The Rifle Rangers Part 19

My heart recognised in her _the heroine of extremes_. One of those natures gifted with all the tenderness that belongs to the angel idea-- woman; yet soaring above her s.e.x in the paralysing moments of peril and despair. Her feelings, in relation to her sister's cruelty to the gold-fish, proved the existence of the former principle; her actions, in attempting my own rescue when battling with the monster, were evidence of the latter. One of those natures that may err from the desperate intensity of one pa.s.sion, that knows no limit to its self-sacrifice short of destruction and death. One of those beings that may fall--but _only once_.

"What would I not give--what would I not do--to be the hero of such a heart?"

These were my reflections as I quitted the house.

I had noted every word, every look, every action, that could lend me a hope; and my memory conjured up, and my judgment canva.s.sed, each little circ.u.mstance in its turn.

How strange her conduct at bidding adieu! How unlike her sister! Less friendly and sincere; and yet from this very circ.u.mstance I drew my happiest omen.

Strange--is it not? My experience has taught me that love and hate for the _same_ object can exist in the _same_ heart, and at the _same_ time.

If this be a paradox, I am a child of error.

I believed it then; and her apparent coldness, which would have rendered many another hopeless, produced with me an opposite effect.

Then came the cloud--the thought of Don Santiago--and a painful feeling shot through my heart.

"Don Santiago, a naval officer, young, handsome. Bah! hers is not a heart to be won by a face."

Such were my reflections and half-uttered expressions as I slowly led my soldiers through the tangled path.

Don Santiago's age and his appearance were the creations of a jealous fancy. I had bidden adieu to my new acquaintances knowing nothing of Don Santiago beyond the fact that he was an officer on board the Spanish s.h.i.+p of war, and a relation of Don Cosme.

"Oh, yes! Don Santiago is on board! Ha! there was an evident interest.

Her look as she said it; her manner--furies! But he is a relation, a cousin--_a cousin--I hate cousins_!"

I must have p.r.o.nounced the last words aloud, as Lincoln, who walked in my rear, stepped hastily up, and asked:

"What did yer say, Cap'n?"

"Oh! nothing, Sergeant," stammered I, in some confusion.

Notwithstanding my a.s.surance, I overheard Lincoln whisper to his nearest comrade:

"What ther old Harry hes got into the cap?"

He referred to the fact that I had unconsciously hooked myself half a dozen times on the th.o.r.n.y claws of the pita-plant, and my overalls began to exhibit a most tattered condition.

Our route lay through a dense chaparral--now crossing a sandy spur, covered with mezquite and acacia; then sinking into the bed of some silent creek, shaded with old cork-trees, whose gnarled and venerable trunks were laced together by a thousand parasites. Two miles from the rancho we reached the banks of a considerable stream, which we conjectured was a branch of the Jamapa River.

On both sides a fringe of dark forest-trees flung out long branches extending half-way across the stream. The water flowed darkly underneath.

Huge lilies stood out from the banks--their broad, wax-like leaves trailing upon the gla.s.sy ripple.

Here and there were pools fringed with drooping willows and belts of green _tule_. Other aquatic plants rose from the water to the height of twenty feet; among which we distinguished the beautiful "iris", with its tall, spear-like stem, ending in a brown cylinder, like the pompon of a grenadier's cap.

As we approached the banks the pelican, scared from his lonely haunt, rose upon heavy wing, and with a shrill scream flapped away through the dark aisles of the forest. The cayman plunged sullenly into the sedgy water; and the "Sajou" monkey, suspended by his prehensile tail from some overhanging bough, oscillated to and fro, and filled the air with his hideous, half-human cries.

Halting for a moment to refill the canteens, we crossed over and ascended the opposite bank. A hundred paces farther on the guide, who had gone ahead, cried out from an eminence, "_Mira la caballada_!"

(Yonder's the drove!)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

ONE WAY OF TAMING A BULL.

Pus.h.i.+ng through the jungle, we ascended the eminence. A brilliant picture opened before us. The storm had suddenly lulled, and the tropical sun shone down upon the flowery surface of the earth, bathing its verdure in a flood of yellow light. It was several hours before sunset, but the bright orb had commenced descending towards the snowy cone of Orizava, and his rays had a.s.sumed that golden red which characterises the ante-twilight of the tropics. The short-lived storm had swept the heavens, and the blue roof of the world was without a cloud. The dark ma.s.ses had rolled away over the south-eastern horizon, and were now spending their fury upon the dyewood forests of Honduras and Tabasco.

At our feet lay the prairie, spread before us like a green carpet, and bounded upon the farther side by a dark wall of forest-trees. Several clumps of timber grew like islands on the plain, adding to the picturesque character of the landscape.

Near the centre of the prairie stood a small rancho, surrounded by a high picket fence. This we at once recognised as the "corral" mentioned by Don Cosme.

