As every available building was occupied by troops, the rangers, as usual, were treated as "outsiders," and compelled to take to the grass.

Half-a-mile from the town, a spot was shown us for our camp. It was on the banks of a pretty rivulet; and there, having picketed our steeds, stretched our canvas to the sun, and washed the dust from our faces, we made ourselves at home.

I did not remain long by the camp. As soon as the tents were fairly pitched, I left them, and walked back into the town--partly to get more definite information as to the future movements of the army, and partly with the design of indulging a little in the social feeling. I had some old comrades among the different regiments of the division; and, after such a long spell of rustication, I was not indisposed to refresh my spirit by the renewal of former fellowships.

At head-quarters, I learned definitely that we should not march for a week at the least. So far good; and after hearing this, I proceeded to the _fonda_--the rendezvous of all the jovial spirits of the army. Here I encountered the friends of whom I was in search; and for a short while I found respite from the thoughts that had been harrowing me.

I soon gathered the current "camp gossip," and learned who were the "newspaper heroes" of the hour; over many of whose names my friends and I could not restrain either our satire or laughter. It appeared that the men of deeds were scarcely known beyond the limits of the army itself, while others, who in the field of battle had actually played the poltroon, had at home become household words in the mouths of the people. One general, whom I myself saw hiding in a ditch daring the rage of battle, was the theme of speech, sentiment, and song. The newspapers were filled with praises, and the windows with pictures, of a "gallant dragoon officer," who had somehow obtained the credit of capturing a certain battery. My rangers cried "Bah!" when I told them this. They themselves were the men who had first galloped over those Mexican guns!

"Keeping an editor in pay" was a standing sarcasm applicable to more than one of our generals; and the "army correspondent," taking advantage of this pruriency for fame, lived well, and swaggered in proportional importance.

Ah, glory! what sacrifices men make for thee upon the shrine of conscience! For my part, I do not think I could feel happy under the credit of a feat I had not performed. Surely the consciousness of having done a deed is of itself a sufficient reward? He is but an unhappy hero who is not a hero to himself!

Pleasanter gossip I heard about the relations existing between our troops and the people of the town. Many of the inhabitants had grown quite friendly, in consequence of our excellent behaviour towards them.

Our conduct was compared with that which they had lately experienced at the hands of their own army. The latter was in the habit of seizing property at pleasure, on pretence of using it for the defence of the state. We, on the contrary, paid for everything--round prices too--in bright American dollars. The ricos and merchants preferred this system, and had no objections to making it permanent. Outrages were few on the part of our soldiery, and severely punished by the general. Our enemies contrasted the modest bearing of the American soldier with the conceited strut and insolent swagger of their own gold-bedizened _militarios_, who were wont on all occasions to "take the wall" of them. It was only outside the lines, between stragglers and leperos, that the retaliation system was carried on so fiercely. Within the walls, everything was order, with a mildness too rare under martial law. Private property was strictly regarded, and private dwellings were not occupied by our troops. Even the officers were not billeted in private houses; and many of them had to make shift in rather uncomfortable quarters, while most of the soldiers lived under canvas. This state of things was scarcely satisfactory to the troops; and some grumbling was heard. There was no complaint, however, from the Mexicans, who seemed rather astonished at so much forbearance on the part of their conquerors.

I doubt whether, in the whole history of war, can be found a conquest characterised by equal mildness and humanity with the "Second Conquest of Mexico."

It was principally for this reason the people had grown so well affected towards us. But there was another reason, perhaps, not less potent.

From the extensive operations we were now about to undertake, they saw that we meant war in earnest; and the belief had become general, that a large "annexation" was to follow; that perhaps the whole valley of the Rio Grande would become American territory. It was but human nature in them to do homage to the rising sun.

The ricos were better disposed towards us than the common people; but this enigma is easily explained. The latter were more _patriotic_--that is, more ready to fight for native tyranny, than accept freedom from a foreign hand. 'Tis so in all lands. In the event of a war with England, the black slave of Carolina would range himself by the side of his master, and prove the bitterest foe to the enemies, not of _his freedom_, but of his _country_.

The _familias principales_ of Mexico had good reasons for being friendly to us. They had a stake to lose, which, under their own government, had been ill guarded for them. No wonder they should desire to come under the broad protecting wings of the northern eagle.

I found that another species of "annexation" had been going on during my absence. One of our officers had become annexed to a wealthy senorita of the place, and the marriage-ceremony had been performed with great pomp and splendour. Another was talked of as being _fiance_; and it was expected that the example would find numerous imitators.

I need not say that I was much interested by these _novedades_ and I returned with lighter heart to the ranger-camp.

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

THE RUINED RANCHO.

The pleasant excitement caused by the visit to my old comrades was soon over; and having nothing to do but lounge about my tent, I became again the victim of the same painful bodings. I could not shake them off.

Subtle and mysterious is the spirit-world within us; certainly does it seem to have prescience of the future. Is it an electric chain connecting what is, with what is to be? Or is it the second-sight of instinct? Certainly there are times when something within whispers a warning--as, in the physical world, God's wild creatures are warned from without of the earthquake and the storm. How often do we experience the realisation of portentous dreams? Why should not the waking soul have also its moments of clairvoyance?

As I lay stretched upon my leathern _catre_, I gave way to such reflections. I soon succeeded in reasoning myself into a full belief in foreknowledge; and my apprehensions were proportionately strengthened.

But I had conceived a design; and the prospect of putting it in execution somewhat relieved me from the heaviness I had hitherto felt.

