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Updated: June 28, 2025
A voice, louder than the rest, was heard exclaiming: "Carajo! guardaos! esta el rifle del diablo!" It was doubtless the comrade of Jose, who had been in the skirmish of La Virgen, and had felt the bullet of the zundnadel. The guerilleros, awed by the death of their leader for it was Yanez who had fallen crouched behind the rocks.
Our lives depended on his escape. A crowd of the guerilleros was between him and us; but we could still see the green jacket of the soldier, and the great red flanks of Hercules, as he bounded on towards the edge of the woods.
These, like Raoul, had escaped the stroke. "Come!" cried the Frenchman, who had now resuscitated Clayley and Chane; "we have not a moment to lose. The mustangs will get over their fright, and these fellows will be down upon us." His advice was instantly followed, and before the guerilleros could manage their scared horses we had entered the thicket, and were crawling along under the wet leaves.
We were all dragged out into the open ground in front of the rancho, where our horses were also brought and picketed. Here we lay upon our backs, a dozen guerilleros remaining to guard us. The others went back among the olives, where we could hear them laughing, talking, and yelling.
It was like most charges of Mexican cavalry a dash, a wild yelling, half a dozen empty saddles, and a hasty retreat. The guerilleros had swerved off as soon as they perceived that we had gained a safe position, and the bullets of our reloaded pieces began to whistle around their ears.
A moment after, half a dozen of the guerilleros burst open the door and rushed in, crying out as they entered: "Quien tira?" "What do you mean?" angrily asked Raoul, who had been in ill-humour ever since the guerillero had refused him a draught of water. "I ask you who fired the shot?" repeated the man. "Fired the shot!" echoed Raoul, knowing nothing of what had occurred outside.
The Frenchman sprang nimbly to the saddle, and, driving his spurs into the flanks of his horse, shot out from the pen like a bolt of lightning. For the first three hundred yards or so he galloped directly towards the guerilleros. These stood leaning upon their saddles, or lay stretched along the green-sward.
A fierce yell announced the exultation of the guerilleros. Dubrosc was sitting on his powerful mustang, facing the corral, and watching the effects of the shot. "If he wur only 'ithin range ov my own rifle!" muttered Lincoln, as he glanced along the sights of the strange piece. The crack soon followed the black horse reared, staggered, and fell back on his rider.
Woe betide the belated pedestrian, or even horseman, if he happens to pass under a tree which forms the ambuscade of a coralillo snake! Cobras and other reptiles seldom attack men, and will generally try to avoid them, unless accidentally trodden upon, but these guerilleros of the forest, the tree serpents, lie in wait for their victims.
Officers in bright uniforms, and amongst these I recognised the elegant person of Dubrosc. Ladies in rich dresses, and amongst these . Her sister, too, was there, and the Dona Joaquiana, and half a dozen other ladies, rustling in silks and blazing with jewels. Several of the gentlemen young officers of the band wore the picturesque costume of the guerilleros. They were forming for the dance.
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