Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine

  CHAPTER XIV

  A STERN CHASE

  Could Felipe but have known what the stage-driver knew, that the rise ofthe river had begun two days ago, he would never have made the sadmistake of taking the straight route to Ensenada. Alas, now, when he andJosefa reached the spot where the ford should have been, his cry,"_Valgame Dios_, the river is up," was only too true. As they passedthrough the grove of cottonwoods they beheld right from their feet tothe farther bank, full a half-mile off, a turbid yellow flood, rollingrapidly southward towards Texas and the Gulf, twelve hundred miles away.All autumn and winter long, a broad expanse of dry water-worn pebblesand boulders, and beds of shingle and sand, through which ran half adozen easily forded streams of clear water, had been all that laybetween La Boca on the west bank and Ensenada on the east. During thoseseasons both horses and waggons, and people on foot by picking their waythrough the shallows, could cross almost anywhere without wading muchabove knee-deep. But all autumn and winter long, on the great mountainranges of Colorado, two hundred miles away to the north where the riverhad its sources, the snows of successive storms had been piled up deeperand deeper. And now the sun was well past the vernal equinox, and hisgrowing heat had loosened those snows and was sending their cold floodsdown ten thousand gulches and tributaries to swell the current of theRio Grande. This takes place every April, and Felipe ought to havethought of it, but he was young and had not yet learned to think ofeverything. This was a possibility he had forgotten.

  "It must have come down in the last two days," he groaned, as he lookedhopelessly at the flood. "I know Juan and Miguel passed here only threedays ago from Santa Fe, and it was all light then, and now it is likethis."

  "We are lost," said Josefa. "What shall we do, Felipe?"--even her braveheart succumbing to this unexpected calamity.

  "Don't cry, dear heart, don't cry," said he tenderly, taking her in hisarms, and lifting her from the horse. "Perhaps there is a boat. I willgo and see." He pulled the bridle from the horse's head. "Do you resthere a minute," he said, spreading his blanket for her to rest her wearylimbs, "and let him feed here on the green grass, but don't let himdrink. I will run back to La Boca and ask." He threw her the rope, anddarted back like the wind in the direction of the houses they had latelypassed. The unkempt Mexican was milking a cow in the corral as Felipedashed up breathless. "Where is the boat?" he asked eagerly. "Is itrunning? Is it this side?"

  "The boat?" said the Mexican slowly, going on with his milking. "No,friend. The river only came down like this yesterday. It was high theday before, but we could still ford it up above. It was yesterday itcame down big."

  The leisurely manner of the man, and the indefiniteness of his reply,were maddening to the excited Indian.

  "Yes, but the boat," he almost shouted, "the boat, where is it?"

  The Mexican had finished milking his cow, and putting down the milk jarhe began to unfasten the rawhide strap with which her hind legs weretied.

  "The boat, friend?" said he; "there is no boat here now. Last year DonLeandro had the boat, but she is hauled up, and they say there is a holein her. Perhaps he will talk of getting it mended after a while. Isuppose the Americano at the mail station in Ensenada will be wanting tosend the mail across next week."

  "_Valgame Dios!_" cried the boy. "And will there be no way of gettingover the river till next week?"

  "The water will have run by in a month, or perhaps in three weeks, ifGod wills it," remarked the Mexican piously; "and then, friend, you cancross without a boat."

  "And is there no boat anywhere up or down the river on this side?"exclaimed Felipe. "Is there no way over?"

  "There are the Indians at San Miguel, eight leagues below," said theman, proceeding to take down the bars of the corral for the purpose ofturning out the cow to pasture. "They have a bridge of single logs tocross on foot by. I do not know if the river will have carried it down.Probably not. They have land on both sides, and are always crossing."

  "Eight leagues below!" cried the young Indian in a despairing voice."And a sandy road from here they say--deep sand, is it not?" He followedthe man and the cow outside the corral.

  "Yes, friend," said the man, "it is deep sand along the river. Butthere is a better way: to take the trail to Santiago as far as theBanded Mesa and then turn to the left. So you keep up on the mesas thewhole way, and it is better going."

  "Thanks, sir; _adios_," said Felipe; and without waiting for morediscourse he tore along back towards Josefa as fast as he could run.

  She was lying on the blanket where he had left her, and holding the endof the lariat. Felipe rushed up to the horse and began to bridle him.

  "There is no boat, sweetheart," he panted, "but there is a bridge of theIndians at San Miguel. Let us go there. We can leave the horse with theIndians on this side, and get a horse from some of them on the other,and come on to Ensenada that way. Make haste."

  Once more he lifted her to the saddle, and springing up behind herturned the horse's head.

  "They must be after us long ago," said he wearily, looking at the sun,which was already well up. "I expect they are half-way here by thistime. They will be here in a little while."

  "My father will have no horse," suggested Josefa, trying to make thebest of it.

  "Oh, he will take the Americano's. Don Estevan will lend it to _him_,"said Felipe bitterly. "The cacique can take what he wants."

  He revolved their position in his mind. If he rode the back trail as faras the Banded Mesa, and there turned off the trail just where it washard and stony, he would be almost certain to throw the pursuers off thetrack. But could he reach the Banded Mesa before they got there? Thatwas the question. He considered it well. It was an up-hill road, andthe horse, gallantly as he had carried his double burden, was beginningto flag. He doubted whether to try it did not mean running into the veryjaws of the lion. It seemed more hopeful to turn out as soon as theywere out of sight of the people at La Boca, and go down parallel to theRio Grande, trusting to the sand, which was here in drifts almost likethe seashore, being so loose that no definite trail of theirs could betraced.

