The Tiger Hunter. Майн Рид
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but my horse has given out. I am waiting till he recovers his wind.”
The stranger cast a glance towards the bay-brown of Don Rafael, and then threw himself out of his saddle. “Take hold of this,” he said, flinging his bridle to the officer. “Let me examine your horse.”
Raising the saddle-flap, he placed his hand underneath, to feel the pulsations of the lungs.
“All right yet,” he exclaimed, after a pause, apparently satisfied that the animal would recover.
Then stooping down, he took up a large stone, and began to rub it vigorously over the ribs and along the belly of the panting steed.
Don Rafael could not help gazing with curious interest on a man who, thus careless of his own life, was occupying himself so generously about the safety of another—that other, too, a perfect stranger!
The man was costumed as an arriero (muleteer). A species of tight-fitting blouse, of coarse greyish-coloured wool, striped black, covered the upper part of his body, over which, in front, hung a short leathern apron. Wide calzoneros of linen flapped about his legs. His feet were encased in buskins of brown goat-skin, while over his face fell the shadow of a broad-brimmed hat of coarse felt cloth.
He was a man of less than medium size; but with a sweet expression of features, from which his sunburnt complexion did not detract. Even at that terrible moment his countenance appeared calm and serene!
Don Rafael did not attempt to interrupt his proceedings, but stood regarding him with a feeling of deep gratitude.
For some moments the muleteer continued to use the stone. Then stopping the process, he placed his hand once more to feel the pulsation. This time he appeared less satisfied than before.
“He will founder,” said he, “if something be not done to prevent it. He must have more breath through his nostrils. There is but one way to save him. Assist me to try it. We must haste, for the bell is tolling with double violence to give warning that the waters are near.”
As he was speaking, he drew a cord from the pocket of his leathern apron; and, forming a running noose at one end of it, he drew it tightly around the muzzle of the horse, just above the nostrils.
“Now,” said he, handing the cord to Don Rafael. “First cover the horse’s eyes with your handkerchief; and then hold the cord with all your might.”
While Don Rafael hastened to obey the directions, the muleteer took a knife from his belt, and with a quick cut divided the transparent partition between the nostrils of the animal. The blood gushed forth in copious jets; and the horse, notwithstanding the efforts of Don Rafael to hold him to the ground, reared up on his hind legs, and struck forward with his hoofs. A hollow gurgling noise came forth from his nostrils as the air rushed in through the opening that had been made.
“Now!” exclaimed the muleteer, “you need no longer fear for his wind. Your horse can run as far as his legs will carry him. You will be saved if you are to be saved.”
“Your name,” cried Don Rafael, stretching out his hand to the muleteer; “your name, that I may always keep it in remembrance.”
“Valerio Trujano, a poor arriero; not very fortunate in his affairs, but who consoles himself with the belief that he has done his duty, and leaves the rest to God. Our lives are now in His hands. Let us pray that He may preserve them from the awful danger that is before us.”
Repeating these words with an air of solemnity, the muleteer took off his hat, displaying to view a mass of black curling hair. Then kneeling upon the sand, he raised his eyes to heaven, and in a voice of prayer pronounced the words:—
“De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine! Domine, exaudi vocem meam!”
While the muleteer was engaged in his devotion, the dragoon tightened his girths for the last struggle; and both at the same time springing into their saddles, resumed the gallop that had been so unfortunately interrupted. The damp, chill wind which preceded the coming of the waters bore loudly to their ears the warning notes of the bell—mingled with the sinister sounds that betokened the approach of the inundation.
Chapter Sixteen.
Las Palmas and its People.
The southern portion of the state of Vera Cruz, bordering on Tehuantepec, exhibits a singular hydrographic system. A number of great rivers, as the Rio Blanc, the Plaza Vicente, the Goazacoalcos, and the Papatoapan, with many of smaller note, form a complete network over the country. Most of these rivers have their sources in the Sierra Madre, and traversing the plains of the tierra calienté, debouch into the Gulf of Mexico.
Every one has heard how profusely the rain falls in tropical countries during that period of the year known as the “rainy season.” It is the American winter of these southern latitudes, commencing in the month of June, and ending in October. At this time the waters of the rivers above mentioned, augmented by torrents of rain falling daily, break over the boundaries of their channels, and, free as the wild horses upon their banks, rush impetuously over the surrounding plains.
Almost with the rapidity of a galloping steed, the yellow flood rolls onward, as if impelled by the breath of a demon, carrying terror and desolation in its track. Woe to the living thing unable to flee before its watery phalanx!
The inundations proceeding simultaneously from the different streams soon become joined to one another; and the waters, now spread over a vast tract of country, flow in a more tranquil current. Thus united together, they form an immense sea, covering the whole extent of the savannas; upon the tranquil surface of which may be seen the débris of their destructive violence, with the carcasses of all sorts of animals.
In the country thus inundated a singular spectacle may at this time be witnessed: villages completely surrounded by water, as if built upon islands; trees with their trunks submerged, their leafy tops alone visible; canoes and large periaguas, decked with flags and filled with people in their holiday suits, trying to outdo each other in speed or elegance of adornment; while groups of young girls, gaily dressed and crowned with flowers, may be seen seated in the boats, singing to the inspiriting accompaniment of the harp or mandolin.
The situation in which the hacienda of Las Palmas stood had been chosen with a view to provide against these annual floods. It was upon the north side of a plait apparently boundless towards the south, east, and west. The house stood upon an eminence of no great elevation—a sort of outlying spur of a higher ridge that backed it upon the north. It was isolated, however, and at some distance from the ridge, whose direction was eastward and westward. The hill upon which the hacienda stood was one of those singular eminences known in Spanish-America by the name of mesa (table). Its flat top formed an oblong parallelogram, at one end of which stood the dwelling-house, the other being occupied by the storehouses and stables. These were upon an extensive scale, all enclosed within a wall of strong mason-work. In the same enclosure were rows of chambers for the lodgment of the peons, vaqueros, and other retainers of the establishment.
The dwelling-house, standing upon the southern extremity of the mesa, fronted towards the great plain. In its centre a massive double door opened into the courtyard, or patio; and this entrance was reached by a broad causeway, sloping upward with a gentle declivity from the plain, and fenced along each edge by a parapet of strong mason-work. Thus situated, the hacienda of Las Palmas—so named from the numerous topes of palm-trees which mottled the plain in front—not only defied the flood, but might have served as a fortress of no despicable strength. The proprietor of this dwelling, as well as the extensive estate surrounding it, was Don Mariano de Silva.
The bell of the hacienda had tolled the evening oration, and the tinkling of the angelus was sounding the summons to prayer. At that moment might be witnessed an interesting spectacle