The Guerilla Chief Part 37

It was very dark, and we cl.u.s.tered around the door. One knocked--a voice was heard from within--Rafaela recognised it as that of the ruffian himself. The knock was repeated, and one of the party who spoke the language perfectly, called out:--

"Open the door! Open, Don Pedro!"

"Who is it?" asked the voice.

"Yo," (I) was the simple reply.

This is generally sufficient to open the door of a Mexican house, and Don Pedro was heard within, moving toward the "Saguan."

The next moment the great door swung back on its hinges, and the ruffian was dragged forth. He was a swarthy fierce-looking fellow--from what I could see in the dim light--and made a desperate resistance, but he was in the hands of men who soon overpowered and bound him. We did not delay a moment, but hurried back to the place where we had left our horses. As we pa.s.sed through the streets, men and women were running from house to house, and we heard voices and shots in the distance. On reaching our rendezvous we found our comrades, all of whom had succeeded in making their capture.

There was no time to be lost; there might be troops in the village-- though we saw none--but whether or not, there were "leperos" enough to a.s.sail us. We did not give them time to muster. Mounting ourselves and our prisoners we rode off at a rapid pace, and were soon beyond the danger of pursuit.

Those who have pa.s.sed through the gate Nino Perdido will remember that the road leading to San Angel runs, for nearly a mile, in a straight line, and that, for this distance, it is lined on both sides with a double row of large old trees. It is one of the drives (paseos) of Mexico. Where the trees end, the road bends slightly to the south. At this point a cross road strikes off to the pueblito of Piedad, and at the crossing there is a small house, or rather a temple, where the pious wayfarer kneels in his dusty devotions. This little temple, the residence of a hermitical monk, was uninhabited during our occupation of the valley, and, in the actions that resulted in the capture of the city, it had come in for more than its share of hard knocks. A battery had been thrown up beside it, and the counter-battery had bored the walls of the temple with round shot. I never pa.s.sed this solitary building without admiring its situation. There was no house nearer it than the aforementioned "tinacal" of Narvarte, or the city itself. It stood in the midst of swampy meadows, bordered by broad plats of the green maguey, and this isolation, together with the huge old trees that shadowed and sang over it, gave the spot an air of romantic loneliness.

On arriving under the shadow of the trees, and in front of the lone temple, our party halted by order of their leader. Several of the troopers dismounted, and the prisoners were taken down from their horses. I saw men uncoiling ropes that had hung from their saddle-bows, and I shuddered to think of the use that was about to be made of them.

"Henry," said L--, riding up to me and speaking in a whisper, "they must not see this."--He pointed to the girls.--"Take them some distance ahead and wait for us; we will not be long about it, I promise."

Glad of the excuse to be absent from such a scene, I put spurs to my horse, and rode forward, followed by the females of the party. On reaching the circle near the middle of the paseo I halted.

It was quite dark, and we could see nothing of those we had left behind us. We could hear nothing--nothing but the wind moaning high up among the branches of the tall poplars; but this, with the knowledge I had of what was going on so near me, impressed me with an indescribable feeling of sadness.

L--had kept his promise; he was not long about it.

In less than ten minutes the party came trotting up, chatting gaily as they rode, but their prisoners had been left behind.

As the American army moved down the road to Vera Cruz, many travelling carriages were in its train. In one of these were a girl and a grey-haired old man. Almost constantly during the march a young officer might be seen riding by this carriage, conversing through the windows with its occupants within.

A short time after the return troops landed at New Orleans, a bridal party were seen to enter the old Spanish cathedral; the bridegroom was an officer who had lost an arm. His fame and the reputed beauty of the bride had brought together a large concourse of spectators.

"She loved me," said L--to me on the morning of this his happiest day; "she loved me in spite of my mutilated limb, and should I cease to love her because she has--no, I see it not; she is to me the same as ever."

And there were none present who saw it; few were there who knew that under those dark folds of raven hair were the _souvenirs_ of a terrible tragedy.

The Mexican government behaved better to the Ayankeeados than was expected. They did not confiscate the property; and L--is now enjoying his fortune in a snug hacienda, somewhere in the neighbourhood of San Angel.

Story 4.

THE BROKEN BITT.

Several months after our army had made its fighting _entree_ into the capital of Mexico, the regiment known as the "Texan Rangers" arrived in that city. [Note. By _our_ army is understood the American forces.] I am not very certain but that their approach, peaceful as it was, created almost as much terror in the minds of the inhabitants, as our sword-in-hand entrance had occasioned three months before. The name "Tejano" in the ears of a Mexican, sounded with a fearful emphasis, as Goth might have done to a Roman, or Cossack to a plain Christian. Many of them thought they would now be called upon to answer for the sins of Santa Anna, for the treason of Santa Fe, the slaughter of the Alamo, and the _battue_ at Goliad. In the midst of this ludicrous consternation, the Texans rode quietly into the piazza, and breaking up into squadrons, filed off to their respective quarters. In a few hours the minds of the Mexicans became once more tranquil. They were not to be plundered, after all!

I shall never forget the appearance of the Texan Rangers as they pulled up in the Plazza--I could not call the movement a halt. If I live, I shall make an attempt to describe it. I say an attempt, for, to do justice to that ragged _coup d'oeil_ is beyond the privilege of the pen.

