Chapter Forty Four.
An Indian Ruse
A wild shout now drew our attention, and, looking up the creek, we saw our pursuers just debouching from the woods. They were all mounted, and pressing their mustangs down to the bank, where they halted with a strange cry.
“What is that, Raoul? Can you tell the meaning of that cry?”
“They are disappointed, Captain. They must dismount and foot it like ourselves; there is no crossing for horses.”
“Good! Oh, if we had but a rifle each! This pass – .” I looked down the gorge. We could have defended it against the whole party, but we were unarmed.
The guerilleros now dismounted, tying their horses to the trees and preparing to cross over. One, who seemed to be their leader, judging from his brilliant dress and plumes, had already advanced into the stream, and stood upon a projecting rock with his sword drawn. He was not more than three hundred yards from the position we occupied on the bluff.
“Do you think you can reach him?” I said to Lincoln, who had reloaded his gun, and stood eyeing the Mexican, apparently calculating the distance.
“I’m feerd, Cap’n, he’s too fur. I’d guv a half-year’s sodger-pay for a crack out o’ the major’s Dutch gun. We can lose nothin’ in tryin’. Murter, will yer stan’ afore me? Thar ain’t no kiver, an’ the feller’s watchin’. He’ll dodge like a duck if he sees me takin’ sight on ’im.”
Chane threw his large body in front, and Lincoln, cautiously slipping his rifle over his comrade’s shoulder, sighted the Mexican.
The latter had noticed the manoeuvre, and, perceiving the danger he had thrust himself into, was about turning to leap down from the rock when the rifle cracked – his plumed hat flew off, and throwing out his arms, he fell with a dead plunge upon the water! The next moment his body was sucked into the current, and, followed by his hat and plumes, was borne down the cañon with the velocity of lightning.
Several of his comrades uttered a cry of terror; and those who had followed him out into the open channel ran back towards the bank, and screened themselves behind the rocks. A voice, louder than the rest, was heard exclaiming:
“Carajo! guardaos! – esta el rifle del diablo!” (Look out! it is the devil’s rifle!)
It was doubtless the comrade of José, who had been in the skirmish of La Virgen, and had felt the bullet of the zündnadel.
The guerilleros, awed by the death of their leader – for it was Yañez who had fallen – crouched behind the rocks. Even those who had remained with the horses, six hundred yards off, sheltered themselves behind trees and projections of the bank. The party nearest us kept loading and firing their escopettes. Their bullets flattened upon the face of the cliff or whistled over our heads. Clayley, Chane, Raoul, and myself, being unarmed, had thrown ourselves behind the scarp to avoid catching a stray shot. Not so Lincoln, who stood boldly out on the highest point of the bluff, as if disdaining to dodge their bullets.
I never saw a man so completely soaring above the fear of death. There was a sublimity about him that I remember being struck with at the time; and I remember, too, feeling the inferiority of my own courage. It was a stupendous picture, as he stood like a colossus clutching his deadly weapon, and looking over his long brown beard at the skulking and cowardly foe. He stood without a motion – without even winking – although the leaden hail hurtled past his head, and cut the grass at his feet with that peculiar “zip-zip” so well remembered by the soldier who has passed the ordeal of a battle.
There was something in it awfully grand – awful even to us; no wonder that it awed our enemies.
I was about to call upon Lincoln to fall back and shelter himself, when I saw him throw up his rifle to the level. The next instant he dropped the butt to the ground with a gesture of disappointment. A moment after, the manoeuvre was repeated with a similar result, and I could hear the hunter gritting his teeth.
“The cowardly skunks!” muttered he; “they keep a-gwine like a bull’s tail in fly-time.”
In fact, every time Lincoln brought his piece to a level, the guerilleros ducked, until not a head could be seen.
“They ain’t as good as thar own dogs,” continued the hunter, turning away from the cliff. “If we hed a lot of loose rocks, Cap’n, we mout keep them down thar till doomsday.”
A movement was now visible among the guerilleros. About one-half of the party were seen to mount their horses and gallop off up the creek.
“They’re gone round by the ford,” said Raoul: “it’s not over a mile and a half. They can cross with their horses there and will be on us in half an hour.”
What was to be done? There was no timber to hide us now – no chaparral. The country behind the cliff was a sloping table, with here and there a stunted palm-tree or a bunch of “Spanish bayonet” (Yucca angustifolia). This would be no shelter, for from the point we occupied, the most elevated on the ridge, we could have descried an object of human size five miles off. At that distance from us the woods began; but could we reach them before our pursuers would overtake us?
