Chapter Twelve

The party of searchers, under the command of the major, was not the only one that went forth from Fort Inge on that eventful morning.

Long before a much smaller party, consisting of only four horsemen, was seen setting out from the suburbs of the village, and heading their horses in the direction of the Nueces. They were all Mexicans.

One of the four was a man of larger frame than any of his companions. He rode a better horse and was more richly appareled. He was a man of between thirty and forty years of age. But for a cold animal eye, and a heaviness of feature that betrayed a tendency to behave with brutality – if not with positive cruelty – the individual in question might have been described as handsome.

It was not his looks but his deeds and disposition that had led to his having become known among his comrades by a peculiar nick-name; that of an animal well known upon the plains of Texas. “El Coyote.”

How came he to be crossing the prairie at this early hour of the morning-apparently sober, and acting as the leader of others – when on the same morning, but a few hours before, he was seen drunk in his dwelling – so drunk as to be unconscious of having a visitor?

On riding away from his hut, Calhoun had left the door, as he had found it, ajar; and in this way did it remain until the morning – El Coyote all the time continuing his sonorous sleep.

He was aroused by the raw air that came drifting over him in the shape of a chilly fog. This to some extent sobered him.

He took a large two-headed gourd and gave it a shake to assure himself of its emptiness. So he decided to go to the “Rough and Ready.”

In twenty minutes after, he was there. Oberdoffer was in his bar-room, serving some early customers. Seeing that Diaz was in a hurry, Oberdoffer made a conjecture that he was going to the horse prairie.

“If there’s anything good among the droves,” said Oberdoffer, “I’m afraid that the Irishman will pick it up before you. He went off last night. He left my house at a late hour – after midnight it was. But he’s a queer customer that mustanger, Mister Maurice Gerald. Nobody knows his ways. I shouldn’t say anything against him. He has paid his bill like a rich man.”

On hearing that the Irishman had gone off to the prairie, Diaz, notwithstanding the eagerness he had lately exhibited to obtain the liquor, walked out of the bar-room, and away from the hotel, without taking the stopper from his canteen, or even appearing to think of it!

He didn’t go home until he had paid a visit to three other hovels somewhat similar to his own.

It was on getting back, that he noticed for the first time the tracks of a shod horse; and saw where the animal had been tied to a tree that stood near the hut.

“The Capitan Americano has been here in the night!” he exclaimed, on perceiving this sign, “I remember something – I thought I had dreamt it. I can guess his errand. He has heard of Don Mauricio’s departure. The thing’s all understood; and I don’t need any further instructions from him, till I’ve earned his thousand dollars. Once gained, I shall go back to the Rio Grande, and see what can be done with Isidora.”

***

On the morning that succeeded that night, when the three solitary horsemen made the crossing of the plain, in the chapparal, about a quarter of a mile from the blood-stained path, lay stretched upon the ground the object that was engaging the attention of black vultures flying above the tops of the trees.

It was a human being – a man!

A young man, too, of noble lineaments and graceful shape – so far as could be seen under the cloak that shrouded his recumbent form – with a face fair to look upon, even in death.

He was lying upon his back, with face upturned to the sky. His features did not seem set in death: and as little was it like sleep. The eyes were but half closed. Was the man dead?

Beyond doubt, the black birds believed that he was. They were mistaken.

Whether it was the glint of the sun, or nature becoming restored after a period of repose, the eyes of the prostrate man were seen to open to their full extent, while a movement was perceptible throughout his whole frame.

Soon after he raised himself a little; and, resting upon his elbow, stared confusedly around him.

“Am I dead, or living?” muttered he to himself. “Where am I? Trees above – around me! A chapparal forest! How came I into it?

“Now I have it,” continued he, after a short spell of reflection. “My head was dashed against a tree. There it is – the very limb that lifted me out of the saddle. My left leg pains me. Ah! I remember; it came in contact with the trunk.”

As he said this, he made an effort to raise himself into an erect attitude. It proved a failure.

“Where is the horse? Gone off, of course. By this time, in the stables of Casa del Corvo. What am I to do? My leg may be broken. I can’t stir from this spot, without some one to help me. Ten chances to one – a hundred – against any one coming this way; at least not till I’ve become food for those filthy birds.”

