The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse. Reid Mayne
of them are Texans – not all.”
“You are their chief?”
“I am.”
“Capitan, I presume?”
“That is my rank.”
“And now, Señor Capitan, am I your captive?”
The question took me by surprise, and, for the moment, I did not know what answer to make. The excitement of the chase, the encounter, and its curious developments – perhaps above all other things, the bewitching beauty of my captive – had driven out of my mind the whole purpose of the pursuit; and for some minutes I had not been thinking of any result. The interrogatory reminded me that I had a delicate duty to perform. Was this lady a spy?
Such a supposition was by no means improbable, as my old campaigner can testify. “Fair ladies – though never one so fair as she – have, ere now, served their country in this fashion. She may be the bearer of some important dispatch for the enemy. If so, and I permit her to go free, the consequences may be serious – unpleasant even to myself.” So ran my reflections.
On the other hand, I disliked the duty of taking her back a prisoner. I feared to execute it; I dreaded her displeasure. I wished to be friends with her. I felt the influence of that mysterious power which transcends all strength – the power of beauty. I had been but ten minutes in the company of this brown-skinned maiden, and already she controlled my heart as though she had been its mistress for life!
I knew not how to reply. She saw that I hesitated, and again put the question —
“Am I your captive?”
“I fear, señorita, I am yours.”
I was prompted to this declaration, partly to escape from a direct answer, and partly giving way to the passion already fast gathering in my bosom. It was no coquetry on my part, no desire to make a pretty passage of words. Though I spoke only from impulse, I was serious; and with no little anxiety did I watch the effect of my speech.
Her large lustrous eyes rested upon me, at first with a puzzled expression; this gradually changed to one of more significance – one that pleased me better. She seemed for a moment to throw aside her indifference, and regard me with more attention. I fancied, from the glance she gave, that she was contented with what I had said. For all that, the slight curl upon her pretty lip had a provoking air of triumph in it; and she resumed her proud hauteur as she replied —
“Come, cavallero; this is idle compliment. Am I free to go?”
I wavered betwixt duty and over-politeness: a compromise offered itself.
“Lady,” said I, approaching her, and looking as seriously as I could into her beautiful eyes, “if you give me your word that you are not a spy, you are free to go: your word – I ask nothing more.”
I prescribed these conditions rather in a tone of entreaty than command. I affected sternness, but my countenance must have mocked me.
My captive broke into unrestrained laughter, crying out at intervals —
“I a spy! – a spy! Ha, ha, ha! Señor Capitan, you are jesting?”
“I hope, señorita, you are in earnest. You are no spy, then? – you bear no dispatch for our enemy?”
“Nothing of the sort, mio capitan;” and she continued her light laughter.
“Why, then, did you try to make away from us?”
“Ah, cavallero! are you not Tejanos? Do not be offended when I tell you that your people bear but an indifferent reputation among us Mexicans.”
“But your attempt to escape was, to say the least, rash and imprudent: you risked life by it.”
“Carrambo, yes! I perceive I did;” and she looked significantly at the mustang, while a bitter smile played upon her lips. “I perceive it now; I did not then. I did not think there was a horseman in all your troop could come up with me. Merced! there was one. You have overtaken me: you alone could have done it.”
As she uttered these words, her large brown eyes were once more turned upon me – not in a fixed gaze, but wandering. She scanned me from the forage-cap on my crown to the spur upon my heel. I watched her eye with eager interest: I fancied that its scornful expression was giving way; I fancied there was a ray of tenderness in the glance, I would have given the world to have divined her thoughts at that moment.
Our eyes met, and parted in mutual embarrassment – at least I fancied so; for on turning again, I saw that her head drooped, and her gaze was directed downward, as if some new thought occupied her.
For some moments, both were silent. We might have remained longer thus, but it occurred to me that I was acting rudely. The lady was still my captive. I had not yet given her permission to depart: I hastened to tender it.
“Spy or no spy, señorita, I shall not detain you. I shall bear the risk: you are free to go.”
“Gracias I cavallero! And now, since you have behaved so handsomely, I shall set your mind at rest about the risk. Read!”
She handed me a folded paper; at a glance, I recognised the safe-guard of the commander-in-chief, enjoining upon all to respect its bearer – the Doña Isolina de Vargas.
“You perceive, mio capita I was not your captive after all? Ha! ha! ha!”
“Lady, you are too general not to pardon the rudeness to which you have been subjected?”
“Freely, capitan – freely.”
“I shudder at thought of the risk you have run. Why did you act with such imprudence? Your sudden flight at sight of our picket caused suspicion, and of course it was our duty to follow and capture you. With the safeguard, you had no cause for flight.”
“Ha! it was that very safe-guard that caused me to fly.”
“The safe-guard, señorita? Pray, explain!”
“Can I trust your prudence, capitan?”
“I promise – ”
“Know, then, that I was not certain you were Americanos; for aught I could see, you might have been a guerilla of my countrymen. How would it be if this paper, and sundry others I carry, were to fall into the hands of Caiales? You perceive, capitan, we fear our friends more than our enemies.”
I now fully comprehended the motive of her flight.
“You speak Spanish too well, mio capitan,” continued she. “Had you cried ‘Halt!’ in your native tongue, I should at once have pulled up, and perhaps saved my pet. Ah, me! —pobre yegua! pobre Zola!”
As she uttered the last exclamation, her feelings once more overcame her; and sinking down upon her knees, she passed her arms around the neck of the mustang, now stiff and cold. Her face was buried in the long thick mane, and I could perceive the tears sparkling like dew-drops over the tossed hair.
“Pobre Lolita!” she continued, “I have good cause to grieve; I had reason to love you well. More than once you saved me from the fierce Lipan and the brutal Comanche. What am I to do now? I dread the Indian foray; I shall tremble at every sign of the savage. I dare no more venture upon the prairie; I dare not go abroad; I must tamely stay at home. Mia querida! you were my wings: they are clipped – I fly no more.”
All this was uttered in a tone of extreme bitterness; and I – I who so loved my own brave steed – could appreciate her feelings. With the hope of imparting even a little consolation, I repeated my offer.
“Señorita,” I said, “I have swift horses in my troop – some of noble race – ”
“You have no horse in your troop I value.”
“You have not seen them all?”
“All – every one of them – to-day, as you filed out of the city.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed,