"_Sangre de Cristo_!" he cried, in an accent of angry disappointment, giving the gourd a shake to a.s.sure himself of its emptiness. "Not a drop--not enough to drown a chiga! And my tongue sticking to my teeth.

My throat feels as if I had bolted a _brazero_ of red-hot charcoal. Por Dios! I can't stand it. What's to be done? Daylight? It is. I must up to the _pueblita_. It's possible that Senor Doffer may have his trap open by this time to catch the early birds. If so, he'll find a customer in the Coyote. Ha, ha, ha!"

Slinging the gourd strap around his neck, and thrusting his head through the slit of his serape, he set forth for the village.

The tavern was but a few hundred yards from his hut, on the same side of the river, and approachable by a path, that he could have travelled with his eyes under "tapojos." In twenty minutes after, he was staggering past the sign-post of the "Rough and Ready."

He chanced to be in luck. Oberdoffer was in his bar-room, serving some early customers--a party of soldiers who had stolen out of quarters to swallow their morning dram.

"Mein Gott, Mishter Dees!" said the landlord, saluting the newly arrived guest, and without ceremony forsaking six _credit_ customers, for one that he knew to be _cash_. "Mein Gott! is it you I sees so early ashtir? I knowsh vat you vant. You vant your pig coord fill mit ze Mexican spirits--ag--ag--vat you call it?"

"_Aguardiente_! You've guessed it, cavallero. That's just what I want."

"A tollar--von tollar ish the price."

"_Carrambo_! I've paid it often enough to know that. Here's the coin, and there's the canteen. Fill, and be quick about it!"

"Ha! you ish in a hurry, mein herr. Fel--I von't keeps you waitin'; I suppose you ish off for the wild horsh prairish. If there's anything goot among the droves, I'm afeart that the Irishmans will pick it up before you. He went off lasht night. He left my housh at a late hour-- after midnight it wash--a very late hour, to go a shourney! But he's a queer cushtomer is that mushtanger, Mister Maurish Sherralt. n.o.body knows his ways. I shouldn't say anythings againsht him. He hash been a goot cushtomer to me. He has paid his bill like a rich man, and he hash plenty peside. Mein Gott! his pockets wash cramm mit tollars!"

On hearing that the Irishman had gone off to the "horsh prairish," as Oberdoffer termed them, the Mexican by his demeanour betrayed more than an ordinary interest in the announcement.

It was proclaimed, first by a slight start of surprise, and then by an impatience of manner that continued to mark his movements, while listening to the long rigmarole that followed.

It was clear that he did not desire anything of this to be observed.

Instead of questioning his informant upon the subject thus started, or voluntarily displaying any interest in it, he rejoined in a careless drawl--

"It don't concern me, cavallero. There are plenty of _mustenos_ on the plains--enough to give employment to all the horse-catchers in Texas.

Look alive, senor, and let's have the aguardiente!"

A little chagrined at being thus rudely checked in his attempt at a gossip, the German Boniface hastily filled the gourd canteen; and, without essaying farther speech, handed it across the counter, took the dollar in exchange, chucked the coin into his till, and then moved back to his military customers, more amiable because drinking _upon the score_.

Diaz, notwithstanding the eagerness he had lately exhibited to obtain the liquor, walked out of the bar-room, and away from the hotel, without taking the stopper from his canteen, or even appearing to think of it!

His excited air was no longer that of a man merely longing for a gla.s.s of ardent spirits. There was something stronger stirring within, that for the time rendered him oblivious of the appet.i.te.

Whatever it may have been it did not drive him direct to his home: for not until he had paid a visit to three other hovels somewhat similar to his own--all situated in the suburbs of the _pueblita_, and inhabited by men like himself--not till then, did he return to his jacale.

It was on getting back, that he noticed for the first time the tracks of a shod horse; and saw where the animal had been tied to a tree that stood near the hut.

"_Carrambo_!" he exclaimed, on perceiving this sign, "_the Capitan Americano_ has been here in the night. Por Dios! I remember something--I thought I had dreamt it. I can guess his errand. He has heard of Don Mauricio's departure. Perhaps he'll repeat his visit, when he thinks I'm in a proper state to receive him? Ha! ha! It don't matter now. The thing's all understood; and I sha'n't need any further instructions from him, till I've earned his thousand dollars. _Mil pesos_! What a splendid fortune! Once gained, I shall go back to the Rio Grande, and see what can be done with Isidora."

