The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico

by Mayne Reid

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

  For some minutes Carlos remained stupefied with the shock, and made noeffort to rouse himself.

  A friendly hand laid upon his shoulder caused him to look up; Don Juanthe ranchero was bending over him.

  Don Juan's face wore a look as wretched as his own. It gave him nohope; and it was almost mechanically the words escaped his lips--

  "My mother? my sister?"

  "Your mother is at my house," replied Don Juan.

  "And Rosita?"

  Don Juan made no reply--the tears were rolling down his cheeks.

  "Come, man!" said Carlos, seeing the other in as much need ofconsolation as himself; "out with it--let me know the worst! Is shedead?"

  "No,--no,--no!--I hope not _dead_!"

  "Carried off?"

  "Alas, yes!"

  "By whom?"

  "The Indians."

  "You are sure by _Indians_?"

  As Carlos asked this question, a look of strange meaning glanced fromhis eyes.

  "Quite sure--I saw them myself--your mother?"

  "My mother! What of her?"

  "She is safe. She met the savages in the doorway, was knocked senselessby a blow, and saw no more."

  "But Rosita?"

  "No one saw her; but certainly she was taken away by the Indians."

  "You are sure they were _Indians_, Don Juan?"

  "Sure of it. They attacked my house almost at the same time. They hadpreviously driven off my cattle, and for that, one of my people was onthe look-out. He saw them approach; and, before they got near, we wereshut up and ready to defend ourselves. Finding this, they soon wentoff. Fearing for your people, I stole out as soon as they were gone,and came here. When I arrived the roof was blazing, and your motherlying senseless in the doorway. Rosita was gone! _Madre de Dios_! shewas gone!"

  And the young ranchero wept afresh.

  "Don Juan!" said Carlos, in a firm voice; "you have been a friend--abrother--to me and mine. I know you suffer as much as I do. Let therebe no tears! See! mine are dried up! I weep no more--perhaps sleepnot--till Rosita is rescued or revenged. Let us to business, then!Tell me all that is known about these Indians--and quick, Don Juan! Ihave a keen appetite for your news!"

  The ranchero detailed the various rumours that had been afloat for thethree or four days preceding--as well as the actual occurrences,--howthe Indians had been first seen upon the upper plain; their encounterwith the shepherds and the driving off of the sheep; their appearance inthe valley, and their raid upon his own cattle--for it was his_ganaderia_ that had suffered--and then the after circumstances alreadyknown to Carlos.

  He also informed the latter of the activity shown by the troops; howthey had followed that morning upon the trail of the robbers; how he haddesired to accompany them with some of his people; and how the requestwas refused by the Comandante.

  "Refused?" exclaimed Carlos, interrogatively.

  "Yes," replied Don Juan; "he said we would only hinder the troops! Ifancy his motive was his chagrin with me. He does not like me eversince the fiesta."

  "Well! what then?"

  "The troops returned but an hour ago. They report that they followedthe trail as far as the Pecos, where it crossed, striking direct for theLlano Estacado; and, as the Indians had evidently gone off to the greatplains, it would have been useless to attempt pursuing them farther. Sothey alleged.

  "The people," continued Don Juan, "will be only too glad that thesavages have gone away, and will trouble themselves no farther about it.I have been trying to get up a party to follow them, but not one wouldventure. Hopeless as it was, I intended a pursuit with my own people;but, thank God! _you_ have come!"

  "Ay, pray God it may not be too late to follow their trail. But no;only last night at midnight, you say? There's been neither rain norhigh wind--it will be fresh as dew; and if ever hound--Ha! where'sCibolo?"

  "At my house, the dog is. He was lost, this morning; we thought he hadbeen killed or carried off; but at midday my people found him by therancho here, covered with mud, and bleeding where he had received theprick of a spear. We think the Indians must have taken him along, andthat he escaped from them on the road."

  "It is strange enough--Oh! my poor Rosita!--poor lost sister!--where artthou at this moment?--where?--where?--Shall I ever see you again?--MyGod! my God!"

  And Carlos once more sunk back into his attitude of despair.

  Then suddenly springing to his feet, with clenched fist and flashingeyes, he cried out--

  "Wide though the prairie plains, and faint the trail of these dastardlyrobbers, yet keen is the _eye_ of Carlos the cibolero! I shall findthee yet--I shall find thee, though it cost me the search of a life.Fear not, Rosita! fear not, sweet sister! I come to your rescue! Ifthou art wronged, woe, woe, to the tribe that has done it!" Thenturning to Don Juan, he continued,--"The night is on--we can do nothingto-night. Don Juan!--friend, brother!--bring me to her--to my mother."

