CHAPTER FIVE.
LOS GUAJALOTES.
The phrase, "_ojo de agua_" (the water's eye), is simply the Mexicanname for a spring; which Henry Tresillian needs not to be told, beingalready acquainted with the pretty poetical appellation. And he nowsees the thing itself but a few paces ahead, gurgling up in a littlecircular basin, and sending off the stream which supplies the lakebelow.
In an instant they are upon its edge, to find it clear as crystal, the_gambusino_ saying, as he unslings his drinking-cup of cow's horn,
"I can't resist taking a swill of it, notwithstanding the gallons I hadswallowed overnight. After such a long spell of short-water rations,one feels as though he could never again get enough." Then filling thehorn, and almost instantly emptying it, he concludes with theexclamation "_Delicioso_!"
His companion drinks also, but from a cup of solid silver; vessels ofthis metal, even of gold, being aught but rare among the master-minersof Sonora.
They are about to continue on, when lo! a flock of large birds by theedge of the open. On the ground these are--having just come out fromamong the bushes--moving leisurely along, with beaks now and thenlowered to the earth; in short, feeding as turkeys in a pasture field.And turkeys they are, the Mexican saying in a whisper:
"_Los guajalotes_!"
So like are they to the domestic bird--only better shaped and every waymore beautiful--that Henry Tresillian has no difficulty in identifyingthem as its wild progenitors. One of superior size, an old cock, is attheir head, striding to and fro in all the pride of his glitteringplumage, which, under the beams of the new-risen sun, shows hues vividand varied as those of the rainbow. A very sultan he seems, followed bya train of sultanas and their attendants; for there are young birds inthe flock, fledglings, that differ in appearance from the old ones.
Suddenly the grand satrap erects his head, and with neck craned out,utters a note of alarm. Too late. "Bang--bang!" from thedouble-barrel--the sharper crack of the rifle sounding simultaneously--and the old cock, with three of his satellites, lies prostrate upon theearth, the rest taking flight with terrified screeches, and a clatter ofwings loud as the "whirr" of a threshing machine.
"Not a bad beginning," quietly observes the _gambusino_, as they standover the fallen game. "Is it, senorito?"
"Anything but that," answers the young Englishman, delighted at havingsecured such a good bottom for their bag. "But what are we to do withthem? We can't carry them along."
"Certainly not," rejoins the Mexican. "Nor need. Let them lie wherethey are till we come back. But no," he adds, correcting himself."That will never do. There are wolves up here, no doubt--certainlycoyotes, if no other kind--and on return we might find only feathers.So we must string them up out of reach."
The stringing up is a matter which occupies only a few minutes' time;done by one leg thrust through the opened sinew of the other to form aloop; then the birds hoisted aloft, and hung upon the up-curving arms ofa tall _pitahaya_.
"And now, on!" says the _gambusino_, after re-loading guns. "Let ushope we may come across something in the four-legged line, big enough togive everybody a bit of fresh meat for dinner. Likely we'll have totramp a good way before sighting any; the report of our guns will havefrighted both birds and beasts, and sent all to the farthest side of the_mesa_. But no matter for that. I want to go there direct, and atonce, for a reason, _muchacho_, I've not yet made known to you."
While speaking, an anxious expression has shown itself on the_gambusino's_ face, which, taken in connection with his last words,leads Henry Tresillian to suspect something in, or on, his mind, besidethe desire to kill game. Moreover, before leaving the camp he hadnoticed that the Mexican seemed to act in a manner more excited than washis wont--as if in a great hurry to get away. That, no doubt, for thereason he now hints at; though what it is the young Englishman cannoteven give a guess.
"May I know it now?" he asks, with some eagerness, noting the gravelook.
"Certainly you may, and shall," frankly responds the Mexican. "I wouldhave told you sooner, and the others as well, but for not being sureabout it. I didn't like to cause an alarm in the camp without goodreason. And I hope still there's none. After all it may not have beensmoke."
"Smoke! What?"
"What I saw, or thought I saw, yesterday evening, just after we arrivedby the lake's edge."
"Where?"
"To the north-east--a long way off."
"But if it was a smoke, what would that signify?"
"In this part of the world, much. It might mean danger; ay, death."
"You astonish--mystify me, Senor Vicente. How could it mean that?"
"There's no mystery in it, _muchacho_. Where smoke is seen there shouldbe fire; and a fire on these _llanos_ is likely to be one with Indiansaround it. Now do you understand the danger I'm thinking of?"
"I do. But I thought there were no Indians in this part of the country,except the Opatas; and they are Christianised, dwelling in towns."
"True, all that. But the Opata towns are far from here, and in anentirely different direction--the very opposite. If smoke it was, thefire that made it wasn't one kindled by Opatas, but men who onlyresemble them in the colour of their skin--Indians, too."
"What Indians do you suspect?"
"_Los Apaches_."
"Danger indeed, if they be in the neighbourhood." The young Englishmanhas been long enough in Sonora to have acquaintance with the characterof these cruel savages. "But I hope they're not," he adds, trustfully,still with some apprehension, as his thoughts turn to those below.
