The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico

It was no zealous feeling of religion, then, that could have “set” the monk in such hostile attitude against the family of the poor cibolero. No. It was some old grudge against the deceased father, – some cross which the padré had experienced from him in the days of the former Comandante.

As Padré Joaquin walked forward on the azotea, his busy bustling air showed that he was charged with some “novedad;” and the triumphant smile upon his countenance told that he calculated upon its being of interest to those to whom he was about to communicate it.

“Good day, father! – Good day, your reverence!” said the Comandante and Roblado speaking at the same time.

“Buenos dias, cavalleros!” responded the padré.

“Glad to see you, good father!” said Roblado. “You have saved me a ride. I was just in the act of starting for the mission to wait upon your reverence.”

“And if you had come, capitan, I could have given you a luxury to lunch upon. We have received our buffalo-tongues.”

“Oh! you have!” cried Vizcarra and Roblado in the same breath, and with an expression of interest that somewhat surprised the padré.

“Ha! you greedy ladrones! I see what you would be after. You would have me send you some of them. You sha’n’t have a slice though – that is, unless you can give me something that will wash this dust out of my throat. I’m woeful thirsty this morning.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the officers. “What shall it be, father?”

“Well – let me see. – Ah! – a cup of ‘Bordeos’ – that you received by last arrival.”

The claret was ordered and brought up; and the padré, tossing off a glassful, smacked his lips after it with the air of one who well knew and appreciated the good quality of the wine.

“Linda! lindisima!” he exclaimed, rolling his eyes up to heaven, as if everything good should come and go in that direction.

“And so, padré,” said the impatient Roblado, “you have got your buffalo-tongues? Your hunters, then, have returned?”

“They have; that is the business that brought me over.”

“Good! that was the business that was about to take me to the mission.”

“An onza we were both on the same errand!” challenged the padré.

“I won’t bet, father; you always win.”

“Come! you’d be glad to give an onza for my news.”

“What news? – what news?” asked the officers at once, and with hurried impatience of manner.

“Another cup of Bordeos, or I choke! The dust of that road is worse than purgatory. Ah! this is a relief.”

And again the padré swallowed a large glassful of claret, and smacked his lips as before.

“Now your news, dear padré?”

“Pues, cavalleros – our hunters have returned!”

“Y pues?”

“Pues que! they have brought news.”

“Of what?”

“Of our friend the cibolero.”

“Of Carlos?”

“Precisely of that individual.”

“What news? Have they seen him?”

“No, not exactly him, but his trail. They have discovered his lair, and know where he is at this moment.”

“Good!” exclaimed Vizcarra and Roblado.

“They can find him at any time.”

“Excellent!”

“Pues, cavalleros; that is my news at your service. Use it to your advantage, if you can.”

“Dear padré!” replied Vizcarra, “yours is a wiser head than ours. You know the situation of affairs. Our troopers cannot catch this villain. How would you advise us to act?”

The padré felt nattered by this confidence.

“Amigos!” said he, drawing both of them together, “I have been thinking of this; and it is my opinion you will do just as well without the help of a single soldier. Take these two hunters into your confidence – so far as may be necessary – equip them for the work – set them on the trail; and if they don’t hunt down the heretic rascal, then I, Padré Joaquin, have no knowledge of men.”

“Why, padré!” said Roblado; “it’s the very thing we have been thinking about – the very business for which I was about to seek you.”

“You had good reason, cavalleros. In my opinion, it’s the best course to be followed.”

“But will your hunters go willingly to work? They are free men, and may not like to engage in so dangerous an enterprise.”

“Dangerous!” repeated the padré. “The danger will be no obstacle to them, I promise you. They have the courage of lions and the agility of tigers. You need not fear that danger will stand in the way.”

“You think, then, they will be disposed to it?”

“They are disposed – I have sounded them. They have some reasons of their own for not loving the cibolero too dearly; and therefore, cavalleros, you won’t require to use much persuasion on that score. I fancy you’ll find them ready enough, for they have, been reading the proclamation, and, if I mistake not, have been turning over in their thoughts the fine promises it holds out. Make it sure to them that they will be well rewarded, and they’ll bring you the cibolero’s ears, or his scalp, or his whole carcase, if you prefer it, in less than three days from the present time! They’ll track him down, I warrant.”

