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Updated: May 20, 2025
And then old age and bitterness, when he sat, with his great mane of hair as white as the Spanish-dagger blossoms and his fierce, pale-blue eyes, on the shaded gallery at Cibolo, growling like the pumas that he had slain. He snapped his fingers at old age; the bitter taste to life did not come from that.
In those days Truesdell cleaned the brush of many a wolf and tiger cat and Mexican lion; and one or two Curtises fell heirs to notches on his rifle stock. Also he buried a brother with a Curtis bullet in him on the bank of the lake at Cibolo.
Even an old woman and a dog are enough. Oh, that my brave Carlos had been here! He would have taught that proud Gachupino we were not so helpless! Ha! that would Carlos!" "Do not think of it any more, dear mother; I don't think they will return. You have frightened them away, you and our brave Cibolo. How well he behaved!
For three nights sleep had visited Curly only in broken and shivering doses. So now, when Morpheus condescended to pay him a call, Curly got such a strangle hold on the mythological old gentleman that it was a wonder that anyone else in the whole world got a wink of sleep that night. Six cowpunchers of the Cibolo Ranch were waiting around the door of the ranch store.
But no; only last night at midnight, you say? There's been neither rain nor high wind it will be fresh as dew; and if ever hound Ha! where's Cibolo?" "At my house, the dog is. He was lost, this morning; we thought he had been killed or carried off; but at midday my people found him by the rancho here, covered with mud, and bleeding where he had received the prick of a spear.
They can't track me this night it will be too dark. The whole sky is becoming clouded there will be no more moon to-night I can lie hid all day to-morrow, if they don't follow. If they do, why, I can see them far enough off to ride away. My poor Cibolo, how you bleed! Heavens, what a gash! Patience, brave friend! When we halt, your wounds shall be looked to. Yes! to the grove I'll go.
In those days Truesdell cleaned the brush of many a wolf and tiger cat and Mexican lion; and one or two Curtises fell heirs to notches on his rifle stock. Also he buried a brother with a Curtis bullet in him on the bank of the lake at Cibolo.
All at once the conflict appeared to cease, for the animals became silent, except the hound, who at intervals gave out his deep loud bray. In a moment more he, too, was silent. Carlos knew by this silence that Cibolo had either been killed upon the spot, or, having been attacked by men, had sheered off. In either case it would be of no use waiting his return.
A bullet was sent through the head of the bloodhound, and another through that of his more wolf-like companion, and the horses were then untied and set free. This done, Carlos once more returned to the glade, and, after lifting Cibolo down from his perch, he approached the fire, and gazed for a moment at the corpse of the yellow hunter. The fires were blazing more brightly than ever.
Now suppose they are up the canon at this moment!" For a moment he paused and dwelt upon this hypothesis. He proceeded again. "Well, let them; I'll ride on. Cibolo can beat the rocks a shot's range ahead of me. If they're ambushed there without him finding them, they'll be sharper fellows than I take them to be; and I don't consider them flats, either, the scoundrels!
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