Part 17

I shall never forget the appearance of the Texan Rangers as they pulled up in the Plazza--I could not call the movement a halt. If I live, I shall make an attempt to describe it. I say an attempt, for, to do justice to that ragged _coup d'oeil_ is beyond the privilege of the pen. The brush might do it, handled by a Hogarth; and had that excellent artist been in my place, there and then, we might have had a picture that would have drawn laughter so long as paint and canvas stuck together. Here we have no room for details. One point, however, must be noted, as it relates to our subject--the horses--for be it known, the Rangers were mounted men. Instead of the large cavalry horses which the government had put under them some six months before, each ranger now straddled a scraggy mustang, his boot-heel, with its rusty spur raking the ground as he rode along. What had become of the original "mount"? That was the question, which was answered thus:--The regiment had just made its march of several hundred leagues through the enemy's country, halting at various places. During the halts, the rich _haciendados_ coveting the fine steeds of Kentucky--colossal when compared with their own gingery jennets--offered freely for them. A series of "swops" had been the consequence. The Texan, at a horse trade keen as the edge of his bowie, took anything that could carry a saddle, at the same time receiving a "mighty heap" of dollars to square the exchange. In this way they had brought themselves down to the ill-conditioned nags upon which they made their first appearance in the capital. Strange to say, these grew fat in a trice, although they were constantly on the scout; seldom idle long enough to let their backs get dry. There was no rest for the Rangers. One week riding fifty leagues to capture Santa Anna; the next, after Paredes, or the robbers of the Cerro; the next, on the trail of the Padre Jarauta; and yet, despite this journeying and fatigue, it was observed by every one that the Rangers' horses, though still only mustangs, became as fat and plump as if they had been standing all the time with their heads in a corn-crib. It was wonderful to see horses thus fattening upon hard work!

Some endeavoured to account for it, by insinuating that they were not the same cattle upon which the regiment was mounted on its arrival--that the "swopping system" was still practised along the road, and frequently with only one party present at the "trade." There were such insinuations I remember well. Perhaps they were slanders, perhaps not. I leave it a question of inference.

About this time I was told of a splendid mare that was in the possession of one of the Rangers. Of course she was for sale. I wished just then to obtain such an animal; so, drawing three months' pay (being in all about 300 dollars), I rode over to the Texan quarters--intending, if the mare pleased me, to make a bid.

She was led out, and proved to be worthy of her reputation--a large brown Arabian, with jet black legs and sweeping tail, while her head and neck were graceful as an antelope's.

While examining her, I noticed a small brand upon her left hind flank. I observed at the same time that some diligence had been used to render the mark "unswearable." After a little puzzling and adjusting of hair, I made out the letter C.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It er the mark of a hot iron. Yer can see that, kint ye?"

"I can; but this mare is no mustang?"

"Aint a mustang neyther," responded the Ranger, whittling away at a strop of leather which he held in his hand, and seeming utterly indifferent to everything else.

"Why, then, has she been marked?" I inquired. "It is not usual for Americans to brand their horses, excepting those that belong to the government. Then they're branded U.S.; this mark is a C."

"Well, then, stranger, if you must know all about it, the mar' wur tuk from our people on the grand, by that ar chapparil fox Canales. He burned in that `C.' C stands for Canales, I reckin."

"That's true, and for many other names as well. But how did you get her back again?"

"Wagh! we kumd upon Canales an' his yellerbellies, an' tuk her from them ag'in, afore the singed bar had done smokin'. Now er yer satisfied?"

I was not. It is true, the story was probable enough. The mare was not Mexican, that was plain. The horse of that country is of a peculiar race, and is as easily distinguished from the English or American Arab, as a sheep is from a goat. Still she bore a Mexican mark, and had been in the possession of some of these people. She might have been, as the Ranger stated, one of our own horses captured and recaptured on the upper line; but I had not observed any such animal with the Texans on their arrival; and as I had heard that the _ricos_ of Mexico had, from time to time, imported blood stock from England and the United States, I feared that she might prove to be one of these. The voice of the Texan interrupted my reflection.

"The critter's Kaintuck," continued he--"true Kaintuck. She wur brought down on the Grand, by a lootenant at the breakin' out o' this hyar muss. She were at Paler Alter, an' at Monterey, an' Bony Yeesty; and at that Hashendy, the time as Dan Drake rid the hundred-mile gallop on Cash Clay's mar'. Old Kaintuck she er, an' nothin' else. They don't raise such cattle in these hyar diggins, I reckin'. Yee-up, old gal; hold up yer corn-trap; thar's money bid for ye!"

At the end of this curious monologue, the mare threw up her head and neighed long and loudly.

"Come, my man," said I, "what's the meaning of that?"

The neigh was peculiar, and struck me as that of a mare who had been recently separated from her colt.

"She's a whigherin' for a hoss, that's hyar," answered the Ranger coolly. "They haint been separate a half-an-hour for more 'n a yar, I reckin'. Hev they, Bill?"

"That they haint," replied the man appealed to, one of a crowd of Texans who had gathered around us.

"They're in the same kumpny, an' rid in the same file," continued the owner of the mare. "She won't bear that ar leetle hoss out o' her sight a minit. One o' the boys hes tuk _him_ out to water. That's why she whighers, aint it, Bill?"

"'Taint nothin' else," replied the _confrere_.

"But," said I, "it is strange I did not see this mare when you first came up. I was in the Piazza, and took particular notice of your horses. I think I should have remarked such a fine-looking animal as this."

"Look hyar, stranger," answered the Texan, somewhat irritated by this cross-questioning. "I brought this mar' up the road along with the raygyment. If yer want to buy her, yer kin do it, by givin' a fair vally for her. If yer don't, there's no bones broke, an' I don't care a nigger's dam. If I only take her out to the Palaza, I kin git my axin' from one o' these Mexikins in the twinklin' o' a goat's eye. Can't I, Bill?"

"Yes, siree," responded Bill.

"Yer say ye didn't see her when we kum up. That aint nothin' strange. She war kivered with sweat an' dust, inch deep; besides, she wur thin then as old bull in enow time. She aint to say fat yit, but she's improved some, I reckin'. Aint she, Bill?"

"A dog-goned heap," was the ready response of Bill. I was so taken with the appearance of the beautiful creature, that I determined to run the risk, and purchase her. I might have to give her up again to some gentleman claiming his property; but, thought I, I can easily recover my money, as the Ranger will be glad to pay it back to me, rather than spend his time in the guardhouse.

"How much?" I asked, having made up my mind to buy.

"The zact figger yer want?"

"Yes, the exact figure."

"Two-fifty: cheap enough, I reckin'. Aint it, Bill?"

"Dog cheap," was the laconic answer. I offered two hundred. It wouldn't do. The cunning Ranger saw that I was "bound" to have her, and stood up to his first asking. I raised my bid to two hundred and twenty-five.

"Won't take a picayune less nor two-fifty. She's a'mighty cheap at it. She er the finest mar' in all Mexiko. That's sartin."

After a while, I saw that the man was inexorable; and, drawing out my purse, I counted down the required amount. A bill of sale, which was signed by the Ranger, and witnessed by his comrade, Bill, completed the "trade," and the mare was forthwith transferred to my quarters. Under the nimble brush and comb of my Mexican groom, Vicente, she soon became the most admired piece of horseflesh that made its appearance on the Pasao.

About ten days after, a party of us (we had nothing to do at the time) came to the resolve to visit Real del Monte, a rich silver-mine in the mountains that skirt the north-east of the valley. A division of our army was stationed there, and some of our old _comarados_ had sent us an "invite" to come up and explore the mines--adding that two or three very hospitable English _haciendados_ lived in that neighbourhood.

We could not resist, and consequently made ready to start. There were eight or ten of us in all, who had asked and obtained leave; and as we intended to include in our excursion the old town of Tezcoco and the pyramids of Teotihuacan--a guerilla neighbourhood--we borrowed a score of dragoons to escort us. I had resolved to try my new purchase upon the road on this occasion.

The morning of our departure arrived, and I was about to throw my leg over the saddle, when I was accosted by a small, spare man, with the salutation--

"_Buenas dias, capitan_!"

There was nothing in the words strange or unusual, nor, indeed, in the individual who pronounced them; but there was something in the manner of this gentleman that told me at once he had some business with me.

"Well, senor," I asked, "what is it?"

The stranger hesitated for a moment, and then looking at the mare, replied, "La yegua, capitan."

"The mare--well, what of her?" I asked, with a beating heart.

"I regret to inform you, captain, that you have purchased a stolen horse;" and the little man bowed politely as he said it.

Had it been an order from the commander-in-chief, placing me under arrest, I should not have been so much vexed at it. I had grown so fond of this animal that I would cheerfully have paid down another two hundred and fifty rather than part with her, and this I saw plainly I would now have to do.

"Stolen!" I echoed involuntarily.

"Yes, captain, it is true."

"And from whom? From you, sir?"

"No, captain; from Don Miguel Castro."

"And you?"

"I am his agent--his _mayorazgo_--nothing more."

"Don Miguel Castro," thought I. "Yes--C for Castro--yes, all as he says, no doubt of it. I must give up the mare."

"Well, my dear sir," I asked, after a pause, "how am I to know that your statement is true?"

"Here, captain--here is the certificate of Senor Smeeth." Saying this, the little man handed me a folded document, on opening which I found it to be a bill of sale delivered by the celebrated Joe Smith, of Mexican horse-dealing notoriety, and describing the property to a hair.

"This seems quite correct," I observed, returning the bill; "but it will be necessary for you to prove this claim before the commander-in-chief; and when that is done I shall deliver you your mare. _Adios, caballero_!"

So saying, I rode off to overtake my companions, determined, since I must part with the animal, first to have one good ride out of her.

We spent about a week in the mountains, enjoying every amusement that our friends could provide for us. We found the English _haciendados_ worthy of their reputation. What a contrast between the cheer of their Saxon hospitality and the cold welcome of the selfish Iberian! But we approached the limits of our "leave," and must get back to duty and the city. After a parting and a promise to return, we leaped once more to the saddle, and headed our horses homeward.

It was our intention to have made the journey back in one day, but the stirrup-cup had delayed us at starting; and night--a very dark one at that season--overtook us as we crossed the isthmus between lakes Tezcoco and San Cristobal. The road was deep, miry, and bordered by bottomless zancas of mud and water. The little village of San Cristobal lay by the border of the lake, at some distance; and wheeling out of the road, we approached it, intending to remain there till morning. The _pueblito_ was reached at length, and with the alcalde's permission, our horses were picketed in the piazza, and ourselves put in possession of an empty _cuarto_, which, with several millions of fleas, was placed at our disposal. Money was offered freely, but no supper could be had; and when it was not to be procured for money, we had experience enough among these people to know that it was not to be had at all. A dish of _frijoles_ stewed in lard, a _tortilla_, and a bowl of sour _pulque_, were all that we could raise; and, after swallowing this, we lit our cigars, spread our blankets both over and under the fleas, and commenced arranging ourselves for the night.

It so happened that I could talk Spanish "like a book," and, furthermore, that I was the only one in our party who possessed this accomplishment. The alcalde, in consequence, directed all his conversation to me, and, being a sociable old fellow, he had become very fond of me. He had remained with us until a late hour, and during this time I had offered him a havanna, which he had accepted and smoked with much seeming enjoyment. As I was about seizing my blanket to make my "spread" along with the rest, old Jose Maria--for this was the alcalde's name--plucked me gently by the sleeve, and whispered in my ear that "_su casa_" was "_a mi disposition_" I was about to translate this hospitable proffer according to its usual French and Spanish signification, when it was repeated in a more pressing manner; and as I was not very difficult to coax away from the _cuarto_, I took Jose Maria at his word, and followed him across the piazza. On the other side was _su casa_. We entered it at once, and were welcomed by a felt, buxom-looking old lady, who proved to be Don Jose's left rib. Another lady made her appearance shortly after, who was neither so old, nor so fat, nor so buxom as the dona, but whose complexion was very dusky, with a dangerous black eye peeping from under a dark, crescent-shaped eyebrow. This, I was given to understand, was the only fruit of Don Jose's wedded life; and not bad-looking fruit either.