Had the guerilleros all gone off by the ford we should have returned to the creek bottom, but a party remained below, and we were cut off from our former hiding-place. We must therefore strike for the woods.
But it was necessary first to decoy the party below, otherwise they would be after us before the others, and experience had taught us that these Mexicans could run like hares.
This was accomplished by an old Indian trick that both Lincoln and myself had practised before. It would not have “fooled” a Texan Ranger, but it succeeded handsomely with the guerilleros.
We first threw ourselves on the ground in such a position that only our heads could be seen by the enemy, who still kept blazing away from their escopettes. After a short while our faces gradually sank behind the crest of the ridge, until nothing but our forage-caps appeared above the sward. We lay thus for some moments, showing a face or two at intervals. Our time was precious, and we could not perform the pantomime to perfection; but we were not dealing with Comanches, and for “Don Diego” it was sufficiently artistical.
Presently we slipped our heads one by one out of their covers, leaving the five caps upon the grass inclining to each other in the most natural positions. We then stole back lizard-fashion, and, after sprawling a hundred yards or so, rose to our feet and ran like scared dogs. We could tell that we had duped the party below, as we heard them firing away at our empty caps long after we had left the scene of our late adventure.
Chapter Forty Five.
A Coup d’Éclair
Many an uneasy look was thrown over our shoulders as we struggled down that slope. Our strength was urged to its utmost; and this was not much, for we had all lost blood in our encounter with the sleuth-hounds, and felt weak and faint.
We were baffled, too, by a storm – a fierce, tropical storm. The rain, thick and heavy, plashed in our faces, and made the ground slippery under our feet. The lightning flashed in our eyes, and the electric sulphur shortened our breathing. Still we coughed and panted and staggered onward, nerved by the knowledge that death was behind us.
I shall never forget that fearful race. I thought it would never end. I can only liken it to one of those dreams in which we are always making endeavours to escape from some horrible monster, and are as often hindered by a strange and mysterious helplessness. I remember it now as then. I have often repeated that flight in my sleep, and always awoke with a feeling of shuddering horror.
We had got within five hundred yards of the timber. Five hundred yards is not much to a fresh runner; but to us, toiling along at a trot that much more resembled a walk, it seemed an infinity. A small prairie, with a stream beyond, separated us from the edge of the woods – a smooth sward without a single tree. We had entered upon it – Raoul, who was light of foot, being in the advance, while Lincoln from choice hung in the rear.
An exclamation from the hunter caused us to look back. We were too much fatigued and worn out to be frightened at the sight. Along the crest of the hill a hundred horsemen were dashing after us in full gallop, and the next moment their vengeful screams were ringing in our ears.
“Now, do yer best, boys!” cried Lincoln, “an’ I’ll stop the cavortin’ of that ’ere foremost feller afore he gits much furrer.”
We trailed our bodies on, but we could hear the guerilleros fast closing upon us. The bullets from their escopettes whistled in our ears, and cut the grass around our feet. I saw Raoul, who had reached the timber, turn suddenly round and walk back. He had resolved to share our fate.
“Save yourself, Raoul!” I called with my weak voice, but he could not have heard me above the din.
I saw him still walking towards us. I heard the screams behind; I heard the shots, and the whizzing of bullets, and the fierce shouts.
I heard the clatter of hoofs and the rasping of sabres as they leaped out of their iron sheaths; and among these I heard the crack of Lincoln’s rifle, and the wild yell of the hunter. Then a peal of thunder drowned all other sounds: the heavens one moment seemed on fire, then black – black. I felt the stifling smell of sulphur – a hot flash – a quick stroke from some invisible hand – and I sank senseless to the earth!
Something cool in my throat and over my face brought back the consciousness that I lived. It was water.
I opened my eyes, but it was some moments before I could see that Raoul was bending over me, and laving my temples with water from his boot. I muttered some half-coherent inquiries.
“It was a coup d’éclair, Captain,” said Raoul.
Good heavens! We had been struck by lightning! Raoul, being in the advance, had escaped.
The Frenchman soon left me and went to Clayley, who, with Chane and the hunter, lay close by – all three, as I thought, dead. They were pale as corpses, with here and there a spot of purple, or a livid line traced over their skins, while their lips presented the whitish, bloodless hue of death.
“Are they dead?” I asked feebly.
“I think not – we shall see;” and the Frenchman poured some water into Clayley’s mouth.
The latter sighed heavily, and appeared to revive.
Raoul passed on to the hunter, who, as soon as he felt the water, started to his feet, and, clutching his comrade fiercely by the throat, exclaimed:
“Yur cussed catamount! yer wud hang me, wud yur?”
