CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
The dead Indian was a Pane beyond doubt. The tonsure of his hair, thecut of his moccasins, his war-paint, enabled Carlos to tell this.
The cibolero was glad that he was a Pane. He had several reasons forbeing so. First, it gratified him to know that his Waco friends werestill true; secondly, that he had punished one of the robbers; and,lastly, the knowledge that they were Panes gave him some hope that hemight yet recover, _by the help of the Wacoes_, some of the stolenmules.
This was not improbable. As already stated, the Wacoes and Panes weresworn foes; and as soon as the former should hear that the latter werein the neighbourhood, Carlos felt sure they would go in pursuit of them.He would share in this pursuit with his little band, and, in the eventof the Panes being defeated, might get back his _mulada_.
His first impulse, therefore, was, to gallop to the Waco camp--apprisethem of the fact that the Pane was on the war-trail, and then join themin search of the latter.
Just then both he and Antonio remembered that the Panes had themselvesgone in the direction of the Waco camp! It was not two miles distant--they could hardly fail to find it, even in the night. What if they hadtaken the Wacoes by surprise, and had already made their attack!
It was quite probable--more than probable. The time and the hour werejust in keeping. The estampeda had occurred before midnight. No doubtthey were then on their way to the Waco village. They would just be intime to make their attack, at the usual hour for such forays, betweenmidnight and morning.
Carlos feared he might be too late to give warning. His Waco friendsmay have already perished! Whether or no, he determined to proceed atonce to their encampment.
Leaving Antonio and the peons with directions to guard and defend hisown camp to the last, he rode off, armed both with rifle and bow. Itwas yet but grey day, but he knew the trail leading to the Waco village,and followed it without difficulty. He rode with caution, scanning thetimber copses before approaching them; and running his eye along thecrests of the ridges as he advanced.
This caution was not unnecessary. The Panes could not be far off--theymight still be in ambush between him and the Waco camp, or halted amongthe hills.
The cibolero had but little fear of meeting one or two of them. He rodea horse in which he had full confidence; and he knew that no Pane couldovertake him; but he might be surrounded by numbers, and interceptedbefore he could reach the Waco lodges. That was the reason why headvanced with so much caution.
His ears were set to listen attentively. Every sound was noted andweighed--the "gobble" of the wild turkey from the branches of the oak;the drumming of the ruffed grouse on some dry knoll; the whistling ofthe fallow-deer; or the tiny bark of the prairie marmot. All these werewell-known sounds; and as each was uttered, the cibolero stopped andlistened attentively. Under other circumstances he would not haveheeded them, but he knew that these sounds could be imitated, and hisear was bent to detect any counterfeit. He could distinguish the Panetrail of the previous night. A strong band there must have been, by thenumerous tracks on the grass. At the crossing of a stream Carlos coulddetect the prints of moccasins in the sand. There were still some ofthe party afoot then, though, no doubt, the stolen _mulada_ had mounteda good many.
Carlos rode on with more caution than ever. He was half-way to the Wacovillage, and still the Pane trail led in that direction. Surely thesecould not have passed without finding it? Such skilled warriors as thePanes would not. They would see the trail of the Wacoes leading to thecibolero's own camp--they would soon discover the lodges--perhaps theyhad already made their attack--perhaps--
The reflections of the cibolero were suddenly interrupted; distantsounds fell upon his ear--shouts and cries of fearful import--with thatcontinued murmur that results from the mingling of many voices in loudand confused clamour. Now and then was heard a whoop, or a cheer, or ashrill whistle, rising above the ordinary noises, and carrying far overthe plain its tones of triumph or revenge.
Carlos knew the import of those shouts and cries--they were the soundsof battle!--of terrible and deadly strife!
They came from behind the hill--the cibolero was just climbing it.
He spurred his horse, and, galloping forward to its crest, looked downinto the valley. The conflict was raging before him!
He had a full view of the dreadful scene. Six hundred dusky horsemenwere riding about on the plain; some dashing at each other with couchedlances--some twanging their bows from a distance; and others closetogether in the hand-to-hand combat of the deadly tomahawk! Some werecharging in groups with their long spears--some wheeling into flight,and others, dismounted, were battling on foot! Some took shelter amongthe timber islands, and sprang out again as they saw an opportunity ofsending an arrow, or lancing a foeman in the back; and so the redcontest continued.
