I felt satisfied he was aiming at _me_, or my horse. Indeed, the direction of the long dark tube would have told me so; but I saw Ijurra directing him, and that made me sure of it.

I had little fear for myself. I was sheltered sufficiently, but I trembled for the brave horse that shielded me.

I waited with anxious heart. I saw the blaze of the priming as it puffed upward; the red flame projected from the muzzle, and simultaneously I felt the shock of the heavy bullet striking upon my horse.

Splinters of wood flew about my face; they were fragments of the saddle-tree. The ball had passed through the pommel, but my noble steed was untouched! It was a close shot, however--too close to allow of rejoicing, so long as others of the like were to follow.

I was getting as "riled" as Rube himself, when, all at once, a significant shout from the old trapper drew my attention from El Zorro and his gun.

Rube was on my right, and I saw that he was pointing along the bottom of the cliff to some object in that direction I could not see what it was, as his horses were in the way; but the next moment I observed him hurrying them along the cliff, at the same time calling to Garey and myself to follow.

I lost no time in putting my horse in motion, and Garey as hastily trotted after.

We had not advanced many paces, before we comprehended the strange behaviour of our companion.

Scarcely twenty yards from where we had first halted, a large rock rested upon the plain. It was a fragment that had fallen from the cliff, and was now lying several feet from its base; it was of such size, and in such a position, that, there was ample space behind it to shelter both men and horses--room for us all!

We were only astonished we had not observed it sooner; but this was not to be wondered at, for its colour corresponded exactly with that of the cliff, and it was difficult, even at twenty yards' distance, to distinguish it from the latter. Besides, our eyes, from the moment of our halting, had been turned in another direction.

We did not stay to give words to our surprise; but hurrying our horses along with us, with joyful exclamations glided behind the rock.

It was not an echo of our joy, but a cry of disappointed rage, that pealed along the line of the guerrilla. They saw at once that their long gun would no longer avail them, and both Ijurra and his marksman were now seen dancing over the ground like madmen. El Zorro's _metier_ was at an end.

A more perfect "harbour of refuge" could not have been found in all prairie-land. As Garey alleged, it "beat tree-timber all hollow!" A little fortress, in fact, in which we might defy even twice the number of our assailants--unless, indeed, they should wax desperately brave, and try us hand to hand.

Our sudden disappearance had created a new sensation in their ranks.

From their shouts, we could tell that some of them regarded it with feelings of wonder--perhaps with emotions of a still stronger kind. We could hear the exclamations "_Carrai!" "Carrambo_!" with the phrase "_los demonios_!" passing from mouth to mouth. Indeed, from the position which they occupied, it must have appeared to them that we had gone into the cliff--for the separation of the rock from the wall behind it was not perceptible from the plain, else _we_ should have perceived it as we rode forward.

If our enemies knew of this outlying boulder, it was strange they had left the way open to so safe a retreat--strange, since it did not correspond with the cunning they had otherwise given proofs of--and yet stranger they should be ignorant of its existence. Most of them were natives of this frontier, and must have frequently visited the mesa, which was one of the "lions" of the district.

Perhaps they had never troubled their thoughts about it. There is no people who take less interest in the rare features of their beautiful country than the Mexicans. Nature charms them not. A Mexican dwelling with a garden around it is a rarity--a lawn or a shrubbery is never seen; but indeed nature has bounteously supplied them with all these.

They dwell amidst scenes of picturesque beauty; they gaze over green savannas--down into deep barrancas--up to the snow-crowned summits of mighty mountains--without experiencing one emotion of the sublime. A tortured bull, a steel-galved cock, Roman candles, and the Chinese wheel, are to them the sights of superior interest, and furnish them with all their petty emotions. So is it with nations, as with men who have passed the age of their strength, and reached the period of senility and second childhood.

But there was another, and perhaps a better, reason why none of our adversaries should be intimate with the locality. As my companions alleged, the spot was a favourite halting-place of the Comanches--_they_ have an eye for the picturesque--but perhaps the existence of a spring that was near had more to do in guiding the preference of these "lords of the prairies." The mesa, therefore, had for years been dangerous ground, and little trodden by the idle curious. Possibly not one of the heroes we saw before us had for years ventured so far out upon the plains.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

A PLAN OF ESCAPE.

If our enemies were awed by our sudden disappearance, it was soon robbed of its mysterious character. Our faces, and the dark barrels of our rifles, visible around the edges of the white rock, must have dispelled all ideas of the supernatural. Having hastily disposed of our horses, we had placed ourselves thus--in case of a charge being made--though of this we had no longer any great apprehension; and still less as we watched the movements of our adversaries.

El Zorro continued for some time to fire his big gun--the bullets of which we could dodge as easily as if they had been turnips hurled at us--and the leaden missiles fell harmlessly at our feet.

Seeing this, the salteador at length ceased firing, and with another, rode off in the direction of the settlements--no doubt sent on some errand by Ijurra.

One pair of eyes was sufficient to watch the movements of the besiegers.

Garey undertook this duty, leaving Rube and myself free to think over some plan of escape.

That we were not to be attacked was now certain. We had the choice, then, of two alternatives--either to keep the position we were in till thirst should force us to surrender, or attack _them_, and by a bold _coup_ cut our way through their line.

