"I hain't answered him yet," was the prompt reply: "but hyar's the answer!"

I saw Garey's arm raised, with his huge fist clenched; I saw it descend like a trip-hammer upon the face of the Mexican, who under the blow fell heavily to the earth.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A DEAD SHOT.

The unexpected closing of the conference elicited an angry shout from the Mexican horsemen; and, without waiting for orders, they galloped up to their chief.

Halting at long-range, they fired their carbines and escopettes; but their bullets cut the grass far in front of us, and one or two that hurtled past were wide of the mark.

The lieutenant, who had been only stunned, soon recovered his legs, but not his temper. His wrath overbalanced his prudence, else the moment he found his feet he would have made the best of his way to his horse and comrades.

Instead of doing so, he turned full front towards us, raised his arm in the air, shook his clenched fist in a menacing manner, accompanying the action with a torrent of defiant speech.

Of what he said, we understood but the concluding phrase, and that was the bitter and blasphemous _carajo_! that hissed through his teeth with the energetic aspiration of rage and revenge.

That oath was the last word he ever uttered; his parting breath scarcely carried it from his lips ere he ceased to live. I heard the fierce word, and almost simultaneously the crack of a rifle, fired close to my ear. I saw the dust puff out from the embroidered spencer of the Mexican, and directly over his heart; I saw his hand pass rapidly to the spot, and the next moment I saw him fall forward upon his face!

Without a groan, without a struggle, he lay as he had fallen, spread, dead, and motionless upon the prairie!

"Thur now, an damn yur carajo!" cried a voice at my shoulder; "ee won't _bid_ for me agin, ye skunk--thet yur won't!"

Though I turned involuntarily to the speaker it was not for an explanation. Of course, it was Rube who spoke. His rifle was smoking at the muzzle, and he was proceeding to reload it.

"Wa-hoo--woop!" continued he, uttering his wild war-cry; "thet shortens thur count, I reck'n. Another nick for Targuts! Gi' me _her_ for a gun. Wagh! a long pull it wur for the ole weepun; an the glint in my eyes too! The niggur riled me, or I wudn't a risked it. Hold yur hosses, boys!" he continued in a more earnest tone: "don't fire till I'm loaded--for yur lives, don't!"

"All right, Rube!" cried Garey, who hastily passing under the belly of his horse, had re-entered the square, and once more handled his rifle.

"All right, old boy! Ne'er a fear! we'll wait for ye."

Somewhat to our surprise, Rube was allowed ample time to reload, and our three barrels once more protruded over the shoulders of Garey's horse.

Our animals still held their respective positions. Three of them were too well used to such scenes, to be startled by the detonation of a rifle; and the fourth, fastened as he was, kept his place perforce.

I say, to our surprise we were allowed time to get into our old vantage-ground; for we had expected an immediate charge from the guerrilla.

Vengeance for the death of their comrade would give them courage enough for that; so thought we; but we were mistaken, as their ire only vented itself in fierce yells, violent gestures, and ejaculations.

They had now clustered around their chief without order or formation, though they seemed to pay but slight regard to his authority. Some appeared to be urging him to lead them on! Others came galloping nearer, and fired their carbines or shook their lances in a threatening manner; but one and all were careful to keep outside that perilous circle, whose circumference marked the range of our rifles. They seemed, even less inclined for close quarters than ever; the fate of their comrade had awed them.

The dead man lay about half-way between them and us, glittering in his picturesque habiliments. They were weaker by his loss--for not only had he been one of their leaders, but one of their best men. They saw he was dead, though none had dared to approach him. They knew the Texan rifle of old--these spangled heroes; they knew, moreover, that we were armed with revolvers, and the fame of this terrible weapon had been already carried beyond the frontier of the Rio Grande.

Notwithstanding all that, men of our race, under similar circumstances, would have charged without hesitation. So, too, would men of theirs three centuries ago.

Perhaps in that band was an Alvarado, a Sandoval, a Diaz, or De Soto!

only in name. O Cortez! and you _conquistadores_! could you have beheld your degenerate descendants!

And yet not all of them were cowards; some, I dare say, were brave enough, for there _are_ brave men among the Mexicans. A few were evidently willing to make the attack, but they wanted combination--they wanted a leader: he who acted as such appeared to be endowed with more prudence than valour.

Meanwhile we kept our eyes fixed upon them, listening to their varied cries, and closely watching their movements.