Two hours were passed without any change in his situation; during which he had caused the chapparal to ring with a loud hallooing. The shouting caused thirst. The sensation was soon experienced to such an extent that everything else – even the pain of his wounds – became of trifling consideration.

“It will kill me, if I stay here?” reflected the sufferer. “I must make an effort to reach water. If I remember aright there’s a stream somewhere in this chapparal, and not such a great way off. I must get to it, if I have to crawl upon my hands and knees. Knees! and only one in a condition to support me! The longer I stay here, the worse it will be. The sun grows hotter. I may lose my senses, and then – the wolves – the vultures—”

The horrid apprehension caused silence and shuddering. After a time he continued:

“If I but knew the right way to go. I remember the stream well enough. It should be south-east, from here. I shall try that way. By good luck the sun guides me. If I find water all may yet be well. God give me strength to reach it!”

***

Once more the mustanger’s hut! Once more his henchman, astride of a stool in the middle of the floor! Once more his hound lying astretch upon the skin-covered hearth!

“In the name of all the angels, I wonder what’s keeping the master! He’s all of ten hours beyond his time. He said he would be here by eight o’clock in the morning, and it’s now good six in the afternoon, if there’s any truth in a Texas sun. Sure there’s something detaining him? Don’t you think so, Tara?”

This time Tara did vouchsafe the affirmative “sniff”—having poked his nose too far into the ashes.

An idea came across Phelim’s mind; which was to go forth from the hut, and see whether there was any sign to indicate the advent of his master.

“Come, Tara!” cried he, walking towards the door. “Let us step up to the bluff beyond, and take a look over the big plain. If master’s coming at all, he should be in sight by this.”

Taking the path through the wooded bottom – with the staghound close at his heels – Phelim ascended the bluff and stood upon the edge of the upper plateau.

He bent his gaze over the ground, in the direction in which he expected his master should appear; and stood silently watching for him.

Soon his vigil was rewarded. A horseman was seen coming out from among the trees upon the other side, and heading towards the Alamo.

He was still more than a mile distant; but, even at that distance, the faithful servant could identify his master. The striped serape of brilliant hues was not to be mistaken. Phelim only wondered, why his master should have it spread over his shoulders on such a hot evening!

“It looks queer, Tara, doesn’t it? It’s hot enough to roast a steak upon these stones; and yet the master doesn’t seem to think so. I hope he hasn’t caught a cold from staying in that close crib at old Duffer’s tavern.”

The speaker was for a time silent, watching the movements of the approaching horseman – by this time about half a mile distant, and still drawing nearer.

“Mother of Moses!” cried he. “What can the master mean? He’s got the blanket over his head! He’s playing us a trick, Tara. He wants to give you and me a surprise. He wants to have a joke against us!”

“But it’s queer anyhow. It looks as if he had no head. Ach! what can it mean? it’s enough to frighten one, if they didn’t know it was the master!

“Is it the master? It’s too short for him! The head? Saint Patrick preserve us, where is it? There’s no shape there! There’s something wrong! What does it mean, Tara?”

The tone of the speaker was now close bordering upon terror – as was also the expression of his countenance.

The look and attitude of the staghound were not very different. He stood a little in advance with eyes glaring wildly, while fixed upon the approaching horseman.

Then, as if urged by some canine instinct, he bounded off towards the strange object. Rushing straight on, he gave utterance to a series of shrill yelps; far different from the soft sonorous baying, with which he was accustomed to welcome the coming home of the mustanger.

As the dog drew near, still yelping as he ran, the blood-bay – which Phelim had long before identified as his master’s horse – turned sharply round, and commenced galloping back across the plain!

While performing the wheel, Phelim saw – or fancied he saw – that, which not only astounded him, but caused the blood to run chill through his veins, and his frame to tremble to the very tips of his toes.

It was a head – that of the man on horseback; but, instead of being in its proper place, upon his shoulders, it was held in the rider’s hand, just behind the pommel of the saddle!

Phelim saw no more. In another instant his back was turned towards the plain; and, in another, he was rushing down the ravine, as fast as his enfeebled limbs would carry him!

Answer the following questions:

1) Who were the four horsemen? Who was their leader? Where were they going?

2) What made Miguel Diaz leave the tavern in a hurry?

3) Who had visited El Coyote at night? How did he know about it?

4) Who was the man that lay in the chapparal? What had happened to him?

5) Why did Phelim ascend the bluff? What scared him so much?