My new project was to take a score of my best men, to ride back the road we had come, place the party in ambush near the hacienda, while I alone should enter the house, and further urge the counsels I had committed to writing. If I should find that these had been already followed, so much the better--I should be assured, and return content; but I felt almost certain that Don Ramon had rejected them. At all events, I was determined to know the truth--determined, moreover, to gratify my longing for one more interview with my beloved.

I had warned the men and fixed the hour--as soon it was dark enough to conceal our departure from the camp.

I had two reasons for not starting earlier--first, because I did not wish this _private scouting_ to be known at head-quarters. It is true, that in such matters we rangers had the advantage of regular troops.

Though belonging to the division, our duty was usually detached from it, and we were rarely "missed" when absent. There was thus a sort of pleasant independence in my command, which I for one fully appreciated.

For all that, I did not desire the whole world to know of an expedition like the one projected.

My second motive for going in the night was simple prudence. I dared not take the whole of my command along with me without permission from head-quarters. The absence of the corps without leave would certainly be noticed--even were it but for a few hours--and with the smaller party I intended to take, caution would be requisite. Should we move along the road before it was deserted, some swift messenger might carry the tidings _en avant_, and get us into trouble.

I designed to start at the earliest hour of darkness--so that I might not alarm the hacienda by a midnight visit.

An hour and a half of constant riding would bring me to its gate.

At the last moment of twilight we leaped into our saddles; and rode silently into the chapparal that skirted the camp. After filing for some distance through a narrow path, we debouched upon the up-river road--the same that conducted to the rancheria.

The trappers, Rube and Garey, acting as scouts, went forward in the advance. They were on foot--their horses remaining behind with the party.

It was a mode of march I had adopted after some experience in bush-fighting. The scouts of a marching force should always go on foot, whether the main body be dragoons or infantry. In this manner they can take advantage of the ground; and by keeping under cover of the timber, are enabled to reconnoitre the angles of the road in a much safer way than when on horseback. The great danger to a scout--and consequently to the party for which he is acting--lies in his being _first_ seen, and the risk is greater when he is mounted. The horse cannot be drawn under cover without an effort; and the sound of the hoof may be heard; whereas in nine cases out of ten, a man on foot--that is, such a man as either Rube Rawlings or Bill Garey--will discover the enemy before he is himself seen, or any ambuscade can be attempted. Of course the scout should never advance beyond the possibility of retreating upon the party he is guiding.

With full confidence in the men who had been sent forward, we rode on-- timing our pace, so as not to overtake them. Now and then we caught a glimpse of them, at the further end of a long stretch, skirting the bushes, or stooping behind the cover, to reconnoitre the road in advance. To our chagrin, it was clear moonlight, and we could distinguish their forms at a great distance. We should have preferred a darker night.

The road we were travelling upon was entirely without habitations; most of it ran through light chapparal forest, with neither clearing nor homestead. One solitary rancho stood at about equal distances between the town and the rancheria; and was known among the rangers by the familiar sobriquet of the "half-way house." It was a poor hovel of yucca, with a small patch around that had once grown yams, chile-pepper, and a stock of maize for whoever had tilled it; but the occupants of the little rancho had long since disappeared--the prowling soldier-robber from the camp had paid it many a visit, and its household gods lay broken upon the hearth. The _tortilla_ stone and _comal_, red earthen ollas, calabash cups, bedsteads and benches of the _cana vaquera_, a whirligig spindle, an old stringless _jarana_ or bandolon, with other like effects, lay in fragments upon the floor. Mingling with these were cheap coloured wood-prints, of saints and Saviour, that had been dragged from the walls, and with the torn leaves of an old Spanish _misa_, trampled in dust and dishonour.

I paint this tableau of ruin, not that it was in any way connected with the events of our narrative, but that it had strangely affected me. On the day before, as we rode past, I had halted a moment by the rancho, and contemplated the scene with a feeling of melancholy that amounted almost to sadness. Little thought I that a still sadder spectacle awaited me in that same spot.

We had approached within less than half-a-mile of the ruined house, when a strange medley of sounds reached our ears. Human voices they were; and borne upon the light breeze we could distinguish them to be the voices of women. Occasionally harsher tones were heard mingling in the murmur, but most of them had the soft rich intonation that distinguishes the female voice.

We all drew bridle, and listened.

The sounds continued in the same confused chorus, but there was neither song nor joy in the accents. On the contrary, the night-wind carried upon its wings the voices of "lamentation and wailing."

"There are women in trouble," remarked one of my followers, in a suggestive tone.

The remark caused all of us simultaneously to ply the spur, and ride forward.

Before we had galloped a dozen lengths, a man appeared coming from the opposite direction, and advancing rapidly up the middle of the road. We saw it was the scout Garey; and, once more reining up, we awaited his approach.

I was at the head of the little troop, and as the trapper drew near, I could see his face full under the light of the moon. Its expression was ominous of evil tidings.

He spoke not until he had laid his hand upon the pommel of my saddle, and then only in a subdued and saddened tone. His words were:--

"Thar's ugly news, capt'n."

Oh, that terrible foreboding!

"News?--ill news?" I stammered out; "what, for Heaven's sake?--speak, Garey!"

"They've been playin' the devil at the rancherie. Them ruffins hez behaved wuss than Injuns would a done. But ride forrard, capt'n, an see for yurself. The weemen are clost by hyar at the shanty. Rube's a tryin' to pacify them, poor critters."

Oh, that terrible foreboding!

I made no response to Garey's last speech, but rode forward as fast as my horse could carry me.

A brace of minutes brought me up to the rancho; and there I beheld a spectacle that caused the blood to curdle in my veins.