The War Trail | Page 8

canal!
I had no time to expend in admiring the feat; I hastened to imitate it,
and galloping forward, I set myself for the leap. My brave steed needed

neither whip nor spur; he had seen the other leap the zequia, and he
knew what was expected of him. With a bound he went over, clearing
the drain by several feet; and then, as if resolved upon bringing the
affair to an end, he laid his head forward, and stretched himself at
race-course speed.
A broad grassy plain--a savannah--lay before us, and the hoofs of both
horses, pursuer and pursued, now rang upon hard firm turf. The rest of
the chase would have been a simple trial of speed, and I made sure of
overhauling the mustang before he could reach the opposite side, when
a new obstacle presented itself. A vast herd of cattle and horses studded
the savannah throughout its whole extent; these, startled by our wild
gallop, tossed their heads, and ran affrighted in every direction, but
frequently as otherwise, directly in our way. More than once I was
forced to rein in, to save my neck or my horse's from being broken over
a fierce bull or a long-horned lumbering ox; and more than once I was
compelled to swerve from my course.
What vexed me most, was that in this zigzag race, the mustang, from
practice perhaps, had the advantage; and while it continued, he
increased his distance.
We cleared the drove at length; but to my chagrin I perceived that we
were nearly across the plain. As I glanced ahead, I saw the chapparal
near, with taller trees rising over it; beyond, I saw the swell of a hill,
with white walls upon its summit. It was the hacienda already
mentioned: we were riding directly towards it.
I was growing anxious about the result. Should the horseman reach the
thicket, I would be almost certain to lose him. I dared not let him
escape. What would my men say, if I went back without him? I had
hindered the sentry from firing, and permitted to escape, perhaps a spy,
perhaps some important personage. His desperate efforts to get off
favoured the supposition that he was one or the other. He must be
taken!
Under fresh impulse, derived from these reflections, I lanced the flanks
of my horse more deeply than ever. Moro seemed to divine my

thoughts, and stretched himself to his utmost. There were no more
cattle, not an obstacle, and his superior speed soon lessened the
distance between himself and the mustang. Ten seconds more would do
it.
The ten seconds flew by. I felt myself within shooting distance; I drew
my pistol from its holster.
"Alto! o yo tiro" (Halt! or I fire), I cried aloud.
There was no reply: the mustang kept on!
"Halt!" I cried again, unwilling to take the life of a
fellow-creature--"halt! or you are a dead man!"
No reply again!
There were not six yards between myself and the Mexican horseman.
Riding straight behind him, I could have sent a bullet into his back.
Some secret instinct restrained me; it was partly, though not altogether,
a feeling of admiration: there was an indefinable idea in my mind at the
moment. My finger rested on the trigger, and I could not draw it.
"He must not escape! He is nearing the trees! He must not be allowed
to enter the thicket; I must cripple the horse."
I looked for a place to aim at--his hips were towards me--should I hit
him there he might still get off. Where should I aim?
At this moment the animal wheeled, as if guided by his own impulse--
perhaps by the knees of his rider--and shot off in a new direction. The
object of this manoeuvre was to throw me out of the track. So far it was
successful; but it gave me just the opportunity to aim as I wanted; as it
brought the mustang's side towards me; and levelling my pistol, I sent a
bullet through his kidneys. A single plunge forward was his last, and
both horse and rider came to the ground.
In an instant the latter had disengaged himself from his struggling steed,

and stood upon his feet. Fearing that he might still endeavour to escape
to the cover of the thicket, I spurred forward, pistol in hand, and
pointed the weapon at his head. But he made no attempt either at
further flight or resistance. On the contrary, he stood with folded arms,
fronting the levelled tube, and, looking me full in the face, said with an
air of perfect coolness--
"No matame, amigo! Soy muger!" (Do not kill me, friend! I am a
woman!)
CHAPTER FIVE.
MY CAPTIVE.
"Do not kill me, friend! I am a woman!"