The ladies spent but little time in idle phrases of welcome. Jose snapped his fingers, and in a twinkling, a turkey hash with a large dish of _mole_, were smoking upon the table. There were other dishes, too-- pleasant little _entrees_, spiced and flavoured with all sorts of _chile_.

As I ate my supper with the alcalde and his compact little family, I could not help chuckling at the advantage I had gained over my supperless, and, no doubt, sleepless companions. Neither was my exultation diminished when, near the end of the repast, old Jose Maria stepped up to an alcove and drew out a quaint, queer old bottle, whose waxen seal conjured up exciting visions of the port of Funchal and the peak of Teneriffe.

I was fortunately enabled, through my cigar-case, to contribute to the evening's entertainment; and my host and I sat for an hour after the ladies had retired, discussing our wine and tobacco, and talking of the Texan Rangers, of which corps the worthy magistrate had rather a low opinion. It appeared that they had paid the neighbourhood a visit not long before, behaving upon the occasion in no very creditable manner.

It was late, or early if you will, when Jose inverted the bottle for the last time, and pressing my hand with a "_posa V. buena noche_!" the Mexican showed me to my chamber. Here I found one of the great and rare luxuries of this land--a couch with clean sheets; and in the "twinkling of a bedpost" I was between the latter, and forgetful of everything.

When I awoke in the morning, I found my comrades in the piazza, making ready to start. It was still only grey dawn, but as they were all sadly flea-bitten, and knew that nothing could be had to eat in San Cristobal, they had made up their minds to ride on, and breakfast at Guadalupe. I was preparing to accompany them, when Jose whispered in my ear that breakfast would be on the table in five minutes, and I must wait for it. This was a tempting offer. My health was excellent, and half-a-dozen mouthfuls of the fresh morning air had given me a keen appetite.

"If the breakfast," thought I, "bear any sort of proportion to last night's supper, it's worth waiting for; better than we are likely to get at Guadalupe; besides, `a bird in the hand,'" etc. I could soon overtake my companions on my fine mare, which had by this time proved herself a first-class roadster.

I placed my lips under the broad brim of Josh's, and repeated the words, "_Con gusto_."

"_Esta bueno_," replied Jose, slipping back into his house.

The next moment my companions had ridden off into the obscure twilight, and I was left alone in the village. None of my friends, I believe, had noticed that I stayed behind; and if they had, it would not have called forth a remark, as I was considered old enough to take care of myself.

My host proved as good as his word; for in five minutes, or less, the breakfast was steaming on the table; nor did it do any discredit to the supper. There were ham and eggs; a ham omelette; a chicken _fricase_; a dish of _chile rilleno_; another of _chile Colorado_; plenty of good claret, to wash down the peppers; and after that, a cup of the coffee which only Spaniards can make. Then there was a glass of good old Maraschino, and a cigar to "top off with," and as the morning was now tiptoe, I rose to take my leave. I shook hands with the senora, then with the senorita; and, amidst a shower of benedictions, I walked forth, followed by Jose Maria himself. My mare stood near the door, ready saddled. I threw the bridle over her neck, and was about to plant my foot in the stirrup, when my host touched me lightly on the left arm, and holding out a small slip of paper, with a sort of apologetic smile, uttered the words, "_Sa cuenta chiquita, capitan_." (The small bill, captain.)

"A bill!" I exclaimed, as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment.

"_Chiquitita_," (Very, very small) coolly responded Jose.

I took the "_cuenta chiquitita_" in my fingers, and opening it, read--"_Un peso por cena--un peso por cama--un peso por almuerzo--tres pesos por vino:--Suma seis pesos_." (Anglice: Slipper, one dollar--bed, one dollar--breakfast, one dollar--wine, three dollars. Total, six dollars.)

"It's a joke the old fellow's playing me," thought I.

I looked at Jose, then at the bill; then back at Jose again, putting on a knowing smile, to show him that I was up to his fun; but after carrying on this dumb show for some moments, I perceived that not a muscle of the Mexican's face betrayed the slightest motion. His features remained as rigid as the bronze statue of Carlos Quinto that stood in the capital; and, after scanning them fairly, I became satisfied there was no joke either "meant or intended."