“Should we send some troopers along with them? The cibolero may not be alone. We have reason to believe he has a half-blood with him – a sort of right-hand man of his own – and with this help he may be quite a match for your hunters.”

“Not likely – they are very demonios. But you can consult themselves about that. They will know best whether they need assistance. That is their own affair, cavalleros. Let them decide.”

“Shall we send for them? or will you send them to us?” inquired Roblado.

“Do you not think it would be better for one of you to go to them? The matter should be managed privately. If they make their appearance here, and hold an interview with either of you, your business with them will be suspected, and perchance get known to him. If it should reach his ears that these fellows are after him, their chances of taking him would be greatly diminished.”

“You are right, father,” said Roblado. “How can we communicate with these fellows privately?”

“Nothing easier than that, capitan. Go to their house – I should rather say to their hut – for they live in a sort of hovel by the rocks. The place is altogether out of the common track. No one will be likely to see you on your visit. You must pass through a narrow road in the chapparal; but I shall send you a guide who knows the spot, and he will conduct you. I think it like enough the fellows will be expecting you, as I hinted to them to stay at home – that possibly they might be wanted. No doubt you’ll find them there at this moment.”

“When can you send up the guide?”

“He is here now – my own attendant will do. He is below in the court – you need lose no time.”

“No. Roblado,” added the Comandante, “your horse is ready – you cannot do better than go at once.”

“Then go I shall: your guide, padré?”

“Esteban! Hola! Esteban!” cried the padré, leaning over the wall.

“Aqui, Señor,” answered a voice.

“Sube! sube! anda!” (Come up quickly.)

The next moment an Indian boy appeared upon the azotea, and taking off his hat approached the padré with an air of reverence.

“You will guide the capitan through the path in the chapparal to the hunters’ hut.”

“Si, Señor.”

“Don’t tell any one you have done so.”

“No, Señor.”

“If you do you shall catch the ‘cuarto.’ Vaya!”

Roblado, followed by the boy, descended the escalera; and, after being helped on his horse, rode away from the gate.

The padré, at the invitation of Vizcarra, emptied another cup of Bordeos; and then, telling his host that a luncheon of the new luxury awaited him at the mission, he bade him good day, and shuffled off homeward.

Vizcarra remained alone upon the azotea. Had any one been there to watch him, they would have noticed that his countenance assumed a strange and troubled expression every time his eyes chanced to wander in the direction of La Niña.

Chapter Fifty One

Roblado entered the chapparal, the boy Esteban stepping a few paces in advance of his horse’s head. For half-a-mile or so he traversed a leading road that ran between the town and one of the passes. He then struck into a narrow path, but little used except by hunters or vaqueros in search of their cattle. This path conducted him, after a ride of two or three miles, to the base of the cliffs, and there was found the object of his journey – the dwelling-place of the hunters.

It was a mere hut – a few upright posts supporting a single roof, which slanted up, with a very slight inclination, against the face of the rock. The posts were trunks of a species of arborescent yucca that grew plentifully around the spot, and the roof-thatch was the stiff loaves of the same, piled thickly over each other. There was a sort of rude door, made of boards split from the larger trunks of the yucca, and hung with strong straps of parflèche, or thick buffalo leather. Also a hole that served for a window, with a shutter of the same material, and similarly suspended. The walls were a wattle of vines and slender poles bent around the uprights, and daubed carelessly with a lining of mud. The smooth vertical rock served for one side of the house – so that so much labour had been spared in the building – and the chimney, which was nothing better than a hole in the roof, conducted the smoke in such a manner that a sooty streak marked its course up the face of the cliff. The door entered at one end, close in by the rock, but the window was in the side or front. Through the latter the inmates of the hut could command a view of any one approaching by the regular path. This, however, was a rare occurrence, as the brace of rude hunters had but few acquaintances, and their dwelling was far removed from any frequented route. Indeed, the general track of travel that led along the bottom line of the bluffs did not approach within several hundred yards of this point, in consequence of the indentation or bay in which the hut was placed. Moreover, the thick chapparal screened it from observation on one side, while the cliffs shut it in upon the other.