  On this idea he acted. But no sooner were they in the deep sand than thetired horse could no longer raise the semblance of a gallop. Felipesprang off and ran on foot, urging the horse on. Relieved of half hisload he went better, but even under the most favourable circumstancesthe deep sand was very heavy going, and their progress was but slow.Thus they struggled on for two weary miles, and Felipe kept utteringwords of encouragement to his mistress, whose silence proclaimed hersinking spirits; but all the time his eyes kept turning in the directionof the Santiago trail, for every moment he expected their pursuers toappear.

  Suddenly on the brow of the topmost of the low, rolling hills that rosebetween the Rio Grande and the mesas, his keen sight discerned a blackspeck, which he knew had not been there a minute before. In the clearair of New Mexico, and over those bare, open downs far-off things areseen with amazing distinctness; but at that distance it was impossibleto say for certain what it was. Felipe said nothing of it to Josefa;what was the use of adding unnecessarily to her terrors. He kept his eyevigilantly on the object of his suspicions.

  "It is no use to try to hide," said he to himself. "There isn't coverenough among these scattering juniper bushes to hide a sheep. If it isa man he can see us as plain as we do him, and he will know what we areby our actions. If it is a cow or a horse feeding, it will move slowlyabout; if it is a man riding, he will move straight on in a minute ortwo, and then I shall know."

  His uncertainty did not last long. Before five minutes elapsed the speckmoved again, and this time it descended the hill straight towards thefugitives, till it was lost to sight behind the brow of a nearer ridge.There was no longer any doubt left in Felipe's mind.

  "_Ay de mi!_" said he to his mistress, "we are pursued. It is one manonly, as far as I can see. It must be your father," and he urged thehorse on freshly.

  "Run, run, Felipe!" said the girl. "Hide yourself somewhere! He willkill y
ou if he catches us. Never mind me. He won't kill me, you know."

  "No, not that! I can't do that!" he cried; but dark despair came overhim. His feet seemed like lead as he struggled forward. He looked overhis shoulder again. The black speck had reappeared again much closer andmuch larger; it was a galloping horseman. His last hope fled. "There hecomes!" he cried--and he seized the horse's bridle, and, turning him tothe left, headed him straight for the Rio Grande, which was but a fewhundred yards away.

  "What are you doing? Where are you going, Felipe?" exclaimed Josefa,troubled at this sudden change of direction and at the sudden fury ofhis face.

  "Where am I going?" he echoed bitterly. "Don Estevan told me yesterdaythat I must come to the Rio Grande to find water enough to drown myself,and I am going to see."

  They came near the brink of the rushing river. Behind them thegalloping horseman was fast closing up the gap that separated them.Felipe recognised his style of riding. "It is your father! see!" hecried in a voice of despair, "but he sha'n't separate us now," and heurged the horse towards the water's edge.

  "Oh stop, Felipe, stop! What madness is this?" cried the girl, and shedrew rein and pulled up. Felipe seized the bridle, his face aflame withbaffled passion.

  "Loose the rein!" he cried to her desperately. "Let the horse come on.He will carry you over. I can swim."

  "Oh, you are mad!" said she, gazing on the wide rolling flood and thedistant shore beyond. "Don't dream of such a thing. We shall both bedrowned."

  "Well, let us drown, then; we shall be together," he exclaimedpassionately. "Give him the rein. Come on. Better that than to be beatenlike dogs and separated." As he spoke he looked over his shoulder andsaw that Salvador, his face raging with anger, was within a few yards ofthem. Felipe raised his arm to strike Josefa's horse, and force him totake the desperate plunge into the boiling current.

  The desperate plunge was never taken. A shot cracked. Felipe felt agreat blow, and his right arm fell powerless to his side. Salvador wasclose by with a smoking pistol in his hand. Josefa's terrified horsewheeled round and bounded away in terror from the bank of the dreadedriver. Salvador dashed in between her and Felipe and fired at him again.Felipe hardly knew if he was hit again or not, but instinctively he ranoff some fifty yards and then stopped. Wounded and weaponless, whatcould he do against the murderous firearm in the hands of the cacique?

  "Yes, run, you villain, you scoundrel!" shouted Salvador. "Run, anddon't stop within a hundred leagues of me! If ever I catch you near thevillage again I'll kill you--I will," and he poured forth a torrent ofabuse at the wretched youth who stood there on the river's bank the verypicture of misery, the blood running down his right arm and droppingfrom his hand to the ground. Josefa saw him, and overcome with pity andfear for him turned her horse towards him, but the animal, dreading thewater, refused to approach it.

  Salvador rode up to her and seized her rein. "Ah, traitress, ungrateful,disobedient!" hissed his angry voice. "I'll settle with you for thispiece of work, be sure." And leaving Felipe he started away from theriver, dragging the horse and its rider after him across the sand-dunes.

  The horse followed not unwillingly, but too slowly for Salvador'simpatience. He dropped the rein, pulled his horse behind, and strikingthe other violently with his whip forced him into a gallop. The positionwas a tempting one to his passion, and the cruel rawhide fell once andagain, not on the horse only but also on his rider. The girl uttered nosound and made no resistance, only she bent forward over the animal'sneck before the shower of blows. At this pitiful sight her lover gave agreat cry of despair and started forward to the rescue, wounded andunarmed as he was. But bleeding, exhausted, and on foot, it was hopelessfor him to attempt to overtake the horses. He made one despairing rushwith all his failing strength, then he fell headlong and lay senselesson the sand.