The Death Shot Part 60

The traveller who attempts to follow the course of the stream in question will have to keep upon the cliffs above: for no nearer can he approach its deeply-indented channel. And here he will see only the sterile treeless plain; or, if trees meet his eye, they will be such as but strengthen the impression of sterility--some scrambling mezquite bushes, clumps of cactaceae, perhaps the spheroidal form of a melocactus, or yucca, with its tufts of rigid leaves--the latter resembling bunches of bayonets rising above the musket "stacks" on a military parade ground.

He will have no view of the lush vegetation that enlivens the valley a hundred yards below the hoofs of his horse. He will not even get a glimpse of the stream itself; unless by going close to the edge of the precipice, and craning his neck over. And to do this, he must needs diverge from his route to avoid the transverse rivulets, each trickling down the bed of its own deep-cut channel.

There are many such streams in South-Western Texas; but the one here described is that called _Arroyo de Coyote_--Anglice, "Coyote Creek"--a tributary of the Colorado.

In part it forms the western boundary of the table-land, already known to the reader, in part intersecting it. Approaching it from the San Saba side, there is a stretch of twenty miles, where its channel cannot be reached, except by a single lateral ravine leading down to it at right angles, the entrance to which is concealed by a thick chapparal of th.o.r.n.y mezquite trees. Elsewhere, the traveller may arrive on the bluff's brow, but cannot go down to the stream's edge. He may see it far below, coursing among trees of every shade of green, from clearest emerald to darkest olive, here in straight reaches, there sinuous as a gliding snake. Birds of brilliant plumage flit about through the foliage upon its banks, some disporting themselves in its pellucid wave; some making the valley vocal with their melodious warblings, and others filling it with harsh, stridulous cries. Burning with thirst, and faint from fatigue, he will fix his gaze on the glistening water, to be tortured as Tantalus, and descry the cool shade, without being able to rest his weary limbs beneath it.

But rare the traveller, who ever strays to the bluffs bounding Coyote Creek: rarer still, those who have occasion to descend to the bottom-land through which it meanders.

Some have, nevertheless, as evinced by human sign observable upon the stream's bank, just below where the lateral ravine leads down. There the cliffs diverging, and again coming near, enclose a valley of ovoidal shape, for the most part overgrown with pecan-trees. On one side of it is a thick umbrageous grove, within which several tents are seen standing. They are of rude description, partly covered by the skins of animals, partly sc.r.a.ps of old canvas, here and there eked out with a bit of blanket, or a cast coat. No one would mistake them for the tents of ordinary travellers, while they are equally unlike the wigwams of the nomadic aboriginal. To whom, then, do they appertain?

Were their owners present, there need be no difficulty in answering the question. But they are not. Neither outside, nor within, is soul to be seen. Nor anywhere near. No human form appears about the place; no voice of man, woman, or child, reverberates through the valley. Yet is there every evidence of recent occupation. In an open central s.p.a.ce, are the ashes of a huge fire still hot, with f.a.gots half-burnt, and scarce ceased smoking; while within the tents are implements, utensils, and provisions--bottles and jars of liquor left uncorked, with stores of tobacco unconsumed. What better proof that they are only temporarily deserted, and not abandoned? Certainly their owners, whether white men or Indians, intend returning to them.

It need scarce be told who these are. Enough to say, that Coyote Creek is the head-quarters of the prairie pirates, who a.s.saulted the San Saba settlement.

Just as the sun is beginning to decline towards the western horizon, those of them sent on ahead arrive at their rendezvous; the chief, with Chisholm and the other three, not yet having come up.

On entering the encampment, they relieve their horses of the precious loads. Then unsaddling, turn them into a "corral" rudely constructed among the trees. A set of bars, serving as a gate, secures the animals against straying.

This simple stable duty done, the men betake themselves to the tents, re-kindle the fire, and commence culinary operations. By this, all are hungry enough, and they have the wherewithal to satisfy their appet.i.tes.

There are skilful hunters among them, and the proceeds of a chase, that came off before starting out on their less innocent errand, are seen hanging from the trees, in the shape of bear's hams and haunches of venison. These taken down, are spitted, and soon frizzling in the fire's blaze; while the robbers gather around, knives in hand, each intending to carve for himself.

As they are about to commence their Homeric repast, Borla.s.se and the others ride up. Dismounting and striding in among the tents, the chief glances inquiringly around, his glance soon changing to disappointment.

What he looks for is not there! "Quantrell and Bosley," he asks, "ain't they got here?"

"No, capting," answers one. "They hain't showed yet."

"And you've seen nothin' of them?"

"Nary thing."

His eyes light up with angry suspicion. Again doubts he the fidelity of Darke, or rather is he now certain that the lieutenant is a traitor.

Uttering a fearful oath, he steps inside his tent, taking Chisholm along with him.

"What can it mean, Luke?" he asks, pouring out a gla.s.s of brandy, and gulping it down.

"Hanged if I can tell, cap. It looks like you was right in supposin'

they're gin us the slip. Still it's queery too, whar they could a goed, and wharf ore they should."

