The Rifle Rangers by Mayne Reid (short novels in english TXT) 📕

its banks fringed with large pines and cotton-woods, matted together by llianas and vines. Where the gorge debouched into the uplands its banks were high and naked, with here and there a few scattered palmettos that grew up from huge hassocks of bunch-grass.

Behind each of these branches a rifleman was stationed, forming a deployed line, with its concave arc facing the embouchure of the gorge, and gradually closing in, so that it ended in a clump of thick chaparral upon the very verge of the precipice. At this point, on each side of the path, were stationed half a dozen men, in such a position as to be hidden from any party passing upward, until it had cleared the cañon and its retreat was secured against. At the opposite end of the elliptical deployment a stronger party was stationed, Clayley in command and Raoul to act as interpreter. Oakes and I took our places, commanding the separate detachments on the brow.

Our arrangements occupied us only a few minutes. I had to deal with men, many of whom had “surrounded” buffaloes in a somewhat similar manner; and it did not require much tact to teach them a few modifications in the game. In five minutes we were all in our places, waiting anxiously and in perfect silence.

As yet not a murmur had reached us from below, except the sighing of the wind through the tall trees, and the “sough” of the river as it tumbled away over its pebbly bed. Now and then we heard a stray shot, or the quick, sharp notes of a cavalry bugle; but these were far off, and only told of the wild work that was still going on along the road towards Encerro and Jalapa.

Not a word was spoken by us to each other. The men who were deployed along the hill lay hidden behind the hassocks of the palmettos, and from our position not one of them was to be seen.

I must confess I felt strange emotions at this moment—one of the most anxious of my life; and although I felt no hate towards the enemy—no desire to injure one of them, excepting him of whom I have spoken—there was something so wild, so thrilling, in the excitement of thus entrapping man, the highest of all animals, that I could not have foregone the inhuman sport. I had no intention that it should be inhuman. I well knew what would be their treatment as prisoners of war; and I had given orders that not a shot should be fired nor a blow struck, in case they threw down their arms and yielded without resistance. But for him—humanity had many a score to settle with him; and at the time I did not feel a very strong inclination to resist what would be the Rangers’ desire on that question.

“Is not all our fine ambuscade for nothing?” I said to myself, after a long period of waiting, and no signs of an enemy.

I had begun to fancy as much, and to suspect that the flying Mexicans had kept along the river, when a sound like the humming of bees came up the pass. Presently it grew louder, until I could distinguish the voices of men. Our hearts as yet beat louder than their voices. Now the stones rattled, as, loosened from their sloping beds, they rolled back and downwards.

“Guardaos, hombre!” (Look out, man!) shouted one.

“Carrajo!” cried another; “take care what you’re about! I haven’t escaped the Yankee bullets to-day to have my skull cloven in that fashion. Arriba! arriba!”

“I say, Antonio—you’re sure this road leads out above?”

“Quite sure, camarado.”

“And then on to Orizava?”

“On to Orizava—derecho, derecho” (straight).

“But how far—hombre?”

“Oh! there are halting-places—pueblitos.”

“Vaya! I don’t care how soon we reach them. I’m as hungry as a famished coyote.”

“Carrai! the coyotes of these parts won’t be hungry for some time. Vaya!”

“Who knows whether they’ve killed ‘El Cojo’?”

“‘Catch a fox, kill a fox.’ No. He’s found some hole to creep through, I warrant him.

“‘El que mata un ladron

Tiene cien años de perdon.’”

(He who kills a robber will receive a hundred years of pardon for the offence.)

This was hailed with a sally by the very men who, only one hour ago, were shouting themselves hoarse with the cries of “Viva el general, Viva Santa Anna!” And on they scrambled, talking as before, one of them informing his comrades with a laugh that if “los Tejanos” could lay their hands upon “El Cojo”, they, the Mexicans, would have to look out for a new president.

They had now passed us. We were looking at their backs. The first party contained a string of fifteen or twenty, mostly soldiers of the “raw battalions”—conscripts who wore the white linen jackets and wide, sailor-looking pantaloons of the volunteer.

Raw as these fellows were, either from their position in the battle, or, more likely, from a better knowledge of the country, they had been able thus far to make their escape, when thousands of their veteran companions had been captured. But few of them were armed; they had thrown their guns away in the hurry of flight.

At this moment we could distinguish the voice of Raoul:

“Alto! abajo las armas!” (Halt! down with your arms!)

At this challenge we could see—for they were still in sight—that some of the Mexicans leaped clear up from the ground. One or two looked back, as if with the intention of re-entering the gorge, but a dozen muzzles met their gaze.

“Adelante! adelante!—somos amigos.” (Forward!—we are friends), I said to them in a half-whisper, fearing to alarm their comrades in the rear, at the same time waving them onward.

As on one side Clayley presented a white flag, while on the other there was to be seen a bunch of dark yawning tubes, the Mexicans were not long in making their choice. In a minute they had disappeared from our sight, preferring the companionship of Clayley and Raoul, who would know how to dispose of them in a proper manner.

We had scarcely got rid of these when another string debouched up the glen, unsuspicious as were their comrades of the fate that awaited them.

These were managed in a similar manner; and another and another party, all of whom were obliged to give up their arms and fling themselves to the earth, as soon as they had reached the open ground above.

This continued until I began to grow fearful that we were making more prisoners than we could safely hold, and on the knowledge of this fact they might try to overpower us.

But the tempting prize had not yet appeared. He could not be far distant, and, allured by this prospect, I determined to hold out a while longer.

A termination, however, to our wholesale trapping was brought about by an unexpected event. A party, consisting of some ten or fifteen men, many of them officers, suddenly appeared, and marched boldly out of the gorge.

As these struck the level ground we could hear the “Alto!” of Raoul; but instead of halting, as their companions had done, several of them drew their swords and pistols and rushed down the pass.

A volley from both sides stopped the retreat of some; others escaped along the sides of the cliff; and a few—not over half a dozen—succeeded in entering the gorge. It was, of course, beyond our power to follow them; and I ordered the deployed line to close in around the prisoners already taken, lest they should attempt to imitate their braver comrades.

We had no fear of being assailed from the ravine. Those who had gone down carried a panic along with them that would secure us from that danger. At the same time we knew that the tyrant would now be alarmed and escape.

Several of the Rangers—souvenirs of Santa Fé and San Jacinto—requested my permission to go upon his “trail” and pick him off.

This request, under the circumstances, I could not grant, and we set about securing our prisoners. Gun-slings and waist-belts were soon split into thongs, and with these our captives were tied two and two, forming in all a battalion of a hundred and fifteen files—two hundred and thirty men.

With these, arranged in such a manner as we could most conveniently guard them, we marched triumphantly into the American camp.