  There is a wild poetry in the language of grief, and there was poetry inthe words of the cibolero; but these bursts of poetic utterance werebrief, and he again returned to the serious reality of his situation.Every circumstance that could aid him in his purposed pursuit wasconsidered and arranged in a sober and practical manner. His arms andaccoutrements, his horse, all were cared for, so as to be ready by theearliest hour of light. His servants, and those of Don Juan, were toaccompany him, and for these horses were also prepared.

  Pack-mules, too, with provisions and other necessaries for a longjourney--for Carlos had no intention of returning without theaccomplishment of his sworn purpose--rescue or revenge. His was nopursuit to be baffled by slight obstacles. He was not going to bringback the report "_no los pudimos alcanzar_" He was resolved to trail therobbers to the farthest point of the prairies--to follow them to theirfastens, wherever that might be.

  Don Juan was with him heart and soul, for the ranchero's interest in theresult was equal to his own--his agony was the same.

  Their peons numbered a score--trusty Tagnos all, who loved theirmasters, and who, if not warriors by trade, were made so by sympathy andzeal.

  Should they overtake the robbers in time, there would be no fear of theresult. From all circumstances known, the latter formed but a weakband. Had this not been the case, they would never have left the valleywith so trifling a booty. Could they be overtaken before joining theirtribe, all might yet be well. They would be compelled to give up boththeir plunder and their captive, and, perhaps, pay dearly for thedistress they had occasioned. Time, therefore, was a most importantconsideration, and the pursuers had resolved to take the trail with theearliest light of the morning.

  Carlos slept not--and Don Juan only in short and feverish intervals.Both sat up in their dresses,--Carlos by the bedside of his mother, who,still suffering from the effects of the blow, appeared to rave in hersleep.

  The cibolero sat silent, and in deep thought. He was busied with plansand conjectures--conjectures as to what tribe of Indians the marauderscould belong to. Apaches or Comanches they were not. He had metparties of both on his return. They treated him in a friendly manner,and they said nothing of hostilities against the people of SanIldefonso. Besides, no bands of these would have been in such smallforce as the late robbers evidently were. Carlos wished it had beenthey. He knew that in such a case, when it was known that the captivewas _his_ sister, she would be restored to him. But no; they hadnothing to do with it. Who then?--the Yutas? Such was the belief amongthe people of the valley, as he had been told by Don Juan. If so, therewas still a hope--Carlos had traded with a branch of this powerful andwarlike tribe. He was also on friendly terms with some of its chiefs,though these were now at war with the more northern settlements.

  But the Jicarillas still returned to his mind. These were Indians of acowardly, brutal disposition, and his mortal foes. They would havescalped him on sight. If his sister was _their_ captive, her lot washard indeed; and the very thought of such
a fate caused the cibolero tostart up with a shudder, and clench his hands in a convulsive effort ofpassion.

  It was near morning. The peons were astir and armed. The horses andmules were saddled in the patio, and Don Juan had announced that allwere ready. Carlos stood by the bedside of his mother to take leave.She beckoned him near. She was still weak, for blood had flown freelyfrom her, and her voice was low and feeble.

  "My son," said she, as Carlos bent over her, "know you what Indians youare going to pursue?"

  "No, mother," replied Carlos, "but I fear they are our enemies theJicarillas."

  "Have the Jicarillas _beards on their faces and jewels on theirfingers_?"

  "No mother; why do you ask such a question?--you know they have nobeards! My poor mother!" added he, turning to Don Juan; "this terriblestroke has taken her senses!"

  "Follow the trail, then!" she continued, without noticing the lastremark uttered by Carlos in a whisper; "follow the trail--perhaps itwill guide thee to--" and she whispered the rest into his ear.

  "What, mother?" said he, starting, as if at some strange information."Dost thou think so?"

  "I have some suspicion--only _suspicion_--but follow the trail--it willguide thee--follow it, and be satisfied!"

  "Do not doubt me, mother; I shall be satisfied of _that_."

  "One promise before you go. Be not rash--be prudent."

  "Fear not, mother! I will."

  "If it be so--"

  "If it be so, mother, you'll soon see me back. God bless you!--Myblood's on fire--I cannot stay!--God bless you, mother!--Farewell!"

  Next minute the train of mounted men, with Don Juan and Carlos at itshead, passed out of the great gate, and took the road that led out fromthe valley.