but by the weapons of a white man.Furthermore, their horses had been left, while their dogs had beenkilled--the skeletons of the latter were found lying upon the bank ofthe river.

  It could not have been Indians, then. They would have carried off theanimals, both dogs and horses, and, moreover, would have stripped thedead of their equipments, which were of some value. Indians? No.

  There was not much difficulty in deciding who had committed this murder.Where the skeletons of the dogs were found the ground was soft, andthere were hoof-tracks that did not belong to the horses of the hunters.These were recognised by several. They were the tracks of thewell-known horse of Carlos the cibolero.

  Beyond a doubt Carlos had done the deed. It was known that he and theyellow hunter had not been on friendly terms, but the contrary. Theyhad met and quarrelled, then; or, what was more likely, Carlos had foundthe hunters asleep by their camp-fire, had stolen upon them, and thuseffected his purpose. The mulatto had been shot dead at once, and hadfallen into the fire, for part of the body was consumed to a cinder!His companion, attempting to make his escape, had been pursued andovertaken by the bloodthirsty outlaw!

  New execrations were heaped upon the head of the devoted Carlos. Mencrossed themselves and uttered either a prayer or a curse at the mentionof his name; and mothers made use of it to fright their children intogood behaviour. The name of Carlos the cibolero spread more terror thanthe rumour of an Indian invasion!

  The belief in the supernatural became strengthened. Scarce any one nowdoubted that the cibolero's mother was a witch, or that all these deedsperformed by her son were the result of her aid and inspiration.

  There was not the slightest hope that he would either be captured orkilled. How could he? Who could bind the devil and bring him topunishment? No one any longer believed that he could be caught.

  Some gravely proposed that his mother--the witch should be taken up andburnt. Until that was done, argued they, he would set all pursuit atdefiance; but if she were put out of the world, the murderer might thenbe brought to justice!

  It is probable enough that the counsels of these and they were themajority of the inhabitants--would have prevailed; especially as theywere openly approved of by the padres of the mission; but before thepublic mind became quite ripe for such a violent sacrifice, an eventoccurred which completely changed the currant of affairs.

  It was on the morning of a Sunday, and the people were just coming outof the church, when a horseman, covered with sweat and dust, gallopedinto the Plaza. His habiliments were those of a sergeant of dragoons;and all easily recognised the well-known lineaments of the sergeantGomez.

  In a few minutes he was surrounded by a crowd of idlers, who, althoughit was Sunday, were heard a few moments after breaking out into loudacclamations of joy. Hats were uptossed and _vivas_ rent the air!

  What news had Gomez announced? A rare bit of news--_the capture of theoutlaw_! It was true. Carlos had been taken, and was now a prisoner inthe hands of the soldiers. He had been captured neither by strength norstratagem. Treachery had done the work. He had been betrayed by one ofhis own people.

  It was thus his capture had been effected. Despairing for the presentof being able to communicate with Catalina, he had formed the resolutionto remove his mother and sister from the valley. He had prepared atemporary home for them far off in the wilderness, where they would besecure from his enemies, while he himself could return at a betteropportunity.

  To effect their removal, watched as they were, he knew would be no easymatter. But he had taken his measures, and would have succeeded had itnot been for treason. One of his own people--a peon who had accompaniedhim in his last expedition--betrayed him to his vigilant foes.

  Carlos was within the rancho making a few hasty preparations for thejourney. He had left his horse hidden some distance off in thechapparal. Unfortunately for him Cibolo was not there. The faithfuldog had been laid up since his late encounter at the cave. To a peonhad been assigned the duty that would otherwise have been intrusted tohim--that of keeping watch without.

  This wretch had been previously bought by Roblado and Vizcarra. Theresult was, that, instead of acting as sentinel for his master, hehastened to warn his enemies. The rancho was surrounded by a troop;and, although several of his assailants were killed by the hand ofCarlos, he himself was finally overpowered and taken.

  Gomez had not been five minutes in the Plaza when a bugle was heardsounding the advance of a troop, which the next moment defiled into theopen square. Near its middle was the prisoner, securely tied upon theback of a saddle-mule, and guarded by a double file of troopers.

  An arrival of such interest was soon known, and the Plaza became filledwith a crowd eager to gratify its curiosity by a sight of the notoriouscibolero.

  But he was not the only one upon whom the people gazed with curiosity.There were two other prisoners--one of whom was regarded with aninterest equal to that felt at the sight of the outlaw himself. Thisprisoner was his mother. Upon her the eyes of the multitude turned withan expression of awe mingled with indignation; while jeering and angrycries hailed her as she passed on her way to the _Calabozo_.

  "_Muera la hechicera! muera_!" (Death to the witch--let her die!) brokefrom ruffian lips as she was carried along.

  Even the dishevelled hair and weeping eyes of her young companion--herdaughter--failed to touch the hearts of that fanatical mob, and therewere some who cried, "_Mueran las dos! madre y hija_!" (Let both die--mother and daughter!)

  The guards had even to protect them from rude assault, as they werethrust hastily within the door of the prison!

  Fortunately Carlos saw nought of this. _He was not even aware that theywere prisoners_! He thought, perhaps, they had been left unmolested inthe rancho, and that the vengeance of his enemies extended no fartherthan to himself. He knew not the fiendi
sh designs of his persecutors.