After delivering the above soliloquy, he remained at his hut only long enough to swallow a few mouthfuls of roasted _tasajo_, washing them down with as many gulps of mezcal. Then having caught and caparisoned his horse, buckled on his huge heavy spurs, strapped his short carbine to the saddle, thrust a pair of pistols into their holsters, and belted the leathern sheathed machete on his hip, he sprang into the stirrups, and rode rapidly away.

The short interval that elapsed, before making his appearance on the open plain, was spent in the suburbs of the village--waiting for the three hors.e.m.e.n who accompanied him, and who had been forewarned of their being wanted to act as his coadjutors, in some secret exploit that required their a.s.sistance.

Whatever it was, his trio of _confreres_ appeared to have been made acquainted with the scheme; or at all events that the scene of the exploit was to be on the Alamo. When a short distance out upon the plain, seeing Diaz strike off in a diagonal direction, they called out to warn him, that he was not going the right way.

"I know the Alamo well," said one of them, himself a mustanger. "I've hunted horses there many a time. It's southwest from here. The nearest way to it is through an opening in the chapparal you see out yonder.

You are heading too much to the west, Don Miguel!"

"Indeed!" contemptuously retorted the leader of the cuartilla. "You're a _gringo_, Senor Vicente Barajo! You forget the errand we're upon; and that we are riding shod horses? Indians don't go out from Port Inge and then direct to the Alamo to do--no matter what. I suppose you understand me?"

"Oh true!" answered Senor Vicente Barajo, "I beg your pardon, Don Miguel. _Carrambo_! I did not think of that."

And without further protest, the three coadjutors of El Coyote fell into his tracks, and followed him in silence--scarce another word pa.s.sing between him and them, till they had struck the chapparal, at a point several miles above the opening of which Barajo had made mention.

Once under cover of the thicket, the four men dismounted; and, after tying their horses to the trees, commenced a performance that could only be compared to a scene in the gentlemen's dressing-room of a suburban theatre, preliminary to the representation of some savage and sanguinary drama.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

VULTURES ON THE WING.

He who has travelled across the plains of Southern Texas cannot fail to have witnessed a spectacle of common occurrence--a flock of black vultures upon the wing.

An hundred or more in the flock, swooping in circles, or wide spiral gyrations--now descending almost to touch the prairie award, or the spray of the chapparal--anon soaring upward by a power in which the wing bears no part--their pointed pinions sharply cutting against the clear sky--they const.i.tute a picture of rare interest, one truly characteristic of a tropical clime.

The traveller who sees it for the first time will not fail to rein up his horse, and sit in his saddle, viewing it with feelings of curious interest. Even he who is accustomed to the spectacle will not pa.s.s on without indulging in a certain train of thought which it is calculated to call forth.

There is a tale told by the a.s.semblage of base birds. On the ground beneath them, whether seen by the traveller or not, is stretched some stricken creature--quadruped, or it may be _man_--dead, or it may be _dying_.

On the morning that succeeded that sombre night, when the three solitary hors.e.m.e.n made the crossing of the plain, a spectacle similar to that described might have been witnessed above the chapparal into which they had ridden. A flock of black vultures, of both species, was disporting above the tops of the trees, near the point where the avenue angled.

At daybreak not one could have been seen. In less than an hour after, hundreds were hovering above the spot, on widespread wings, their shadows sailing darkly over the green spray of the chapparal.

A Texan traveller entering the avenue, and observing the ominous a.s.semblage, would at once have concluded, that there was death upon his track.

Going farther, he would have found confirmatory evidence, in a pool of blood trampled by the hooves of horses.

Not exactly over this were the vultures engaged in their aerial evolutions. The centre of their swoopings appeared to be a point some distance off among the trees; and there, no doubt, would be discovered the quarry that had called them together.

At that early hour there was no traveller--Texan, or stranger--to test the truth of the conjecture; but, for all that, it was true.

At a point in the chapparal, about a quarter of a mile from the blood-stained path, lay stretched upon the ground the object that was engaging the attention of the vultures.

It was not carrion, nor yet a quadruped; but a human being--a man!

A young man, too, of n.o.ble lineaments and graceful shape--so far as could be seen under the cloak that shrouded his rec.u.mbent form--with a face fair to look upon, even in death.

Was he dead?

At first sight any one would have said so, and the black birds believed it. His att.i.tude and countenance seemed to proclaim it beyond question.

He was lying upon his back, with face upturned to the sky--no care being taken to shelter it from the sun. His limbs, too, were not in a natural posture; but extended stiffly along the stony surface, as if he had lost the power to control them.

A colossal tree was near, a live oak, but it did not shadow him. He was outside the canopy of its frondage; and the sun's beams, just beginning to penetrate the chapparal, were slanting down upon his pale face--paler by reflection from a white Panama hat that but partially shaded it.