Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid. Майн Рид

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СКАЧАТЬ to complete a careful scrutiny of the unearthly apparition, which every one present, with hand spread over his eyes to shade them from the dazzling glare, was endeavouring to make.

      Nothing of colour could be noted – neither the garments of the man, nor the hairy coat of the horse. Only the shape could be traced, outlined in sable silhouette against the golden background of the sky; and this in every change of attitude, whether fronting the spectators, or turned stern towards them, was still the same – still that inexplicable phenomenon: a horseman without a head!

      Was it a phantom? Surely it could not be human?

      “’Tis old Nick upon horseback!” cried a fearless frontiersman, who would scarce have quailed to encounter his Satanic majesty even in that guise. “By the ’tarnal Almighty, it’s the devil himself.”

      The boisterous laugh which succeeded the profane utterance of the reckless speaker, while it only added to the awe of his less courageous comrades, appeared to produce an effect on the headless horseman. Wheeling suddenly round – his horse at the same time sending forth a scream that caused either the earth or the atmosphere to tremble – he commenced galloping away.

      He went direct towards the sun; and continued this course, until only by his motion could he be distinguished from one of those spots that have puzzled the philosopher – at length altogether disappearing, as though he had ridden into the dazzling disc!

      Chapter 41

      Cuatro Cavalleros

      The party of searchers, under the command of the major, was not the only one that went forth from Fort Inge on that eventful morning.

      Nor was it the earliest to take saddle. Long before – in fact close following the dawn of day – a much smaller party, consisting of only four horsemen, was seen setting out from the suburbs of the village, and heading their horses in the direction of the Nueces.

      These could not be going in search of the dead body of Henry Poindexter. At that hour no one suspected that the young man was dead, or even that he was missing. The riderless horse had not yet come in to tell the tale of woe. The settlement was still slumbering, unconscious that innocent blood had been spilt.

      Though setting out from nearly the same point, and proceeding in a like direction, there was not the slightest similarity between the two parties of mounted men. Those earliest a-start were all of pure Iberian[237] blood; or this commingled with Aztecan[238]. In other words they were Mexicans.

      It required neither skill nor close scrutiny to discover this. A glance at themselves and their horses, their style of equitation, the slight muscular development of their thighs and hips – more strikingly observable in their deep-tree saddles – the gaily coloured serapes shrouding their shoulders, the wide velveteen calzoneros on their legs, the big spurs on their boots, and broad-brimmed sombreros on their heads, declared them either Mexicans, or men who had adopted the Mexican costume.

      That they were the former there was not a question. The sallow hue; the pointed Vandyke[239] beard, covering the chin, sparsely – though not from any thinning by the shears – the black, close-cropped chevelure; the regular facial outline, were all indisputable characteristics of the Hispano-Moro-Aztecan race, who now occupy the ancient territory of the Moctezumas.

      One of the four was a man of larger frame than any of his companions. He rode a better horse; was more richly apparelled; carried upon his person arms and equipments of a superior finish; and was otherwise distinguished, so as to leave no doubt about his being the leader of the cuartilla[240].

      He was a man of between thirty and forty years of age, nearer to the latter than the former; though a smooth, rounded cheek – furnished with a short and carefully trimmed whisker – gave him the appearance of being younger than he was.

      But for a cold animal eye, and a heaviness of feature that betrayed a tendency to behave with brutality – if not with positive cruelty – the individual in question might have been described as handsome.

      A well formed mouth, with twin rows of white teeth between the lips, even when these were exhibited in a smile, did not remove this unpleasant impression. It but reminded the beholder of the sardonic grin that may have been given by Satan, when, after the temptation had succeeded, he gazed contemptuously back upon the mother of mankind.

      It was not his looks that had led to his having become known among his comrades by a peculiar nick-name; that of an animal well known upon the plains of Texas.

      His deeds and disposition had earned for him the unenviable soubriquet “El Coyote.”

      How came he to be crossing the prairie at this early hour of the morning – apparently sober, and acting as the leader of others – when on the same morning, but a few hours before, he was seen drunk in his jacalé – so drunk as to be unconscious of having a visitor, or, at all events, incapable of giving that visitor a civil reception?

      The change of situation though sudden – and to some extent strange – is not so difficult of explanation. It will be understood after an account has been given of his movements, from the time of Calhoun’s leaving him, till the moment of meeting him in the saddle, in company with his three conpaisanos[241].

      On riding away from his hut, Calhoun had left the door, as he had found it, ajar; and in this way did it remain until the morning – El Coyote all the time continuing his sonorous slumber.

      At daybreak he was aroused by the raw air that came drifting over him in the shape of a chilly fog. This to some extent sobered him; and, springing up from his skin-covered truck, he commenced staggering over the floor – all the while uttering anathemas against the cold, and the door for letting it in.

      It might be expected that he would have shut to the latter on the instant; but he did not. It was the only aperture, excepting some holes arising from dilapidation, by which light was admitted into the interior of the jacalé; and light he wanted, to enable him to carry out the design that had summoned him to his feet.

      The grey dawn, just commencing to creep in through the open doorway, scarce sufficed for his purpose; and it was only after a good while spent in groping about, interspersed with a series of stumblings, and accompanied by a string of profane exclamations, that he succeeded in finding that he was searching for: a large two-headed gourd, with a strap around its middle, used as a canteen for carrying water, or more frequently mezcal[242].

      The odour escaping from its uncorked end told that it had recently contained this potent spirit; but that it was now empty, was announced by another profane ejaculation that came from the lips of its owner, as he made the discovery.

      “Sangre de Cristo!” СКАЧАТЬ