In perfect coolness, we regarded them--at least so much can I say for my comrades. Though life or death rested upon the issue, both were as cool at that moment as if they had been only observing the movements of a gang of buffaloes! There was no sign of trepidation--hardly a symptom of excitement visible in the countenance of either. Now and then, a half-muttered ejaculation, a rapid exchange of thought--relating to some fresh movement of the enemy--alone told that both were alive to the peril of the situation.

I cannot affirm that I shared with them this extreme and perfect _sang froid_; though upon my nerves, less indifferent to danger, their example had its effect, and inspired me with courage sufficient for the occasion. Besides, I drew confidence from another source. In case of defeat, I had a resource unshared by my companions--perhaps unthought of by them. Trusting to the matchless speed of my horse, as a last resort, I might possibly escape. I could have ridden off at that moment without fear of being overtaken, but the craven thought was not entertained for an instant. By my honour, no! I should have accepted death upon the spot rather than desert the brave men who stood by my side. To _them_ I was indebted for my life. 'Twas for _me_ that theirs were now in peril; and from the first moment I had determined to stand by them to the end, and sell my blood at its dearest. In the event of both falling before me, it would then be time enough to think of flight.

Even this contingency had the effect of strengthening my courage, and at that moment I viewed the vengeful foe with a coolness and freedom from fear that now, in the retrospect, surprises me.

During the interval of inaction that followed, I was cool enough to reflect upon the demand which the guerrilla leader had made--the surrender of my person. Why was I singled out? We were all enemies alike--all Americans or Texans--on Mexican soil, and armed for strife.

Why did they want _me_ alone?

Was it because I was superior in rank to my companions? But how knew they this?--how knew they I was a "ranger-captain"? Ha! they must have known it before; they must have come out specially in search of me!

A light flashed suddenly into my mind--a suspicion strong almost as certainty. But for the sun glancing in my eyes, I might have earlier obtained an explanation of the mystery.

I drew down the visor of my forage-cap, stretching it to its full extent; I increased the shade with my flattened palms, and from under them strained my eyes upon the leader of the band. Already his voice, while in conversation with Garey, had aroused a faint recollection within me. I had heard that voice only once, but I thought I remembered it. Guided by my suspicion, I now scrutinised more closely the countenance of the man. Fortunately the face was turned towards me, and, despite the dazzling of the sunbeams, despite the slouched sombrero, I recognised the dark features of Rafael Ijurra! In that glance I comprehended the situation. He it was who wanted the "ranger-captain!"

There was doubt no longer. My suspicion was a certainty; but with the next throb of my heart rose another, a thousand times more painful--a suspicion of--

With an effort, I stifled my emotions; a movement was perceptible among the guerrilleros; the moment of action had arrived!

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

A RUNNING-SHOT.

Though our enemies were once more in motion, we no longer anticipated a direct attack; the time for that had passed. The fate of their comrade had evidently checked their ardour, and too much shouting and bravado had cooled, rather than heightened, their enthusiasm.

We could tell by their manoeuvring that some new mode of assault had been planned, and was about to be practised.

"Cowardly skunks!" muttered Rube; "they hain't the pluck to charge us!

Who ever heerd o' fair fight in a Mexikin? Damn 'em, thur arter some trick," he continued, in a more serious tone. "What do 'ee think it be, Billee?"

"I'm thinkin', old boy," replied Garey, whose keen grey eye had been for some time fixed on the movements of the guerrilla--"I'm thinkin' thar a-goin to gallup roun, an try a shot at us Injun fashion."

"Yur right," assented Rube; "thet's thur game! Scalp me ef 'taint!

Look yanner!--thur they go!"

The horsemen were no longer in line, nor formed in any fashion.

Irregularly grouped, they exhibited a "clump" upon the prairie, some standing still, others in motion.

As Rube uttered the last words, one of them was seen to shoot out from the main body, spurring his steed into a gallop as he parted from the crowd.

One might have fancied he was about to ride off from the ground: but no; that was not his intention. When he had made half-a-dozen stretches over the plain, he guided his horse into a curve, evidently with the design of riding around us.

As soon as he had gained some score of yards from the troop, a second horseman followed, repeating the manoeuvre; and then another and another, until five of the band, thus deployed, galloped round us in circles. The remaining six kept their ground.

We observed that the five had left their lances behind them, and carried only their carbines.