The Tiger-Slayer: A Tale of the Indian Desert. Gustave Aimard
of a journey which was not without peril at this advanced hour, incessantly urged on with spur and voice his horse, which did not, however, appear to need this constantly-renewed encouragement.
He had all but crossed the immense uncultivated plains, and was just entering the woods which surround the Rancho, when his horse suddenly leaped on one side, and pricked up its ears in alarm. A sharp sound announced that the horseman had cocked his pistols; and, when this precaution had been taken against all risk, he turned an inquiring glance around.
"Fear nothing, caballero," a frank and sympathetic voice exclaimed; "but have the kindness to go a little farther to the right, if it makes no difference to you."
The stranger looked, and saw a man kneeling under his steed's feet, and holding in his hands the head of a horse, which was lying nearly across the road.
"What on earth are you doing there?" he asked.
"You can see," the other replied sorrowfully, "I am bidding good-by to my poor companion. A man must have lived a long time in the desert to appreciate the value of such a friend as he was."
"That is true," the stranger remarked, and immediately dismounting, added, "Is he dead then?"
"No, not yet; but, unfortunately, he is as bad as if he were."
With these words he sighed.
The stranger bent over the animal, whose body was agitated by a nervous quivering, opened its eyelids, and regarded it attentively.
"Your horse has had a stroke," he said a moment later. "Let me act."
"Oh!" the other exclaimed, "do you think you can save him?"
"I hope so," the first speaker laconically observed.
"Caray! If you do that, we shall be friends for life. Poor Negro! My old comrade!"
The horseman bathed the animal's temples and nostrils with rum and water. At the end of a few moments, the horse appeared slightly recovered, his faded eyes began to sparkle again, and he tried to rise.
"Hold him tight," the improvised surgeon said.
"Be quiet, then, my good beast. Come, Negro, my boy, quieto, quieto; it is for your good," he said soothingly.
The intelligent animal seemed to understand. It turned its head towards its master, and answered him with a plaintive neigh. The horseman, during this period, had been feeling in his girdle; and bending again over the horse—
"Mind and hold him tightly," he again recommended.
"What are you going to do?"
"Bleed him."
"Yes, that is it. I knew it; but unfortunately I did not dare risk doing it myself, through fear of killing the horse."
"All right?"
"Go on."
The horse made a hasty move, caused by the coldness of the wound; but its master held it down and checked its struggles. The two men suffered a moment of anxiety: the blood did not issue. At last a black drop appeared in the wound, then a second, speedily followed by a long jet of black and foaming blood.
"He is saved," the stranger said, as he wiped his lancet and returned it to his fob.
"I will repay you this, on the word of Belhumeur!" the owner of the horse said with much emotion. "You have rendered me one of those services which are never forgotten."
And, by an irresistible impulse, he held out his hand to the man who had so providentially crossed his path. The latter warmly returned the vigorous pressure. Henceforth all was arranged between them. These two men who a few moments previously were ignorant of each other's existence, were friends, attached by one of those services which in American countries possess an immense value.
The blood gradually lost its black tinge; it became vermillion, and flowed abundantly. The breathing of the panting steed had grown easy and regular. The first stranger made a copious bleeding, and when he considered the horse in a fair way of recovery he stopped the effusion.
"And now," he said, "what do you propose doing?"
"My faith, I don't know. Your help has been so useful to me that I should like to follow your advice."
"Where were you going when this accident occurred?"
"To the Rancho."
"I am going there too. We are only a few yards from it. You will get up behind me. We will lead your horse, and start when you please."
"I ask nothing better. You believe that my horse cannot carry me?"
"Perhaps he could do so, for he is a noble animal; but it would be imprudent, and you would run a risk of killing him. It would be better, believe me, to act as I suggested."
"Yes; but I am afraid—"
"What of?" the other sharply interrupted him. "Are we not friends?"
"That is true. I accept."
The horse sprang up somewhat actively, and the two men who had met so strangely started at once, mounted on one horse. Twenty minutes later they reached the first buildings of the Rancho. At the entrance of the village the owner of the horse stopped, and turning to his companion, said—
"Where will you get down?"
"That is all the same to me; let us go first where you are going."
"Ah!" the horseman said, scratching his head, "the fact is, I am going nowhere in particular."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh! You will understand me in two words. I landed today at Guaymas; the Rancho is only the first station of a journey I meditate in the desert, and which will probably last a long time."
By the moonlight, a ray of which now played on the stranger's face, his companion attentively regarded his noble and pensive countenance, on which grief had already cut deep furrows.
"So that," he at length said, "any lodging will suit you?"
"A night is soon spent. I only ask a shelter for horse and self."
"Well, if you will permit me to act in my turn as guide, you shall have that within ten minutes."
"Agreed."
"I do not promise you a palace, but I will take you to a pulquería, where I am accustomed to put up when accident brings me to these parts. You will find the society rather mixed, but what would you have? And, as you said yourself, a night is soon spent."
"In Heaven's name, then, proceed."
Then, passing his arm through that of his comrade, the new guide seized the horse's reins, and steered to a house standing about two-thirds of the way down the street where they were, whose badly fitting windows gleamed in the night like the stoke holes of a furnace, while cries, laughter, songs, and the shrill sound of the jarabes, indicated that, if the rest of the pueblo were plunged in sleep, there, at least, people were awake.
The two strangers stopped before the door of this pothouse.
"Have you quite made up your mind?" the first said.
"Perfectly," the other answered.
The guide then rapped furiously at the worm-eaten door. It was long ere anyone answered. At length a hoarse voice shouted from inside, while the greatest silence succeeded, as if by enchantment, the noise that had hitherto prevailed.
"¿Quíen vive?"
"Gente de paz," the stranger replied.
"Hum!" the voice went on, "That is not a name. What sort of weather is it?"
"One for all—all for one. The cormuel is strong enough to blow the horns off the oxen on the top of the Cerro del Huérfano."
The door was immediately