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The Wacoes, though savages by name, were warriors, were men of hearts, human and humane. He had proofs of it before him. His mother and sister would share his destiny; but Catalina, ha! that one thought resolved him; he reflected no further. "Generous warriors!" he replied; "I feel from the bottom of my heart a full sense of the honour you have offered to confer upon me.
With all, Carlos was not confident; and now that he reflected, another circumstance came to his mind in favour of the Wacoes. His companions had also noted it. That circumstance was the running of the buffaloes observed during the past few days. The gangs had passed from the north, going southward; and their excited manner was almost a proof that they were pressed by a party of hunters.
"Why, there appeared to be a good number, full half, of the rascals afoot." "True; I observed that." "Now, master, I have seen a cavallada stampeded by the Comanches more than once they were always mounted." "What signifies that? These are Wacoes, not Comanches." "True, master; but I have heard that the Wacoes, like the Comanches, are true Horse-Indians, and never go afoot on any business."
And, if the Wacoes have told me the truth, one more journey and Carlos the cibolero will be able to shew as much gold as Don Ambrosio the miner!" These thoughts had been running in his mind throughout the whole of his homeward journey.
The Wacoes had not forgotten to be generous. That train of mules and those heavy packs were the gift of the tribe to the avenger of their chief. But that was not all. In the breast-pocket of the cibolero's jacket was a "bolsa," filled with rare stuff, also a present from the Wacoes, who promised some day that their guest should have more of the same.
What if they had taken the Wacoes by surprise, and had already made their attack! It was quite probable more than probable. The time and the hour were just in keeping. The estampeda had occurred before midnight. No doubt they were then on their way to the Waco village. They would just be in time to make their attack, at the usual hour for such forays, between midnight and morning.
I wish that by words I could prove how much I thank you, but I cannot. My words, therefore, shall be few and frank. It is true that in my own land I am not honoured, I am one of the poorest of its people; but there is a tie that binds me to it a tie of the heart that calls upon me to return. Wacoes, I have spoken!"
At this moment the war-cry of the Wacoes was heard directly in their rear, and Carlos saw that two mounted warriors of that tribe were in pursuit. The fugitives looked back, and, seeing only two adversarios after them, once more wheeled round and gave fight.
"The Wacoes are not hostile," remarked the cibolero. I think we have nothing to fear from them. No doubt they will trade with us. But where are they? This question was drawn forth by the cibolero observing that not a creature was to be seen about the lodges, neither man, woman, child, nor animal! And yet it could not be a deserted camp.
The first impulse of the cibolero was to gallop forward and mingle in the fight, of course, taking side with the Wacoes. The sound of the conflict roused his blood, and the sight of the robbers who had so lately ruined him rendered him eager for revenge. Many of them were mounted upon the very mules they had taken from him, and Carlos was determined to have some of them back again.
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