"That hope I heartily echo," rejoins the Mexican, "for if they be about,we've got to look out for the skin of our heads. But come, _muchachomio_! Don't let us be down in the mouth till we're sure there _is_ adanger. As I've said, I'm not even sure of having seen smoke at all.It might have been a dust-whirl, just as I noticed the thing, the_estampeda_ commenced; and after it the rush for water, which of coursetook off my attention. When that was over, and I again turned my eyesnorth-eastward, it was too dark to distinguish smoke or anything else.I then looked for a light all along the sky-line, and also several timesduring the night--luckily to see none. For all I can't help havingfears. A man who's once been prisoner to the Apaches never travelsthrough a district where they are like to be encountered without someapprehension. Mine ought to be of the keenest. I've not only beentheir prisoner, but rather roughly handled, as no doubt you'll admitafter looking at this."
Saying which, the Mexican opens his shirt-front, laying bare his breast;on which appears a disc, bearing rude resemblance to a "death's head,"burnt deep into the skin.
"They gave me that brand," he continues, "just by way of amusingthemselves. They meant to have further diversion out of it by using meas a target, and it for a centre mark at one of their shooting matches.Luckily, before that came off, I found the chance of giving themleg-bail. Now, _muchacho_, you'll better understand my anxiety to be uphere so early, and why I want to push on to the other end. _Vamonos_!"
Shouldering their guns, they proceed onward; now at slower pace, theirprogress obstructed by thick-growing bushes and trees, with _llianas_interlacing. For beyond the spring there is neither stream nor path,save here and there a slight trace, often tortuous, which tells of thepassage of wild animals wandering to and fro. The hunters are pleasedto see it thus; still more when the Mexican, noting some hoof-marks in aspot of soft ground, pronounces them tracks of the _carnero cimmaron_.
"I thought we'd find some of the bighorn gentry up here," he says; "andif all the caravan don't this day dine on roast mutton, it'll be becausePedro Vicente isn't the proper man to be its purveyor. Still, wemustn't stop to go after the sheep now. True, we've begun the dayhunting, but before proceeding farther with that, we must make sure weshan't have to end it fighting. Ssh!"
The sibillatory exclamation has reference to a noise heard a little wayoff, like the stroke of a hoof upon hard turf, several times rapidlyrepeated. And simul
taneous with it another sound, as the snort or barkof some animal.
"That's a _carnero_, now!" says the Mexican, _sotto voce_; as he speaks,coming to a stop and laying hold of the other's arm to restrain him."Since the game offers itself without going after, or out of our way, wemay as well secure a head or two. Like the turkeys, it can be strung uptill our return."
Of course his _compagnon de chasse_ is of the same mind. He but longsto empty his double-barrel again, all the more at such grand game, andrejoins, saying, "Just so; it can."
Without further speech they stalk cautiously forward, to reach the edgeof another opening, and there behold another flock--not of birds, butquadrupeds. Deer they might seem at the first glance, to eyesunacquainted with them; and for such Henry Tresillian might mistakethem, but that they show no antlers; instead, horns of a characterproclaiming them sheep.
Sheep they are, wild ones, different from the domesticated animal asgreyhound from dachshund. No short legs nor low bodies theirs; no bushytails, nor tangle of wool to encumber them. Instead, coats clean andsmooth, with limbs long, sinewy, and supple as those of stag itself.Several pairs of horns are visible in the flock, one pair spirallycurving much larger than any of the others; indeed, of such dimensions,and seeming weight, as to make it a wonder how the old ram, their owner,can hold up his head. Yet is it he who is holding head highest; thesame who had snorted, hammering the ground with his hoof.
He has done so, repeatedly, since; the last time to be the last in hislife. Through the leafy branches, cautiously parted, shoots out adouble jet of flame and smoke; three cracks are heard; then again thereis dead game on the ground.
This time, however, counting less in heads; only one--that carrying thegrand curvature of horns. Alone the leader of the flock has fallen tothe second fusillade, killed by the rifle's bullet. For the shot fromthe double-barrel, though hitting too, has glanced off the thickfelt-like coats of the _carneros_ as from a corslet of steel.
"_Carrai_!" exclaims the _gambusino_, with a vexed air, as they step upto the fallen quarry. "This time we haven't done so well--in fact,worse than nothing."
"But why?" queries the young Englishman, in wonder at the other'sstrange words and ways, after having made such a big kill.
"Why, you ask, senorito! Don't your nostrils tell you? _Mil diablos_!how the brute stinks!"
Truth he speaks, as his hunting companion, now standing over the deadbody of the bighorn, can well perceive--sensible of an offensive odourarising from it as that of ram in the rutting season.
"What a fool I've been to spend bullet upon him!" continues the Mexican,without awaiting rejoinder. "Nor was it his great bulk or horns thattempted me. No; all through thinking of that other thing, which made mecareless which of them I aimed at."
"What other thing?"
"The smoke. Well, it's no use crying over spilt milk nor any to bothermore about the brute. It's only fit food for coyotes; and the soonerthey get it into their bellies the better. Faugh! Let us away fromit."