The Tiger Hunter. Майн Рид

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      The officer slackened his bridle-rein. The tinkling rowels of his spurs resounded against the ribs of his horse. The trial of speed had commenced. The plain appeared to glide past him like the current of a river. The bushes and tall palms seemed flying backward.

      The inundation was rolling from west to east. The horseman was hastening in the opposite direction. Both must soon come together; but at what place?

      The distance between them was rapidly diminishing. The noise of the flood, at first low, like the muttering of distant thunder, was gradually growing louder. The palms still appeared to glide past like spectres, but as yet the belfry of the hacienda had not come in sight. Neither as yet was visible the threatening mass of the inundation.

      At this perilous moment Don Rafael perceived that his horse was sensibly slackening his pace. The sides of the animal felt swollen, and heaved with a convulsive panting.

      The air, so rapidly cut in his swift course, with difficulty entered his nostrils. A few seconds longer, and that in his lungs must give out.

      The officer drew up for an instant. The breathing of his horse appeared obstructed, and the hoarse sound, caused by its inspiration, was a mournful accompaniment to the sough of the waters that were constantly advancing.

      The traveller listened to these sounds with a sentiment of despair.

      Just then he heard the clanging of a bell, as if hurriedly tolled. It was that of the hacienda, giving out its warning notes over the wide savanna.

      A reflection crossed his mind. It had been partly suggested by the words of the Indian: “Think only of those who may bewail your death.” Was there in that hacienda, where he was hourly expected, one who would bewail it? Perhaps yes, and bitterly!

      The thought would have urged him onward; but Don Rafael still remained halted. He saw that his horse required a moment of rest, in order to recover his wind, otherwise he could not have proceeded.

      The dragoon had the presence of mind to perceive this imperious necessity; and, in spite of the danger that threatened he dismounted, loosened the girdle of his saddle, thus permitting the horse to breathe more freely.

Chapter Fifteen.

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      A Friend in Need.

      He was counting with anxiety the minutes that passed, when at that moment there echoed upon his ear the hoof-strokes of another horse, going at full gallop.

      It was a horseman following the same route, and running the same risk as himself. He was mounted upon a strong, swift animal, that appeared to pass over the ground like a bird upon the wing.

      In an instant the horseman came up, and drawing vigorously on the bridle, halted alongside.

      “What are you about?” cried the new-comer, speaking in hurried phrase. “Do you not hear the alarm-bell? Don’t you know that the flood is coming down?”

      “Yes; 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 СКАЧАТЬ