The Rifle Rangers Part 26

"Delicious, by Jove!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Clayey, tugging away at the major's flask.

"Come, Captain, try it."

"Thank you," I replied, eagerly grasping the welcome flask.

"But where is old Bios? killed, wounded, or missing?"

"I believe the major is not far off, and still uninjured."

I despatched a man for the major, who presently came up, blowing and swearing like a Flanders trooper.

"Hilloa, Bios!" shouted Twing, grasping him by the hand.

"Why, bless me, Twing, I'm glad to see you!" answered Blossom, throwing his arms around the diminutive major. "But where on earth is your pewter?" for during the embrace he had been groping all over Twing's body for the flask.

"Here, Cudjo! That flask, boy!"

"Faith, Twing, I'm near choked; we've been fighting all day--a devil of a fight! I chased a whole squad of the cursed scoundrels on Hercules, and came within a squirrel's jump of riding right into their nest.

We've killed dozens; but Haller will tell you all. He's a good fellow, that Haller; but he's too rash--rash as blazes! Hilloa, Hercules! glad to see you again, old fellow; you had a sharp brush for it."

"Remember your promise, Major," said I, as the major stood patting Hercules upon the shoulder.

"I'll do better, Captain. I'll give you a choice between Hercules and a splendid black I have. Faith! it's hard to part with you, old Herky, but I know the captain will like the black better: he's the handsomest horse in the whole army; bought him from poor Ridgely, who was killed at Monterey."

This speech of the major was delivered partly in soliloquy, partly in an apostrophe to Hercules, and partly to myself.

"Very well, Major," I replied. "I'll take the black. Mr Clayley, mount the men on their mules: you will take command of the company, and proceed with Colonel Rawley to camp. I shall go myself for the Don."

The last was said in a whisper to Clayley.

"We may not get in before noon to-morrow. Say nothing of my absence to anyone. I shall make my report at noon tomorrow."

"And, Captain--" said Clayley.

"Well, Clayley?"

"You will carry back my--."

"What? To which friend?"

"Of course, to Mary of the Light."

"Oh, certainly!"

"In your best Spanish."

"Rest a.s.sured," said I, smiling at the earnestness of my friend.

I was about moving from the spot, when the thought occurred to me to send the company to camp under command of Oakes, and take Clayley along with me.

"Clayley, by the way," said I, calling the lieutenant back, "I don't see why you may not carry your compliments in person. Oakes can take the men back. I shall borrow half a dozen dragoons from Rawley."

"With all my heart!" replied Clayley.

"Come, then; get a horse, and let us be off."

Taking Lincoln and Raoul, with half a dozen of Rawley's dragoons, I bade my friends good-night.

These started for camp by the road of Mata Cordera, while I with my little party brushed for some distance round the border of the prairie, and then climbed the hill, over which lay the path to the house of the Spaniard.

As I reached the top of the ridge I turned to look upon the scene of our late skirmish.

The cold, round moon, looking down upon the prairie of La Virgen, saw none of the victims of the fight.

The guerilleros in their retreat had carried off their dead and wounded comrades, and the Americans slept underground in the lone corral: but I could not help fancying that gaunt wolves were skulking round the inclosure, and that the claws of the coyote were already tearing up the red earth that had been hurriedly heaped over their graves.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE COCUYO.

A night-ride through the golden tropical forest, when the moon is bathing its broad and wax-like frondage--when the winds are hushed and the long leaves hang drooping and silent--when the paths conduct through dark aisles and arbours of green vine-leaves, and out again into bright and flowery glades--is one of those luxuries that I wish we could obtain without going beyond the limits of our own land.

But no. The romance of the American _northern_ forest--the romance that lingers around the gnarled limbs of the oak, and the maple, and the elm--that sighs with the wintry wind high up among the twigs of the s.h.i.+ning sycamore--that flits along the huge fallen trunks--that nestles in the brown and rustling leaves--that hovers above the bold cliff and sleeps upon the grey rock--that sparkles in the diamond stalact.i.tes of the frost, or glides along the bosom of the cold black river--is a feeling or a fancy of a far different character.

These objects--themselves the emblems of the stony and iron things of nature--call up a.s.sociations of the darker pa.s.sions: strange scenes of strife and bloodshed; struggles between red and white savages; and struggles hardly less fierce with the wild beasts of the forest. The rifle, the tomahawk, and the knife are the visions conjured up, while the savage whoop and the dread yell echo in your ear; and you dream of _war_.

Far different are the thoughts that suggest themselves as you glide along under the aromatic arbours of the American _southern_ forest, brus.h.i.+ng aside the silken foliage, and treading upon the shadows of picturesque palms.

The cocuyo lights your way through the dark aisles, and the nightingale cheers you with his varied and mimic song. A thousand sights and sounds, that seem to be possessed of some mysterious and narcotic power, lull you into silence and sleep--a sleep whose dream is _love_.

Clayey and I felt this as we rode silently along. Even the ruder hearts of our companions seemed touched by the same influence.

We entered the dark woods that fringed the arroyo, and the stream was crossed in silence. Raoul rode in advance, acting as our guide.

After a long silence Clayey suddenly awoke from his reverie and straightened himself up in the saddle.

"What time is it, Captain?" he inquired.

"Ten--a few minutes past," answered I, holding my watch under the moonlight.

"I wonder if the Don's in bed yet."

"Not likely: he will be in distress; he expected us an hour ago."

"True, he will not sleep till we come; all right then."

"How all right then?"