We had approached within less than a mile of its base; our conversation had dropped--at least so far as I was concerned; my thoughts were occupied with the mound, and my eyes wandering over its outlines.

I was endeavouring to make out the character of the vegetation which seemed to flourish luxuriantly on its summit. The dark foliage was evidently that of some species of acicular trees, perhaps the common red cedar (_Juniperus Virginiana_), but there were others of lighter hue--in all likelihood _pinons_, the pines with edible cones, peculiar to this region. I noticed, also, growing upon the very edge of the cliff, yuccas and aloes, whose radiating blades, stretching out, curved gracefully over the white rock. Forms of cactus, too, were apparent, and several plants of the great _pitahaya_ rose high above the cliff, like gigantic candelabra--strange objects in such a situation.

My companions seemed to have no eyes for these rare vegetable beauties; I could hear them at intervals engaged in conversation; but the subject had no reference to the scene, and I paid little attention to what they were saying.

All at once I was startled by the voice of Garey, giving utterance to the emphatic announcement--

"Injuns, by God!"

"Indians!--where?"

The interrogation as it escaped my lips, was half involuntary, and needed no reply. Garey's glance guided me; and following its direction, I observed a string of horsemen just debouching from behind the mesa, and spurring forward upon the plain.

Both my companions had drawn bridle, and halted. I followed their example; and all three of us sat in our saddles, scanning this sudden apparition of mounted men. A dozen had now cleared themselves from behind the mesa, and were riding towards us.

We were yet nearly a mile from them; and at that distance it is difficult to distinguish a white man from an Indian--I should rather say impossible. Even at half the distance, the oldest prairie-men are sometimes puzzled. The garments are often not very dissimilar, and sun-bronze and dust confound the complexions.

Although Garey, at first sight of them, had pronounced the horsemen to be Indians--the most probable supposition under the circumstances--it was but a random conjecture, and for some time we remained in doubt.

"If they're Injuns," suggested Garey, "they're Comanche."

"An if thur Kimanch," added Rube, with ominous emphasis, "we've got to fight. If thur Kimanch, thur on the war-trail, an thur'll be mischief in 'em. Wagh! Look to yur flints an primin!"

Rube's counsel was instantly followed. Necessity quickened our precautions. All of us well knew, that, should the approaching horsemen turn out to be Comanches, we had no alternative but fight.

This warlike nation occupies the whole western area of Texas, ranging from the Rio Grande on the south, to the Arkansas on the north. They are to-day, with their kindred tribes, the most powerful Indian alliance on the continent. They affect the ownership of all prairie-land, styling themselves its "lords," though their sovereignty towards the north is successfully disputed by the Pawnees, Sioux, Blackfeet, and others as warlike as they. From the earliest times, they have been the _fiend_ of the Texan settler; and a detailed account of their forays and pillaging expeditions would fill a score of volumes. But from these they have not gone back unscathed. The reprisals have outnumbered the assaults, and the rifle of the border-ranger has done its work of vengeance.

In Mexico they have found less puissant defenders of the hearth and home; and into the north-eastern provinces of that unhappy country, the Comanches have been for the last half-century in the habit of making an annual expedition of war and plunder. In fact, plunder has become the better part of their subsistence, as they usually return from these rieving incursions laden with spoil, and carrying with them vast droves of horses, mules, horned cattle, and _captive women_!

For a short time, these dusky freebooters were at peace with the Anglo-American colonists of Texas. It was but a temporary armistice, brought about by Houston; but Lamar's administration, of a less pacific character, succeeded, and the settlers were again embroiled with the Indians. War to the knife was declared and carried on; red and white killed each other on sight. When two men met upon the prairie, the colour of the skin determined the relations between them! If they differed in this, the were enemies without parley, and to kill the other was the first thought of each. The _lex talionis_ was the custom of the hour.

If the rancour could possibly have been augmented, an incident had just transpired calculated to produce that effect. A band of Comanche warriors had offered their services to the commander-in-chief of the American army. They held the following language:--

"Let us fight on your side. We have no quarrel with you. You are warriors: we know it, and respect you. We fight against the cowardly Mexicans, who robbed us of our country. _We fight for Moctezuma_!"

These words, uttered along the whole northern frontier of Mexico, are full of strange import.

The American commander prudently declined the Comanche alliance; and the result was the bitter _triangular_ war in which, as already noticed, we were now engaged.

If, then, the approaching horsemen were Indians of the Comanche tribe, Rube's forecast was correct; we had "got to fight."

With this understanding, we lost no time in putting ourselves in an attitude of defence.

Hastily dismounting, and sheltering our bodies behind those of our horses, we awaited the approach of the band.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

GUERRILLEROS.

The manoeuvre had occupied only a few seconds of time, and the horsemen were yet distant. They had thrown themselves into a formation, and _were riding_ "_by twos_!"

This movement took us by surprise. The tactics were not Indian: Comanches never march in double file. The horsemen could not be Indians. Who, then?

A sudden hope crossed my mind, that it might be a party of my own people, out in search of me. "By twos" was our favourite and habitual order of march. But no; the long lances and streaming pennons at once dissipated the hope: there was not a lance in the American army. They could not be "rangers."

Comanches on the _war-trail_ would have been armed with the lance, but clearly they were _not_ Comanches.