At some distance from the inclosure thousands of cattle were browsing upon the gra.s.sy level, their spotted flanks and long upright horns showing their descent from the famous race of Spanish bulls. Some of them, straggling from the herd, rambled through the "mottes", or lay stretched out under the shade of some isolated palm-tree. Ox-bells were tinkling their cheerful but monotonous music. Hundreds of horses and mules mingled with the herd; and we could distinguish a couple of leather-clad _vaqueros_ (herdsmen) galloping from point to point on their swift mustangs.

These, as we appeared upon the ridge, dashed out after a wild bull that had just escaped from the corral.

All five--the vaqueros, the mustangs, and the bull--swept over the prairie like wind, the bull bellowing with rage and terror; while the vaqueros were yelling in his rear, and whirling their long lazos. Their straight black hair floating in the wind--their swarthy, Arab-like faces--their high Spanish hats--their red leather calzoneros, b.u.t.toned up the sides--their huge jingling spurs, and the ornamental trappings of their deep saddles--all these, combined with the perfect _manege_ of their das.h.i.+ng steeds, and the wild excitement of the chase in which they were engaged, rendered them objects of picturesque interest; and we halted a moment to witness the result.

The bull came rus.h.i.+ng past within fifty paces of where we stood, snorting with rage, and tossing his horns high in the air--his pursuers close upon him. At this moment one of the vaqueros launched his lazo, which, floating gracefully out, settled down over one horn. Seeing this, the vaquero did not turn his horse, but sat facing the bull, and permitted the rope to run out. It was soon carried taut; and, scarcely checking the animal, it slipped along the smooth horn and spun out into the air. The cast was a failure.

The second vaquero now flung his lazo with more success. The heavy loop, skilfully projected, shot out like an arrow, and embraced _both_ horns in its curving noose. With the quickness of thought the vaquero wheeled his horse, buried his spurs deep into his flanks, and, pressing his thighs to the saddle, galloped off in an opposite direction. The bull dashed on as before. In a moment the lariat was stretched. The sudden jerk caused the thong to vibrate like a bowstring, and the bull lay motionless on the gra.s.s. The shock almost dragged the mustang upon his flanks.

The bull lay for some time where he had fallen; then, making an effort, he sprang up, and looked around him with a bewildered air. He was not yet conquered. His eye, flas.h.i.+ng with rage, rolled around until it fell upon the rope leading from his horns to the saddle; and, suddenly lowering his head, with a furious roar he rushed upon the vaquero.

The latter, who had been expecting this attack, drove the spurs into his mustang, and started in full gallop across the prairie. On followed the bull, sometimes shortening the distance between him and his enemy, while at intervals the lazo, tightening, would almost jerk him upon his head.

After running for a hundred yards or so, the vaquero suddenly wheeled and galloped out at right angles to his former course. Before the bull could turn, himself the rope again tightened with a jerk and flung him upon his side. This time he lay but an instant, and, again springing to his feet, he dashed off in fresh pursuit.

The second vaquero now came up, and, as the bull rushed past, launched his lazo after, and snared him around one of the legs, drawing the noose upon his ankle.

This time the bull was flung completely over, and with such a violent shock that he lay as if dead. One of the vaqueros then rode cautiously up, and, bending over in the saddle, unfastened both of the lariats, and set the animal free.

The bull rose to his feet, and, looking around in the most cowed and pitiful manner, walked quietly off, driven unresistingly towards the corral.

We commenced descending into the place, and the vaqueros, catching a glimpse of our uniforms, simultaneously reined up their mustangs with a sudden jerk. We could see from their gestures that they were frightened at the approach of our party. This was not strange, as the major, mounted upon his great gaunt charger, loomed up against the blue sky like a colossus. The Mexicans, doubtless, had never seen anything in the way of horseflesh bigger than the mustangs they were riding; and this apparition, with the long line of uniformed soldiers descending the hill, was calculated to alarm them severely.

"Them fellers is gwine to put, Cap'n," said Lincoln, touching his cap respectfully.

"You're right, Sergeant," I replied; "and without them we might as well think of catching the wind as one of these mules."

"If yer'll just let me draw a bead on the near mustang, I kin kripple him 'ithout hurtin' the thing thet's in the saddle."

"It would be a pity. No, Sergeant," answered I. "I might stop them by sending forward the guide," I continued, addressing myself rather than Lincoln; "but no, it will not do; there must be the appearance of force.

I have promised. Major, would you have the goodness to ride forward, and prevent those fellows from galloping off?"

"Lord, Captain!" said the major, with a terrified look, "you don't think I could overtake such Arabs as them? Hercules is slow--slow as a crab!"

Now, this was _a lie_, and I knew it! for Hercules, the major's great, raw-boned steed, was as fleet as the wind.