The brush might do it, handled by a Hogarth; and had that excellent artist been in my place, there and then, we might have had a picture that would have drawn laughter so long as paint and canvas stuck together. Here we have no room for details. One point, however, must be noted, as it relates to our subject--the horses--for be it known, the Rangers were mounted men. Instead of the large cavalry horses which the government had put under them some six months before, each ranger now straddled a scraggy mustang, his boot-heel, with its rusty spur raking the ground as he rode along. What had become of the original "mount"?

That was the question, which was answered thus:--The regiment had just made its march of several hundred leagues through the enemy's country, halting at various places. During the halts, the rich _haciendados_ coveting the fine steeds of Kentucky--colossal when compared with their own gingery jennets--offered freely for them. A series of "swops" had been the consequence. The Texan, at a horse trade keen as the edge of his bowie, took anything that could carry a saddle, at the same time receiving a "mighty heap" of dollars to square the exchange. In this way they had brought themselves down to the ill-conditioned nags upon which they made their first appearance in the capital. Strange to say, these grew fat in a trice, although they were constantly on the scout; seldom idle long enough to let their backs get dry. There was no rest for the Rangers. One week riding fifty leagues to capture Santa Anna; the next, after Paredes, or the robbers of the Cerro; the next, on the trail of the Padre Jarauta; and yet, despite this journeying and fatigue, it was observed by every one that the Rangers' horses, though still only mustangs, became as fat and plump as if they had been standing all the time with their heads in a corn-crib. It was wonderful to see horses thus fattening upon hard work!

Some endeavoured to account for it, by insinuating that they were not the same cattle upon which the regiment was mounted on its arrival--that the "swopping system" was still practised along the road, and frequently with only one party present at the "trade." There were such insinuations I remember well. Perhaps they were slanders, perhaps not.

I leave it a question of inference.

About this time I was told of a splendid mare that was in the possession of one of the Rangers. Of course she was for sale. I wished just then to obtain such an animal; so, drawing three months' pay (being in all about 300 dollars), I rode over to the Texan quarters--intending, if the mare pleased me, to make a bid.

She was led out, and proved to be worthy of her reputation--a large brown Arabian, with jet black legs and sweeping tail, while her head and neck were graceful as an antelope's.

While examining her, I noticed a small brand upon her left hind flank.

I observed at the same time that some diligence had been used to render the mark "unswearable." After a little puzzling and adjusting of hair, I made out the letter C.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It er the mark of a hot iron. Yer can see that, kint ye?"

"I can; but this mare is no mustang?"

"Aint a mustang neyther," responded the Ranger, whittling away at a strop of leather which he held in his hand, and seeming utterly indifferent to everything else.

"Why, then, has she been marked?" I inquired. "It is not usual for Americans to brand their horses, excepting those that belong to the government. Then they're branded U.S.; this mark is a C."

"Well, then, stranger, if you must know all about it, the mar' wur tuk from our people on the grand, by that ar chapparil fox Ca.n.a.les. He burned in that 'C.' C stands for Ca.n.a.les, I reckin."

"That's true, and for many other names as well. But how did you get her back again?"

"Wagh! we k.u.md upon Ca.n.a.les an' his yellerbellies, an' tuk her from them ag'in, afore the singed bar had done smokin'. Now er yer satisfied?"

I was not. It is true, the story was probable enough. The mare was not Mexican, that was plain. The horse of that country is of a peculiar race, and is as easily distinguished from the English or American Arab, as a sheep is from a goat. Still she bore a Mexican mark, and had been in the possession of some of these people. She might have been, as the Ranger stated, one of our own horses captured and recaptured on the upper line; but I had not observed any such animal with the Texans on their arrival; and as I had heard that the _ricos_ of Mexico had, from time to time, imported blood stock from England and the United States, I feared that she might prove to be one of these. The voice of the Texan interrupted my reflection.

"The critter's Kaintuck," continued he--"true Kaintuck. She wur brought down on the Grand, by a lootenant at the breakin' out o' this hyar muss.

She were at Paler Alter, an' at Monterey, an' Bony Yeesty; and at that Hashendy, the time as Dan Drake rid the hundred-mile gallop on Cash Clay's mar'. Old Kaintuck she er, an' nothin' else. They don't raise such cattle in these hyar diggins, I reckin'. Yee-up, old gal; hold up yer corn-trap; thar's money bid for ye!"

At the end of this curious monologue, the mare threw up her head and neighed long and loudly.

"Come, my man," said I, "what's the meaning of that?"

The neigh was peculiar, and struck me as that of a mare who had been recently separated from her colt.

"She's a whigherin' for a hoss, that's hyar," answered the Ranger coolly. "They haint been separate a half-an-hour for more 'n a yar, I reckin'. Hev they, Bill?"

"That they haint," replied the man appealed to, one of a crowd of Texans who had gathered around us.

"They're in the same k.u.mpny, an' rid in the same file," continued the owner of the mare. "She won't bear that ar leetle hoss out o' her sight a minit. One o' the boys hes tuk _him_ out to water. That's why she whighers, aint it, Bill?"

"'Taint nothin' else," replied the _confrere_.

"But," said I, "it is strange I did not see this mare when you first came up. I was in the Piazza, and took particular notice of your horses. I think I should have remarked such a fine-looking animal as this."

"Look hyar, stranger," answered the Texan, somewhat irritated by this cross-questioning. "I brought this mar' up the road along with the raygyment. If yer want to buy her, yer kin do it, by givin' a fair vally for her. If yer don't, there's no bones broke, an' I don't care a n.i.g.g.e.r's dam. If I only take her out to the Palaza, I kin git my axin'