The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid (short novels in english TXT) 📕
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- Author: Mayne Reid
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There was something of irony in the latter part of the speech, and the emphasis placed on the word “wife.”
“Yes; you may well taunt me with your false priest, you unfeeling wretch! Oh, Santisima Madre!” continued she, dropping back into her chair, and pressing her head between her hands. “Beguiled—beggared—almost unsexed! and yet I never loved the man! It was not love, but madness—madness and fascination!”
The last words were uttered in soliloquy, as though she regarded not the presence of her companion.
“I don’t care a claco,” cried he fiercely, and evidently piqued at her declaration; “not one claco whether you ever loved me or not! That’s not the question now, but this is: You must make yourself known to your Croesus of an uncle here, and demand that part of your fortune that he still clutches within his avaricious old fingers. You must do this to-morrow.”
“I will not!”
“But you shall, or—.”
The woman rose suddenly, and walked towards the door as if she intended to go out.
“No, not to-night, dearest!” said Dubrosc, grasping her rudely by the arm. “I have my reasons for keeping you here. I noted you to-day speaking with that cursed Yankee, and you’re just traitor enough to help him to escape. I’ll look to him myself, so you may stay where you are. If you should choose to rise early enough to-morrow morning, you will have the felicity of seeing him dance upon the tight-rope. Ha! ha! ha!”
And with a savage laugh the Creole walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.
A strange expression played over the features of the woman—a blending of triumph with anxiety. She ran forward to the window, and, pressing her small lips close to the glass, strained her eyes outward.
I held the diamond in my fingers, and, stretching up until my hand was opposite her face, I wrote the word “Gracias.”
At first seeing me she had started back. There was no time to be lost. My comrades were already chafing at my delay; and, joining them, we crept through the magueys, parting the broad, stiff leaves with our fingers. We were soon upon the edge of the chaparral wood.
I looked back towards the window. The woman stood holding the lamp, and its light was full upon her face. She had read the scrawl, and was gazing out with an expression I shall never forget. Another bound, and we were “in the woods.”
For a time there was a strange irresolution in my flight. The idea of leaving Guadalupe in such company—that after all they might be prisoners, or, even if not, the thought that they were in the power of Dubrosc to any extent—was enough to render me wretched and irresolute. But what could we do—five men, almost unarmed?
“It would be madness to remain—madness and death. The woman—she possesses some mysterious power over this brute, her paramour: she will guard them.”
This thought decided me, and I yielded myself freely to flight. We had but little fear of being caught again. We had too much confidence, particularly Lincoln and myself, in our forest-craft. Raoul knew all the country, the thickets and the passes. We stopped a moment to deliberate on the track we should take. A bugle rang out behind us, and the next instant the report of a cannon thundered in a thousand echoes along the glen.
“It is from the hacienda,” said Raoul; “they have missed us already.”
“Is that a ‘sign’, Rowl,” asked Lincoln.
“It is,” replied the other; “it’s to warn their scouts. They’re all over these hills. We must look sharp.”
“I don’t like this hyur timber; it’s too scant. Cudn’t yer put us in the crik bottom, Rowl?”
“There’s a heavy chaparral,” said the Frenchman, musing; “it’s ten miles off. If we could reach that we’re safe—a wolf can hardly crawl through it. We must make it before day.”
“Lead on, then, Rowl!”
We stole along with cautious steps. The rustling of a leaf or the cracking of a dead stick might betray us; for we could hear signals upon all sides, and our pursuers passing us in small parties, within earshot.
We bore to the right, in order to reach the creek bottom of which Lincoln had spoken. We soon came into this, and followed the stream down, but not on the bank. Lincoln would not hear of our taking the bank path, arguing that our pursuers would be “sartin ter foller the cl’ar trail.”
The hunter was right, for shortly after a party came down the stream. We could hear the clinking of their accoutrements, and even the conversation of some of the men, as follows:
“But, in the first place, how did they get loose within? and who cut the wall from the outside, unless someone helped them? Carajo! it’s not possible.”
“That’s true, José,” said another voice. “Someone must, and I believe it was that giant that got away from us at the rancho. The shot that killed the snake came from the chaparral, and yet we searched and found nobody. Mark my words, it was he; and I believe he has hung upon our track all the way.”
“Vaya!” exclaimed another; “I shouldn’t much like to be under the range of his rifle; they say he can kill a mile off, and hit wherever he pleases. He shot the snake right through the eyes.”
“By the Virgin!” said one of the guerilleros, laughing, “he must have been a snake of good taste, to be caught toying around that dainty daughter of the old Spaniard! It reminds me of what the Book tells about Mother Eve and the old serpent. Now, if the Yankee’s bullet—.”
We could hear no more, as the voices died away in the distance and under the sound of the water.
“Ay,” muttered Lincoln, finishing the sentence; “if the Yankee’s bullet hadn’t been needed for the varmint, some o’ yer wudn’t a’ been waggin’ yer clappers as ye air.”
“It was you, then?” I asked, turning to the hunter.