Seeing who it was, he stopped suddenly, and looked round with an air of extreme bewilderment. His eye now fell upon the rifle, and, all at once seeming to recollect himself, he staggered towards it and picked it up. Then, as if by instinct, he passed his hand into his pouch and coolly commenced loading.
While Raoul was busy with Clayley and the Irishman, I had risen to my feet and looked back over the prairie. The rain was falling in torrents, and the lightning still flashed at intervals. At the distance of fifty paces a black mass was lying upon the ground motionless – a mass of men and horses, mingled together as they had fallen in their tracks. Here and there a single horse and his rider lay prostrate together. Beyond these, twenty or thirty horsemen were galloping in circles over the plain, and vainly endeavouring to head their frightened steeds towards the point where we were. These, like Raoul, had escaped the stroke.
“Come!” cried the Frenchman, who had now resuscitated Clayley and Chane; “we have not a moment to lose. The mustangs will get over their fright, and these fellows will be down upon us.”
His advice was instantly followed, and before the guerilleros could manage their scared horses we had entered the thicket, and were crawling along under the wet leaves.
Chapter Forty Six.
A Bridge of Monkeys
Raoul thought that their superstition might prevent the enemy from pursuing us farther. They would consider the lightning as an interference from above – a stroke of the hrazos de Dios. But we had little confidence in this, and, notwithstanding our exhaustion, toiled on through the chaparral. Wearied with over-exertion, half-famished – for we had only commenced eating when roused from our repast in the morning – wet to the skin, cut by the bushes, and bitten by the poisoned teeth of the bloodhounds – blinded, and bruised, and bleeding, we were in but poor travelling condition.
Even Lincoln, whose buoyancy had hitherto borne up, appeared cowed and broken. For the first mile or two he seemed vexed at something and “out of sorts”, stopping every now and again, and examining his rifle in a kind of bewilderment.
Feeling that he was once more “in the timber”, he began to come to himself.
“Thet sort o’ an enemy’s new ter me,” he said, speaking to Raoul. “Dog-gone the thing! it makes the airth look yeller!”
“You’ll see better by and by,” replied his comrade.
“I had need ter, Rowl, or I’ll butt my brainpan agin one of these hyur saplin’s. Wagh! I cudn’t sight a b’ar, if we were to scare him up jest now.”
About five miles farther on we reached a small stream. The storm had abated, but the stream was swollen with the rain, and we could not cross it. We were now a safe distance from our pursuers – at least, we thought so – and we resolved to “pitch our camp” upon the bank.
This was a simple operation, and consisted in pitching ourselves to the ground under the shade of a spreading tree.
Raoul, who was a tireless spirit, kindled a fire, and commenced knocking down the nuts of the corozo palm, that hung in clusters over our heads. We dried our wet garments, and Lincoln set about dressing our numerous wounds. In this surgical process our shirts suffered severely; but the skill of the hunter soothed our swelling limbs, and after a frugal dinner upon palm-nuts and pitahayas we stretched ourselves along the greensward, and were soon asleep.
I was in that dreamy state, half-sleeping half-waking, when I was aroused by a strange noise that sounded like a multitude of voices – the voices of children. Raising my head I perceived the hunter in an attitude of listening.
“What is it, Bob?” I inquired.
“Dod rot me if I kin tell, Cap’n! Hyur, Rowl! what’s all this hyur channerin?”
“It’s the araguatoes,” muttered the Frenchman, half-asleep.
“Harry-gwaters! an what i’ the name o’ Nick’s them? Talk plain lingo, Rowl. What are they?”
“Monkeys, then,” replied the latter, waking up, and laughing at his companion.
“Thar’s a good grist on ’em, then, I reckin,” said Lincoln, throwing himself back unconcernedly.
“They are coming towards the stream. They will most likely cross by the rocks yonder,” observed Raoul.
“How? – swim it?” I asked. “It is a torrent there.”
“Oh, no!” answered the Frenchman; “monkeys would rather go into fire than water. If they cannot leap the stream, they’ll bridge it.”
“Bridge it! and how?”
“Stop a moment, Captain; you shall see.”
The half-human voices now sounded nearer, and we could perceive that the animals were approaching the spot where we lay. Presently they appeared upon the opposite bank, headed by an old grey-bearded chieftain, and officered like a regiment of soldiers.