Arriving at this conclusion, my first impulse was to make his "worship" eat the bill, and then leap to my saddle, and show him "clean heels;" but this, I saw on reflection, would be but a shabby reckoning on my part. True I had fared well; but it was vexatious to be thus "chizzled," and in such a scandalous manner. It could not be mended, however; and mentally promising never again to trust Mexican hospitality, I drew forth my purse, and reluctantly counted out the "_seis pesos_." Then both mentally and verbally sending Jose to a climate hotter than the tropics, I touched my mare's flank, and left the village in a gallop.

I was so "bitter mad" at the trick played upon me, that I did not draw bridle for a mile or more. After that, checking my fiery animal, I fell into an easy canter, and laughed till I was nearly hoarse. I kept straight on for Guadalupe, expecting to overhaul my friends in the middle of their breakfast.

I had not the slightest intention of showing them the "_cuenta chiquitita_," or saying a word about it. No, no; I should have preferred paying it twice over.

With these reflections, occasionally making the woods ring with my laughter, I had reached to within five miles of San Cristobal, when, all at once, my mare uttered a loud neigh, and sprang into a by road. The reins had been thrown loosely upon her neck; and before I could collect them, she was fairly into the new track, and going at top speed! I dragged with all my might upon the bitt--which happened to be a "fool's fancy," lightly constructed--when, to my mortification, one of the rings gave way, and the rein came back with a jerk. I had now only one rein. With this I could have brought her up on open ground, but we were running up a narrow lane, and on each side was a treble row of magueys, forming a most fearful-looking _chevaux-de-frise_!

Had I pulled the mare to either side, she would have certainly tripped up in the magueys, and impaled me on their bayonet-shaped spikes. I could do nothing better than keep my seat, and let her run it out. She would not be long about it, at the rate she was going, for she ran as if on a course, and staked ten to one against the field. At intervals she would throw up her head, and utter that strange wild neigh which I had noticed on first seeing her.

On we went through the tall aloes, the rows of plants looking like a green fringe as we shot past them. We came up to several _ranchos_. The _leperos_ that lounged about the doors threw up their hats, and shouted "_Viva_!" The _ranchos_ fell behind. A large house--a _hacienda_--lay before. I could see beautiful women clustering into the windows as I approached Gilpin and Don Quixote came into my head.

"Good heavens!" thought I. "What will they think of my riding past in this ludicrous style?"

Riding past! I had scarcely given words to the thought, when my mare wheeled sharply to the left--almost flinging me out of my seat--and dashed right into the main gateway of the mansion! Three more springs, and she was in the _patio_, where, stopping like a shot, she threw up her head, uttered another neigh, and stood looking wildly round, with heaving, smoking flanks. The neigh had scarcely echoed when it was answered from within; and the next moment a half-grown colt came loping through a doorway, and ran up with all the demonstrations of a filial recognition.

I had not time to recover from my surprise when a lovely apparition flashed out of the _portale_, and came running across the _patio_. It was a girl--something between a girl, a woman, and, I might add, a goddess.

Without heeding or seeming to notice my presence, she rushed up and flung her arms around the neck of my Arab, which bent its head to receive the embrace. The girl then pressed her lips against the velvet-like muzzle of the animal, all the while muttering exclamations, as--

"_Ah! mia yegua buenita! Mora, Morita, digame de donde viene, Morita_?" (Ah, my pretty little mare! pretty Mora, little Mora, tell me whence come you, little Mora!)

And the mare replied to all this by a low neighing, turning from one to the other of the two objects that caressed her, and seemingly at a loss to know to which she should give most of her attention.

I sat speechless, looking down at the strange scene--at the beautiful girl--at her shining black hair (a cloth-yard long), as it hung loosely over her white, nude shoulders--at her rounded snowy arms--at her dark flashing eyes--at her cheeks, mounted with the hue of health and beauty--at her small red lips, as, like crushed rosebuds, they were pressed against the smooth skin of the Arab.