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Updated: May 20, 2025
He was Carlos the cibolero. It could be seen now that a large wolf-like dog trotted near the heels of the horse. That dog was Cibolo. Advancing in the direction of the town, the caution of the horseman seemed to increase. The country before him was not quite open.
Carlos, on perceiving the signal, had answered it by flashing some powder already prepared. He lost no time in obeying the well-known summons. A single moment by the side of his horse a whisper which the latter well understood and he parted from the copse, Cibolo following at his heels.
Carlos, once on the road, spurred his horse into gallop, and dashed boldly forward to the great gate of the Presidio. The dog Cibolo followed, keeping close up to the heels of his horse. "By the Virgin, it is he!" exclaimed Roblado, with a look of astonishment and alarm. "The fellow himself, as I live!" "I knew it! I knew it!" shrieked Vizcarra. "I saw him on the cliff: it was no vision!"
"I want you at the ranch," said Ranse. "All right, sport," said Curly, heartily. "But I want to come back again. Say, pal, this is a dandy farm. And I don't want any better fun than hustlin' cows with this bunch of guys. They're all to the merry-merry." At the Cibolo ranch-house they dismounted. Ranse bade Curly wait at the door of the living room. He walked inside.
Down his back from his mane to his tail went a line of black. He would live forever; and surveyors have not laid off as many miles in the world as he could travel in a day. Eight miles east of the Cibolo ranch-house Ranse loosened the pressure of his knees, and Vaminos stopped under a big ratama tree. The yellow ratama blossoms showered fragrance that would have undone the roses of France.
Ha! it was the mirage! No! The mirage could not effect such a complete picture. There were the roofs, and chimneys, and walls, and windows. There were the parapets of fortified houses, with their regular notches and embrasures. It was a reality. It was a city! Was it the Cibolo of the Spanish padre? Was it that city of golden gates and burnished towers?
He did not dismount, but sat in his saddle, gazing up the canon, and listening for some token of the expected pursuit. He had not been long in this spot when he perceived a dark object approaching him. It gave him joy, for he recognised Cibolo coming along his trail. The next moment the dog was by his stirrup.
"Tia Juana, who am I?" he repeated, with his stern eyes looking into hers. A frightened look came in the old woman's face. She fumbled with her black shawl. "Who am I, Tia Juana?" said Ranse once more. "Thirty-two years I have lived on the Rancho Cibolo," said Tia Juana. "I thought to be buried under the coma mott beyond the garden before these things should be known.
Yes, Cibolo had not to be initiated into the mysteries of a string of tasajo. Dried buffalo-meat was an old and tried favourite; and the moment it reached his jaws, which it did immediately after, he gave proof of this by the earnest manner in which he set to work upon it.
The mother and daughter had laid aside their spindle and loom, and were about to retire to their primitive couches on the earthen floor, when Cibolo was seen to spring from his petate, and rush towards the door, growling fiercely. His growl increased to a bark so earnest, that it was evident some one was outside.
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