at short distance. They are still more than ten miles from the mountain, and the report of a cannon, discharged on its summit, would be barely audible to them.
Still staying at halt, but keeping to their horses, the chief and others in authority enter into consultation. And while they are deliberating on the best course to be pursued, still another puff of smoke shoots up over the mesa, similar to that preceding, but at a different point. It aids them in coming to conclusions; for now they are sure there is a camp of palefaces by the pond; and they above are hunters who have gone up to get game, which the Indians know to be there in abundance.
But what sort of palefaces? Of this they are not sure. Knowing it to be a miners’ camp, they would ride straight on for it, in gallop. But it may be an encampment of soldados, which would make a difference. Not that the Coyoteros are afraid to encounter Mexican soldiers – far from it. Rather would they rejoice at finding it these. For their tribe, their own branch of it, has an old score against the men in uniform; and nothing would please them better than an opportunity to settle it. Indeed, partly to seek this, with purposes of plunder combined, are they now on the war-trail. Only in their mode of action would there be a difference, in the event of the encampment turning out to be occupied by soldados. Soldiers in that quarter should be cavalry, and to approach them caution would be called for, with strategy. But these red centaurs are soldiers themselves – veterans, skilled, cunning strategists – and now give proof of it. For the time has come for them to advance; which they do, not straight forward nor in single body, but broken into two bands, one facing right, the other left, with a design to enfilade the camp by approaching it from opposite points. Separating at the start, the two cohorts soon diverge wide apart, both making for the mountain, but with the intention to reach its southern end on different sides.
If the black vultures, still in streaming flight above, have hopes of getting a repast there, they may now feel assured of its being a plenteous one.
Chapter Seven.
Los Indios!
Parting from the despised carcase of the ram the hunters press onward, the younger with mental resolve to return to it, come back what way they will. Its grand spiral horns have caught his fancy: such a pair would grace any hall in Christendom; and, though he cannot call the trophy his own, since it fell not to his gun, he intends appropriating it.
Only for a brief moment does the young Englishman reflect about them; in the next they are out of his mind. For, glancing at the Mexican’s face, he again sees that look of anxious uneasiness noted before. It had returned soon as the exciting incident of the sheep-shooting was over. And knowing the cause, he shares it; no more thinking about the chase or its trophies.
They say but little now, having sufficient work to occupy them without wasting time in words. For beyond the opening where the carneros were encountered, they find no path – not so much as a trace made by animals – and have to make one for themselves. As the trees stand close, with lianas interlacing, the Mexican is often compelled to use his macheté for hewing out a passage-way; which he does with an accompaniment of carrambas! thick as the underwood he chops at.
Thus impeded, they are nearly an hour in getting through the chapparal, though the distance passed is less than the half of a mile. But at length they accomplish it, arriving on the mesas outer edge, close to that of the cliff. There the tall timber ends in a skirting of low bushes, and their view is no longer obstructed. North, east, and west the llano is under their eyes to the horizon’s verge, twenty miles at least being within the scope of their vision.
They aim not to scan it so far. For at a distance of little more than ten they observe that which at once fixes their glance: a dun yellowish disc – a cloud – with its base resting upon the plain.
“Smoke, no – but dust!” exclaims the gambusino, soon as sighting it; “and kicked up by the heels of horses – hundreds of them. There can be nothing else out there to cause that. Horses with men on their backs. If a caballada of wild mustangs, the dust would show more scattered. Indios, por cierto! Carra-i!” he says in continuation, the shade on his brow sensibly darkening, as with a quick glance over his shoulder he sees real smoke in that direction. “What fools we’ve been to kindle fires! Rank madness. Better to have eaten breakfast raw. I myself most to blame of any; I should have known the danger. By this they’ll have spied our camp smoke – that of our shots, too. Ah, muchacho! we’ve been foolish in every way.”
Almost breathless from this burst of regret and self-recrimination, he is for a while silent; his heart beating audibly, however, as with gaze fixed on the far-off cloud, he endeavours to interpret it. But the dark cloud soon becomes less dense, partially dispersed, and under it appears something more solid; a clump of sombre hue, but with here and there sparkling points. No separate forms can as yet be made out; only a mass; but for all that, the gambusino knows it to be composed of horses and men, the corruscations being the glint of arms and accoutrements, as the sun penetrates through to them.
“What a pity,” he exclaims, resuming speech, “I didn’t think of asking Don Estevan for the loan of his telescope! If we only had it here now! But I can see enough without it; ’tis as I feared. No more hunting for us to-day; but fighting ere the sun goes down – perhaps ere it reach meridian. Mira! the thing’s splitting into two. You see, señorito?”
The señorito does see that the dust-cloud has parted in twain, as also the dark mass underneath. And now they can distinguish separate forms; horses with men on their backs, and a more conspicuous glittering of arms, because of their being in motion.
“Ah, yes!” adds the Mexican, with increased gravity of tone, “Indios bravos they are, hundreds of them. If Apaches, as sure they must, Heaven help us all! I know what they mean by that movement. They’ve sighted the camp smoke, and intend coming on along both sides of the Cerro. That’s why they’ve broken into two bands. Back to camp, as fast as our legs can carry us! We’ve not a minute – not a second – to lose. Vamos!”
And back for camp they start, not to spend time on the way as when coming from it, but in a run and rush along the path already opened – past the dead sheep, past the spring, and the strung-up turkeys, without even staying to look at these, much less think of taking them along.
The occupants of the miners’ camp, men, women, and children, are up and active now. Some are at work about the wagons, pouring water over their wheels to tighten the tyres, loose from the shrinking of the wood; others have set to mending harness and pack-saddles; while still others, out on the open plain, are changing the animals to fresh spots of pasturage. A small party is seen around the carcase of a bullock, in the act of skinning it to get beefsteaks for breakfast.
Several fires have been kindled, for the people are many, and have separate messes, according to rank and vocation. Around these are the women and grown girls, some bending over red earthenware pots that contain chocolate and coffee, others on their knees with the metate stone in front, and metlapilla in hand, crushing the boiled maize into paste for the indispensable tortillas. The children play by the lake’s edge, wading ankle-deep into the water, plashing about like little ducks; some of the bigger boys, who have improvised a rude tackle, endeavouring to catch fish. In this remote tarn there are such, as it has an affluent stream connecting it with the Rio Horcasitas – now nearly dry, but at times having a volume of water sufficient for the finny tribes to ascend to the lake, into which several species have found their way.
Within the space enclosed by the wagons – the corral– three tents have been erected, and stand in a row. The middle one is a large square marquee, the two flanking it of the ordinary bell shape. The marquee is occupied by the senior partner and his señora; the one on the right by their daughter and an Indian moza– her waiting-maid; the third affords shelter and sleeping