"There's nothing so strange about the wherefore; that's clear enough to me. I suspected Richard Darke, _alias_ Phil Quantrell, would play me false some day, though I didn't expect it so soon. He don't want his beauty brought here, lest some of the boys might be takin' a fancy to her. That's one reason, but not all. There's another--to a man like him 'most as strong. He's rich, leastaways his dad is, an' he can get as much out o' the old 'un as he wants,--will have it all in time. He guesses I intended squeezin' him; an' thar he was about right, for I did. I'd lay odds that's the main thing has moved him to cut clear o'

us."

"A darned mean trick if it is. You gied him protection when he was chased by the sheriffs, an' now--"

"Now, he won't need it; though he don't know that; can't, I think. If he but knew he ain't after all a murderer! See here, Luke; he may turn up yet. An' if so, for the life o' ye, ye mustn't tell him who it was we dibbled into the ground up thar. I took care not to let any of them hear his name. You're the only one as knows it."

"Ye can trust me, cap. The word Clancy won't pa.s.s through my teeth, till you gie me leave to speak it."

"Ha!" exclaims Borla.s.se, suddenly struck with an apprehension. "I never thought of the mulatto. He may have let it out?"

"He mayn't, however!"

"If not, he shan't now. I'll take care he don't have the chance."

"How are ye to help it? You don't intend killin' him?"

"Not yet; thar's a golden _egg_ in that goose. His silence can be secured without resortin' to that. He must be kep' separate from the others."

"But some o' them 'll have to look after him, or he may cut away from us."

"Fernandez will do that. I can trust him with Clancy's name,--with anything. Slip out, Luke, and see if they've got it among them. If they have, it's all up, so far as that game goes. If not, I'll fix things safe, so that when we've spent Monsheer Dupre's silver, we may still draw cheques on the bank of San Antonio, signed Ephraim Darke."

Chisholm obeying, brings back a satisfactory report.

"The boys know nothin' o' Clancy's name, nor how we disposed o' him. In coorse, Watts, Stocker, an' Driscoll, haint sayed anything 'bout that.

They've told the rest we let him go, not carin' to keep him; and that you only wanted the yellow fellow to wait on ye."

"Good! Go again, and fetch Fernandez here."

Chisholm once more turns out of the tent, soon after re-entering it, the half-blood behind him.

"Nandy," says Borla.s.se; calling the latter by a name mutually understood. "I want you to take charge of that mulatto, and keep him under your eye. You musn't let any of the boys come nigh enough to hold speech wi' him. You go, Luke, and give them orders they're not to."

Chisholm retires.

"And, Nandy, if the n.i.g.g.e.r mentions any name--it may be that of his master--mind you it's not to be repeated to any one. You understand me?"

"I do, _capitan_."

"All serene. I know I can depend on ye. Now, to your duty."

Without another word, the taciturn mestizo glides out of the tent, leaving Borla.s.se alone. Speaking to himself, he says:--

"If Quantrell's turned traitor, thar's not a corner in Texas whar he'll be safe from my vengeance. I'll sarve the whelp as I've done 'tother,-- a hound n.o.bler than he. An' for sweet Jessie Armstrong, he'll have strong arms that can keep her out o' mine. By heavens! I'll hug her yet. If not, h.e.l.l may take me!"

Thus blasphemously delivering himself, he clutches at the bottle of brandy, pours out a fresh gla.s.s, and drinking it at a gulp, sits down to reflect on the next step to be taken.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE.

A TRANSFORMATION.

Night has spread its sable pall over the desert plain, darker in the deep chasm through which runs Coyote Creek. There is light enough in the encampment of the prairie pirates; for the great fire kindled for cooking their dinners still burns, a constant supply of resinous pine-knots keeping up the blaze, which illuminates a large circle around. By its side nearly a score of men are seated in groups, some playing cards, others idly carousing. No one would suppose them the same seen there but a few hours before; since there is not the semblance of Indian among them. Instead, they are all white men, and wearing the garb of civilisation; though scarce two are costumed alike. There are coats of Kentucky jeans, of home-wove copperas stripe, of blanket-cloth in the three colours, red, blue, and green; there are blouses of brown linen, and buckskin dyed with dogwood ooze; there are Creole jackets of Attakapas "cottonade," and Mexican ones of cotton velveteen. Alike varied is the head, leg, and foot-wear. There are hats of every shape and pattern; pantaloons of many a cut and material, most of them tucked into boots with legs of different lengths, from ankle to mid-thigh.

Only in the under garment is there anything like uniformity; nine out of ten wearing s.h.i.+rts of scarlet flannel--the fas.h.i.+on of the frontier.

A stranger entering the camp now, would suppose its occupants to be a party of hunters; one acquainted with the customs of South-Western Texas, might p.r.o.nounce them _mustangers_--men who make their living by the taking and taming of wild horses. And if those around the fire were questioned about their calling, such would be the answer.--In their tents are all the paraphernalia used in this pursuit; la.s.soes for catching the horses; halters and hobbles for confining them; bits for breaking, and the like; while close by is a "corral" in which to keep the animals when caught.

All counterfeit! There is not a real mustanger among these men, nor one who is not a robber; scarce one who could lay his hand upon his heart, and say he has not, some time or other in his life, committed murder!