"Wagh!" exclaimed Rube, after eyeing them intently. "Ef thur Injuns, I'm a niggur! Ef thur Injuns, they've got beards an sombrayras, an thet ain't Injun sign nohow. No!" he added, raising his voice, "thur a gang o' yellur-bellied Mexikins! thet's what they ur."

All three of us had arrived simultaneously at the same conviction. The horsemen were Mexicans.

It was no great source of rejoicing to know this; and the knowledge produced no change in our defensive attitude. We well knew that a band of Mexicans, armed as these were, could not be other than a hostile party, and bitter too in their hostility. For several weeks past, the _petite guerre_ had been waged with dire vengeance. The neutral ground had been the scene of reprisals and terrible retaliations. On one side, wagon-trains had been attacked and captured, harmless teamsters murdered, or mutilated whilst still alive. I saw one with his arms cut off by the elbow-joints, his heart taken out, and thrust between his teeth! He was dead; but another whom I saw still lived, with the cross deeply gashed upon his breast, on his brow, upon the soles of his feet, and the palms of his hands--a horrid spectacle to behold!

On the other side, ranchos had been ransacked and ruined, villages given to the flames, and men on mere suspicion shot down upon the spot or hanged upon the nearest tree.

Such a character had the war assumed; and under these circumstances, we knew that the approaching horsemen were our deadly foes.

Beyond a doubt, it was either a scouting-party of Mexican lancers, a _guerrilla_, or a band of robbers. During the war, the two last were nearly synonymous, and the first not unfrequently partook of the character of both.

One thing that puzzled us--what could any of the three be doing in that quarter?

The neutral ground--the scene of _guerrilla_ operations--lay between the two armies; and we were now far remote from it; in fact, altogether away from the settlements. What could have brought lancers, guerrilleros, or robbers out upon the plains? There was no _game_ in that quarter for any of these gentry--neither an American force to be attacked, nor a traveller to be plundered! My own troop was the extreme out-picket in this direction, and it was full ten miles off. The only thing likely to be met with near the mesa would be a war-party of Comanches, and we knew the Mexicans well enough to be convinced that, whether soldiers or freebooters, they were _not_ in search of that.

Such reflections, made in double-quick time, occurred to us as we scanned the advancing troop.

Up to this moment, they had ridden directly towards us, and were now nearly in a line between us and the mesa.

On getting within about half-a-mile of our position, they turned sharply towards the west, and rode as if to make round to our rear!

This manoeuvre of course placed us upon their flank; and now outlined against the sky, we could distinctly trace their forms and note their habiliments and armour. Nearly all wore broad-brimmed sombreros, with jacket, sash, and calzoneros. They carried lances, lazoes, and carbines or _escopettes_. We could distinguish sabres and _machetes_--the universal weapon of the Mexican ranchero. They could not be drilled troops. Their costumes, as well as a certain irregularity in their manoeuvring, forbade this supposition. Their lances, moreover, were borne in all sorts of ways--some couched, some resting in the stirrup and held correctly, while others were carried over the shoulder like a firelock! No, they could not be a troop of regulars. They were either _guerrillos_ or true _salteadores_.

After riding nearly a half-circle round--still keeping at the same distance--the troop suddenly made front towards as, and halted.

We had been puzzled by their going round; we could not divine their object in so doing. It could not be to cut off our retreat. The timber in the back direction was miles off. Had it been near enough, we should certainly have retreated to it long before; but we knew it was too distant. Rube and his old mare would have been overtaken by our well-mounted enemies long ere we could have gained the woods; we knew this, and therefore did not think of making the attempt. On the other side was the _mesa_, which, by their late movement, had been left open to us. It was but a half-mile off, and perhaps, by making a dash, we might have reached it; but not a tree grew near it--except those on its summit--and its rocky wall apparently offered no advantage to us, any more than the open plain. The enemy seemed to be aware of this, else they would not have ridden round, and by so doing left the way clear.

Until the moment of their halt, therefore, we remained ignorant of their motive in moving to our rear. _Then_ it was explained. Their object was evident to all of us: they had halted between us and the sun!

It was a cunning manoeuvre--worthy of a war-party of Indians--and told us we had no common enemy to deal with. By approaching us from that direction, they would have a decided advantage: our aim would be spoiled by the sun--now low down upon the horizon, and gleaming right in our eyes.

My companions were wroth at the trick that had been thus played so adroitly; though we could not have hindered it even if forewarned of their intention.

We were allowed but little time to reflect upon the matter; we saw by the movements of the horsemen that they were preparing to charge. One who appeared to be the leader, mounted upon a larger horse than any of the rest was addressing them. He rode along the line speaking in a loud tone, and gesticulating violently; he was answered with _vivas_, which we could plainly hear. Every moment, we looked to see them gallop forward.

We knew there was no alternative but fight or surrender--though not one of us entertained an idea of the latter. For myself, I should as soon have thought of turning my pistol to my own head. My uniform, tattered as it was, would easily reveal my character to the enemy; and, if captured, I knew that I should be hung, or perhaps, in the absence of trees, shot down upon the spot. My comrades had reasons for knowing that _their_ shrift would be equally short: neither thought for a moment of tamely yielding.

"No!" emphatically pronounced Rube, "this child don't guv in, till he's rubbed out, _he_ don't! Tarnation odd too!" he added, looking toward the troop; "twelve agin three o' us. Durn the odds! I've got clur o'

wuss scrapes than't looks yit, and so've you, Bill Garey--hain't we, boyee? Durn the odds! let 'em kum on!"