“’Twur, Cap’n; but for the cussed catawampus, I ’ud ’a gin Mister Dubrosc his ticket. I hed a’most sighted him when I seed the flash o’ the thing’s eye, an’ I knowed it wur a-gwine to strike the gal.”
“And Jack?” I inquired, now for the first time thinking of the boy.
“I guess he’s safe enuf, Cap’n. I sent the little feller back with word ter the kurnel.”
“Ha! then we may expect them from camp?”
“No doubt on it, Cap’n; but yer see, if they kum, they may not be able to foller us beyond the rancho. So it’ll be best for us not to depend on them, but ter take Rowl’s track.”
“You are right. Lead on, Raoul!”
After a painful journey we reached the thicket of which Raoul had spoken; and, dragging ourselves into it, we came to a small opening, covered with long dry grass. Upon this luxurious couch we resolved to make a bivouac. We were all worn down by the fatigues of the day and night preceding, and, throwing ourselves upon the grass, in a few minutes were asleep.
It was daylight when I awoke—broad daylight. My companions, all but Clayley, were already astir, and had kindled a fire with a species of wood known to Raoul, that produced hardly any smoke. They were preparing breakfast. On a limb close by hung the hideous, human-like carcass of an iguana, still writhing. Raoul was whetting a knife to skin it, while Lincoln was at some distance, carefully reloading his rifle. The Irishman lay upon the grass, peeling bananas and roasting them over the fire.
The iguana was soon skinned and broiled, and we all of us commenced eating with good appetites.
“Be Saint Pathrick!” said Chane, “this bates frog-atin’ all hollow. It’s little meself dhramed, on the Owld Sod, hearin’ of thim niggers in furrin parts, that I’d be turning kannybawl meself some day!”
“Don’t you like it, Murtagh?” asked Raoul jocosely.
“Och! indade, yes; it’s betther than an empty brid-basket; but if yez could only taste a small thrifle ov a Wicklow ham this mornin’, an’ a smilin’ pratie, instid of this brown soap, yez—.”
“Hisht!” said Lincoln, starting suddenly, and holding the bite half-way to his mouth.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’ll tell yer in a minit, Cap’n.”
The hunter waved his hand to enjoin silence, and, striding to the edge of the glade, fell flat to the ground. We knew he was listening, and waited for the result. We had not long to wait, for he had scarce brought his ear in contact with the earth when he sprang suddenly up again, exclaiming:
“Houn’s trailin’ us!”
He wore a despairing look unusual to the bold character of his features. This, with the appalling statement, acted on us like a galvanic shock, and by one impulse we leaped from the fire and threw ourselves flat upon the grass.
Not a word was spoken as we strained our ears to listen.
At first we could distinguish a low moaning sound, like the hum of a wild bee; it seemed to come out of the earth. After a little it grew louder and sharper; then it ended in a yelp and ceased altogether. After a short interval it began afresh, this time still clearer; then came the yelp, loud, sharp, and vengeful. There was no mistaking that sound. It was the bark of the Spanish bloodhound.
We sprang up simultaneously, looking around for weapons, and then staring at each other with an expression of despair.
The rifle and two case-knives were all the weapons we had.
“What’s to be done!” cried one, and all eyes were turned upon Lincoln.
The hunter stood motionless, clutching his rifle and looking to the ground.
“How fur’s the crik, Rowl?” he asked after a pause.
“Not two hundred yards; this way it lies.”
“I kin see no other chance, Cap’n, than ter take the water: we may bamfoozle the houn’s a bit, if thar’s good wadin’.”
“Nor I.” I had thought of the same plan.
“If we hed hed bowies, we mouter fit the dogs whar we air, but yer see we hain’t; an’ I kin tell by thar growl thar ain’t less nor a dozen on ’em.”
“It’s no use to remain here; lead us to the creek, Raoul;” and, following the Frenchman, we dashed recklessly through the thicket.
On reaching the stream we plunged in. It was one of those mountain torrents common in Mexico—spots of still water alternating with cascades, that dash, and foam over shapeless masses of amygdaloidal basalt. We waded through the first pool, and then, clambering among the rocks, entered a second. This was a good stretch, a hundred yards or more of still, crystal water, in which we were waist-deep.
We took the bank at the lower, and on the same side, and, striking back into the timber, kept on parallel to the course of the stream. We did not go far away from the water, lest we might be pushed again to repeat the ruse.
All this time the yelping of the bloodhounds had been ringing in our ears. Suddenly it ceased.
“They have reached the water,” said Clayley.
“No,” rejoined Lincoln, stopping a moment to listen: “they’re chawin’ the bones of the varmint.”
“There again!” cried one, as their deep voices rang down the glen in the chorus of the whole pack. The next minute the dogs were mute a second time, speaking at intervals in a fierce growl that told us they were at fault.
Beyond an occasional bark we heard nothing of the bloodhounds until we had gained at least two miles down the stream. We began to think we had baffled them in earnest, when Lincoln, who had kept in the rear, was seen to throw himself flat upon the grass. We all stopped, looking at him with breathless anxiety. It was but a minute. Rising up with a reckless air, he struck his rifle fiercely upon the ground, exclaiming:
“They’re arter us agin!”
By one impulse we all rushed back to the
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