They were, as Raoul had stated, the araguatoes (Simia ursina) of the tribe of “alouattes,” or “howlers.” They were of that species known as “monos colorados” (red monkeys). They were about the size of foxhounds, though there was a difference in this respect between the males and females. Many of the latter were mothers, and carried their human-like infants upon their shoulders as they marched along, or, squatted upon their hams, tenderly caressed them, fondling and pressing them against their mammas. Both males and females were of a tawny-red or lion-colour; both had long beards, and the hair upon their bodies was coarse and shaggy. Their tails were, each of them, three feet in length; and the absence of hair on the under side of these, with the hard, callous appearance of the cuticle, showed that these appendages were extremely prehensile. In fact, this was apparent from the manner in which the young “held on” to their mothers; for they appeared to retain their difficult seats as much by the grasp of their tails as by their arms and hands.
On reaching the bank of the “arroyo” the whole troop came to a sudden halt. One – an aide-de-camp, or chief pioneer, perhaps – ran forward upon a projecting rock; and, after looking across the stream, as if calculating its width, and then carefully examining the trees overhead, he scampered back to the troop, and appeared to communicate with the leader. The latter uttered a cry – evidently a command – which was answered by many individuals in the band, and these instantly made their appearance in front, and running forward upon the bank of the stream, collected around the trunk of a tall cotton-wood that grew over the narrowest part of the arroyo. After uttering a chorus of discordant cries, twenty or thirty of them were seen to scamper up the trunk of the cotton-wood. On reaching a high point, the foremost – a strong fellow – ran out upon a limb, and, taking several turns of his tail around it, slipped off and hung head downwards. The next on the limb – also a stout one – climbed down the body of the first, and, whipping his tail tightly around the neck and fore-arm of the latter, dropped off in his turn, and hung head down. The third repeated this manoeuvre upon the second, and the fourth upon the third, and so on, until the last one upon the string rested his fore-paws upon the ground.
The living chain now commenced swinging backwards and forwards, like the pendulum of a clock. The motion was slight at first, but gradually increased, the lowermost monkey striking his hands violently on the earth as he passed the tangent of the oscillating curve. Several others upon the limbs above aided the movement. The absence of branches upon the lower part of the tree, which we have said was a cotton-wood (Populus angulata), enabled them to execute this movement freely.
The oscillation continued to increase until the monkey at the end of the chain was thrown among the branches of a tree on the opposite bank. Here, after two or three vibrations, he clutched a limb and held fast. This movement was executed adroitly, just at the culminating point of the “swing”, in order to save the intermediate links from the violence of a too sudden jerk.
The chain was now fast at both ends, forming a complete suspension-bridge, over which the whole troop, to the number of four or five hundred, passed with the rapidity of thought.
It was one of the most comical sights I ever beheld, to witness the quizzical expression of countenances along that living chain. To see the mothers, too, making the passage, with their tiny infants clinging to their backs, was a sight at once comical and curious.
The monkeys that formed the chain kept up an incessant talking, and, as we fancied, laughing, and frequently they would bite at the legs of the individuals passing over, as if to hurry them on!
The troop was soon on the other side; but how were the animals forming the bridge to get themselves over? This was the question that suggested itself. Manifestly, thought we, by number one letting go his tail. But then the point d’appui on the other side was much lower down, and number one, with half a dozen of his neighbours, would be dashed against the opposite bank, or soused into the water.
Here, then, was a problem, and we waited with some curiosity for its solution.
It was soon solved. A monkey was now seen attaching his tail to the lowest on the bridge; another girdled him in a similar manner, and another, and so on until a dozen more were added to the string. These last were all powerful fellows; and running up to a high limb, they lifted the bridge into a position almost horizontal.
Then a scream from the last monkey of the new formation warned the tail end that all was ready; and the next moment the whole chain was swung over, and landed safely on the opposite bank!
The lowermost links now dropped off to the ground, while the higher ones leaped to the branches and came down by the trunk. The whole troop then scampered off into the chaparral and disappeared.
“Aw, be the powers of Moll Kelly! iv thim little crayteurs hasn’t more sinse than the humans av these parts! It’s a quare counthry, anyhow. Be me sowl! it bates Banagher intirely!”
A general laugh followed the Irishman’s remarks; and we all sprang to our feet, refreshed by our sleep, and lighter in spirits.
The storm had disappeared, and the sun, now setting, gleamed in upon us through the broad leaves of the palms. The birds were abroad once more – brilliant creatures – uttering their sweet songs. Parrots and trogons, and tanagers flashed around our heads; and the great-billed and silly-looking toucans sat silent in the branches above.
The stream had become fordable, and leaving our “lair”, we crossed over, and struck into the woods on the opposite side.