Behind the house – that is, at the hinder end of it – was a small corral, its walls rudely constructed with fragments of rock. In this stood three lean and sore-backed mules, and a brace of mustangs no better off. There was a field adjoining the corral, or what had once been a field, but from neglect had run into a bed of grass and weeds. A portion of it, however, showed signs of cultivation – a patch here and there – on which stood some maize-plants, irregularly set and badly hoed, and between their stems the trailing tendrils of the melon and calabash. It was a true squatter’s plantation.

Around the door lay half-a-dozen wolfish-looking dogs; and under the shelter of the overhanging rock, two or three old pack-saddles rested upon the ground. Upon a horizontal pole two riding saddles were set astride – old, worn, and torn – and from the same pole hung a pair of bridles, and some strings of jerked meat and pods of chilé pepper.

Inside the house might have been seen a couple of Indian women, not over cleanly in their appearance, engaged in kneading coarse bread and stewing tasajo. A fire burnt against the rock, between two stones – earthen pots and gourd dishes lay littered over the floor.

The walls were garnished with bows, quivers, and skins of animals, and a pair of embankments of stones and mud, one at each corner of the room – there was but one room – served as bedstead and beds. A brace of long spears rested in one corner, alongside a rifle and a Spanish escopeta; and above hung a machete or sword-knife, with powder-horns, pouches, and other equipments necessary to a hunter of the Rocky Mountains. There were nets and other implements for fishing and taking small game, and these constituted the chief furniture of the hovel. All these things Roblado might have seen by entering the hut; but he did not enter, as the men he was in search of chanced to be outside – the mulatto lying stretched along the ground, and the zambo swinging in a hammock between two trees, according to the custom of his native country – the coast-lands of the tierra caliente.

The aspect of these men, that would have been displeasing to almost any one else, satisfied Roblado. They were just the men for his work. He had seen both before, but had never scrutinised them till now; and, as he glanced at their bold swarthy faces and brawny muscular frames, he thought to himself, “These are just the fellows to deal with the cibolero.” A formidable pair they looked. Each one of them, so far as appearance went, might with safety assail an antagonist like the cibolero – for either of them was bigger and bulkier than he.

The mulatto was the taller of the two. He was also superior in strength, courage, and sagacity. A more unamiable countenance it would have been difficult to meet in all that land, without appealing to that of the zambo. There you found its parallel.

The skin of the former was dull yellow in colour, with a thin beard over the cheeks and around the lips. The lips were negro-like, thick, and purplish, and behind them appeared a double row of large wolfish teeth. The eyes were sunken – their whites mottled with yellowish flakes. Heavy dark brows shadowed them, standing far apart, separated by the broad flatfish nose, the nostrils of which stood so widely open as to cause a protuberance on each side. Large ears were hidden under a thick frizzled shock that partook of the character both of hair and wool. Over this was bound, turban fashion, an old check Madras kerchief that had not come in contact with soap for many a day; and from under its folds the woolly hair straggled down over the forehead so as to add to the wild and fierce expression of the face. It was a countenance that proclaimed ferocity, reckless daring, cunning, and an utter absence of all humane sentiment.

The dress of the man had little in it differing from others who lead the life of a prairie-hunter. It was a mixture of leather and blanket. The head-dress only was peculiar. That was an old souvenir of the Southern States and their negro life.

The zambo had a face as ferocious in its expression as that of his confrère. It differed in colour. It was a coppery black – combining the hues of both races from whom he derived his origin. He had the thick lips and retreating forehead of the negro, but the Indian showed itself in his hair, which scarcely waved, but hung in long snaky tresses about his neck and shoulders. He was altogether less distinguished-looking than his comrade the mulatto. His dress partook of the character of his tribe – wide trousers of coarse cotton stuff, with a sleeveless shirt of the same material, – a waist scarf, and coarse serapé. Half the upper part of his body was nude, and his thick copper-coloured arms were quite bare.

Roblado arrived just in time to witness the finale of an incident that would serve to illustrate the character of the zambo.