As to the former, we well knew that thirst would soon compel us to yield. Hunger we dreaded not. We had our knives, and before us a plentiful stock of that food on which the prairie wanderer often sustains life. "Horse-beef" we had all eaten, and could do so again; but for the sister-appetite--thirst--we had made no provision. Our gourd-canteens were empty--had been empty for hours--we were actually pushing for the _mesa spring_ when the enemy first came in sight. We were then athirst; but the excitement of the skirmish, with the play of passion incident thereto, had augmented the appetite, and already were we a prey to its keenest pangs. We mumbled as we talked, for each of us was chewing the leaden bullet. Thirst we dreaded even more than our armed enemy.

The other alternative was a desperate one--now more desperate than ever, from the increased number of our foes. To cut our way through them had no other signification than to fight the whole party hand to hand; and we regretted that we had not done so when only eleven were opposed to us.

A little reflection, however, convinced us that we were in a yet better position. We might make the attempt in the darkness. Night would favour us to some extent. Could we succeed by a bold dash in breaking through their deployed line, we might escape under the friendly cover of the night, and the confusion consequent upon the melee.

There was probability in this. The boldest was clearly the wisest course we could pursue. Desperate it appeared. One or other of us might fall, but it offered the only hope that _any_ of us might get free, for we knew that to surrender was to be shot--perhaps worse--_tortured_.

We had but faint hopes of a rescue; so faint, we scarcely entertained them. I knew that my friends, the rangers, would be in search of me.

Wheatley and Holingsworth would not give me up without making an effort for my recovery; but then the search would be made in a different direction--that in which I had gone, and which lay many miles from the route by the mesa. Even had they thought of sending to the mound, the search must have been already made, and the party returned from it. Too long time had elapsed to make any calculation on a chance like this.

The hope was not worth holding, and we held it not.

For some time, Rube and I thought in combination, canvassing the details of the plan that had offered. After a while, we stood apart, and each pursued the train of his own reflections.

I declare that in that hour I had more painful thoughts than those that arose from the peril of my situation; this I solemnly declare.

I have already said, that when I first recognised the leader of the guerrilla, I experienced an unpleasant suspicion. Since then, I had not time to dwell upon it--self-preservation engrossing all my thoughts.

Now that I found more leisure for reflection, the dire doubt returned in full strength, and I bitterly pondered upon it. Need I name the subject of my wretched reflections? Isolina de Vargas!

Knew _she_ of this? Knew she that Ijurra was the chief of a guerrilla?

Her cousin--sharer of the same roof--she could scarcely be ignorant of it! Who set him on our trail? Oh, bitter thought! was the hunt of the wild horse a _ruse_--a scheme--to separate me from my command, and thus render it an easy prey to the Mexican guerrilleros? Perhaps my straggling followers were by this cut off? Perhaps the post had been attacked by a large body of the enemy--captured? I was not only to lose life, but had already lost my honour. I, the proud captain of a boasted troop, to be thus entrapped by artifice--the artifice of a woman!

My heart, overwhelmed with such bitter fancies, stayed not to reason.

Presently followed a calmer interval, and I began to discuss the probability of my suspicions. What motive could she have to plot my destruction? Surely not from any feeling of love for her country, and hatred towards its enemies? From all I had learned, no such sentiment existed in her mind, but rather an opposite one--a truer patriotism.

She was a woman of sufficient aim and intellect to have a feeling one way or the other; but had I not good grounds for believing her a friend to our cause; a foe to the tyrants we would conquer? If otherwise, I was the victim of profound deception and unparalleled hypocrisy!

Perhaps, however, her feeling was personal, not national. Was _I_ alone the object of her hatred? Had I done aught by word or deed to call forth her antagonism--to deserve such cruel vengeance? If so, I was sadly ignorant of the fact. If she hated me, she hated one who loved _her_, with his whole soul absorbed in the passion. But no, I could not think that I was an object of hatred to her. Why should she hate me?

How _could_ she?

I could think of but one motive why she should make herself instrumental in the accomplishment of my ruin. It was explicable only on the presumption that she was attached to Ijurra--that Rafael Ijurra was the lord of her heart. If so, he could easily bend it to his will--for this is but the sequence of the other--could influence her to whatever act.

As for Ijurra, there was motive enough for his hostility, even to the seeking of my life. The insult put upon him at our first meeting--the knowledge that I loved _her_--for I was certain he knew it--with the additional fact that I was an enemy--one of the invaders of his country.

These were sufficient motives, though, doubtless, the two first far outweighed the other: with Rafael Ijurra, revenge and jealousy were stronger passions than patriotism.

Then came consolation--thoughts of brighter hue. In the face of all was the fact, that _the white steed had been found_, and captured! There stood the beautiful creature before my eyes. There was no deception in that--there could be none--no scheme could have contrived a contingency so remarkable.

Ijurra might easily have known of the expedition without _her_ agency.

Its result he would have learned from the returned vaqueros. He had time enough then to collect his band, and set after me. Perhaps she even knew not that he was a leader of guerrilleros? I had heard that his movements were shrouded in mystery--that mystery which covers the designs of the adventurer. He had served in the school of Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna--a fit master of deception. Isolina might be innocent even of the knowledge of his acts.

I re-read Isolina's letter, weighing every word. Strange epistle, but natural to the spirit that had dictated it. In its pages I could trace no evidence of treason. No; Isolina was loyal--she was true!

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.