Not a shot was heard--neither bugle nor drum sent forth their inspiringnotes--no cannon rolled its thunder--no rocket blazed--no smoke spreadits sulphury cloud upon the air; but without these sights and soundsthere was no fear of mistaking that contest for a mimic game--atournament of the prairies. The wild war-whoop, and the wilderwhistle--the earnest onslaught--the fierce charging cheer--the cries oftriumph and vengeance--the neighing steeds without riders--here andthere the prostrate savage, with skinless scalp, glaring red in thesun--the spears and hatchets crimsoned with blood,--all were evidence ofreal and deadly strife, and Carlos did not doubt for a moment thecharacter of the scene. Before him was an Indian fight--Waco and Paneengaged in the earnest struggle of life and death!
All this he comprehended at a glance, and, after regarding the fight fora moment, he could distinguish the warriors of both tribes from oneanother. The Panes, in full war-costume, were easily recognised bytheir tufted scalp-locks; while the Wacoes, who had, no doubt, beentaken by surprise, were many of them in hunting-shirts and leggings.Some, however, were nearly as naked as their adversaries; but easilydistinguished from them by their full flowing hair.
The first impulse of the cibolero was to gallop forward and mingle inthe fight,--of course, taking side with the Wacoes. The sound of theconflict roused his blood, and the sight of the robbers who had solately ruined him rendered him eager for revenge. Many of them weremounted upon the very mules they had taken from him, and Carlos wasdetermined to have some of them back again.
He was about to put spurs to his horse, and dash forward, when a suddenchange seemed to occur in the conflict that decided him to remain wherehe was. The Panes were giving way!
Many of them were seen wheeling out of the plain, and taking to flight.
As Carlos looked down the hill, he saw three of the Pane warriors infull run, making up to the spot where he stood. Most of the band werestill fighting, or had fled in a different direction; but these, cut offfrom the rest, came directly up the hill at a gallop.
The cibolero had drawn his horse under the cover of some trees, and wasnot perceived by them until they were close to the spot.
At this moment the war-cry of the Wacoes was heard directly in theirrear, and Carlos saw that two mounted warriors of that tribe were inpursuit. The fugitives looked back, and, seeing only two adversariosafter them, once more wheeled round and gave fight.
At their first charge one of the pursuers was killed, and the other--whom Carlos now recognised as the Waco chief--was left alone againstthree assailants.
The whip-like crack of the cibolero's rifle sounded on the air, and oneof the Panes dropped out of his saddle. The other two, ignorant ofwhence the shot had come, continued their onset on the Waco chief, who,dashing close up, split the skull of one of there with his tomahawk.His horse, however, bore him rapidly past, and before he could wheelround, the remaining Pane--an active warrior--rushed after and thrusthis long spear into the back of the chief. Its head passed clearthrough his body, completely impaling him; and with a death-whoop, thenoble Indian fell from his horse to the ground.
But his enemy fell at the same time. The arrow o
f the cibolero was toolate to save, though not to avenge, the Waco's fall. It pierced thePane just at the moment the latter had made his thrust, and he fell tothe ground simultaneously with his victim, still clutching the handle ofthe spear!
A fearful group lay dead upon the sward; but Carlos did not stay tocontemplate it. The fight still raged in another part of the field,and, putting spurs to his horse he galloped off to take part in it.
But the Panes had now lost many of their best warriors, and a generalpanic had seized upon them, ending in their full flight. Carlosfollowed along with the victorious pursuers, now and then using hisrifle upon the fleeing robbers. But fearing that a stray party of themmight attack his own little camp he turned from the line of pursuit, andgalloped in that direction. On arriving, he found Antonio and the peonsfortified within their corral, and all safe. Stray Indians had passedthem, but all apparently too much frightened to have any desire for anattack upon the little party.
As soon as the cibolero had ascertained these facts, he turned his horseand rode back toward the scene of the late conflict.