He was half sitting, half-lying in his hammock, in the enjoyment of a husk cigar, and occasionally striking at the flies with his raw-hide whip. He called out to one of the women – his wife for the time —

“Niña! I want to eat something – is the guisado ready?”

“Not yet,” answered a voice from the hut.

“Bring me a tortilla then, with chilé Colorado.”

“Querido– you know there is no chilé Colorado in the house,” was the reply.

“Niña! come here! I want you.”

The woman came out, and approached the hammock, but evidently with some mistrust.

The zambo sat perfectly silent until she was close enough for his purpose, and then, suddenly raising the raw-hide, which he had hitherto held behind him, he laid it with all his strength over her back and shoulders. A thin chemisette was all that intervened to hinder the full severity of the blows, and these fell thick end fast, until the sufferer took courage and retreated out of reach!

“Now, Niña, dear love! the next time I call for a tortilla with chilé Colorado you’ll have it – won’t you, dear pet?”

And then laying himself back in his hammock, the savage uttered a roar of laughter, in which he was joined by the mulatto, who would have done just the same by his better half for a like provocation!

It was just at this crisis Roblado pulled up in front of the hovel.

Both got to their feet to receive him, and both saluted him with a gesture of respect. They knew who he was. The mulatto, as the principal man, took the principal part in the conversation, while the zambo hung in the background.

The dialogue was carried on in a low tone on account of the woman and the boy Esteban. It resulted, however, in the hunters being engaged, as the padré had suggested, to track and follow the cibolero Carlos to death or capture. If the former, a large sum was to be their reward – if the latter, a sum still larger – nearly double!

With regard to assistance from the troops, neither mulatto nor zambo wished for any. Quite the contrary. They had no desire that the magnificent bounty should be diminished by subdivision. As it stood, it would be a small fortune to both of them, and the brilliant prospect whetted their appetite for the success of the job.

His errand having been thus accomplished, the officer rode back to the Presidio; while the man-hunters immediately set about making preparations for expedition.

Chapter Fifty Two

The mulatto and zambo – Manuel and Pepe were their respective names – in half-an-hour after were ready for the road. Their preparations did not cost them half that time; but a quarter of an hour was spent on the guisado, and each smoked a husk cigarrito, while their horses were grinding up the half-dozen heads of green maize that had been thrown them.

Having finished their cigars, the hunters leaped into their saddles, and rode off.

The mulatto was armed with a long rifle, of the kind used by American hunters, and a knife of the sort since known as a “Bowie,” with a strong thick blade keenly pointed and double-edged for some inches from the point – a terrible weapon in close combat. These arms he had brought with him from the Mississippi valley, where he had learnt how to use them.

The zambo carried an escopeta strapped in a slanting direction along the flap of his saddle, a machete upon his thigh, and a bow with a quiver of arrows hung over his back. The last of these weapons – for certain purposes, such as killing game, or when a silent shot may be desirable – is preferred to any sort of fire-arms. Arrows can be delivered more rapidly than bullets, and, should the first shot fail, the intended victim is less likely to be made aware of the presence of his enemy.

In addition to these weapons, both had pistols stuck in their belts, and lazos hanging coiled from their saddle-bows.

Behind them on the croup each carried his provisions – a few strips of tasajo with some cold tortillas tied in a piece of buckskin. A double-headed calabash for water, with sundry horns, pouches, and bags, completed their equipment. A pair of huge gaunt dogs trotted behind their horses’ heels, fierce and savage-looking as their masters. One was the wolf-dog of the country, the other a Spanish bloodhound.

“What road, Man’l?” inquired the zambo as they parted from the hut; “straight down to the Pecos?”

“No, Pepe boy: must climb, go round. Seen making down valley, somebody guess what we’re after – send him word we’re coming. He suspect – we not grow rich so easily. No – must get up by old track – cross to dry gully – down that to Pecos. Take longer – make things surer, boy Pepe.”

“Carrambo!” exclaimed Pepe. “It’s a murderous climb. My poor beast’s so jaded with the buffalo running, that he’ll scarce get up. Carrai!”

After a short ride through the thicket and along the bottom of the cliffs, they arrived at a point where a ravine sloped to the upper plain. Up the bottom of this ravine was a difficult pass – difficult on account of its steepness. Any other horses than mountain-reared mustangs would have refused it, but these can climb like cats. Even the dogs could scarcely crawl up this ascent. In spite of its almost vertical slope, the hunters dismounted, crawled up, and, pulling their horses after them, soon reached the table-land above.

After breathing themselves and their animals, they once more got astride, and, heading northward, rode rapidly off over the plain.

“Now, boy Pepe,” muttered the mulatto, “chance meet any sheep-keepers, going after antelope; you hear?”

“Ay, Man’l; I understand.”

These were the last words exchanged between them for ten miles. They rode in file – the mulatto in the lead, the zambo in his tracks, and the dogs following in the rear. These two went also in file, the bloodhound heading the wolf.

At the end of ten miles they reached a dry river channel, that ran transversely across their route. It was the same which Carlos and his party had followed on the day of their escape after the affair at the Presidio. The hunters entered it, and, turning downward, as Carlos had done, followed it to its mouth upon the banks of the Pecos. Here was a grove of timber, which they entered, and, having dismounted, tied their horses to the trees. These animals, though lately arrived from a long journey, and now having passed over more than thirty miles at a brisk rate, showed no symptoms of being done up. Lean though they were, they possessed the tough wiry strength of their race, and either of them could have gone another hundred miles without breaking down.

This their masters well knew, else they would have gone upon their man-hunt with less confidence of success.

“May gallop away on his fine black,” remarked the mulatto, as he glanced at the mustangs. “Soon overhaul him again – won’t we, boy Pepe?”

“Chinga! we will.”

“Brace of hacks tire out racer, – won’t they, boy Pepe?”

“Chingara! So they will, Man’l.”

“Don’t want to try that game though – do the job easier; won’t we, boy Pepe?”

“I hope so, Man’l.”

“Cibolero in the cave sure – stays there – no better place for him. Won’t be caught sleeping, – troopers never follow him up the pass. Convenient to valley. Goes back and forward spite of spies. Tracks could lead nowhere else – sure in the cave, horse and all. When? that the trouble, boy Pepe.”

“Es verdad! if we knew when he was in, or when he was out, either.”

“Ay, knew that, no difficulty, – set our trap easy enough, boy Pepe.”

“He must surely be there in daytime?”

“Just been thinking – goes to the settlements – must be by night, that’s clear – goes there, boy Pepe, maybe not to rancho, somewhere near. Must go to meet Anton. Not like Anton meet him at cave – güero too sharp for that – goes out to meet Anton, sure!”

“Might we not track Anton?”

“Might track Anton – no good that – would have to deal with both together. Besides, don’t want kill Anton – no ill-will to Anton – make things worse if find Anton with him. Never do, boy Pepe – have hands full with güero himself – plenty do capture him. Must not forget capture – not kill – leave that to them. No use track Anton – know where t’other keeps. If didn’t know that, then might track Anton.”

“Can’t we get near the cave in daylight, Man’l? I don’t have a good memory of the place.”

“Mile – no nearer – unless he sleep – when sleep? Tell me that, boy Pepe!”

“And suppose he be awake?”

“See us enter the cañon, mile off – jump into saddle, pass up to plain above – maybe three days before find him again – maybe not find at all, boy Pepe.”

“Well, brother Man’l – I have a plan. Let us get near the mouth of the cañon, and hide outside of it till night – then as soon as it is dark creep into where it narrows. He will come down that way to go out. What then? we can have a shot at him as he passes!”

“Pooh, boy Pepe! Think lose chance of half reward – risk whole by shot in dark? Dam! no – have whole or none – set us up for life – take him alive, take him alive, sure.”

“Well then,” rejoined the zambo, “let him pass out of the cañon, and when he’s gone clear out of reach we can go up, get into the cave, and wait his return. What say you to that?”

“Talk sense now, boy Pepe – something like plan about that – what we do – but not go inside cañon till güero clear away. Only near enough see him go out, then for cave – right plan to take him. Sun near dawn, time we start – come!”