His approach had been unnoticed. The herd had found a “tank,” or one of the large, hollow rocks filled with water, with which nature supplies her children’s need in that land of few streams. The animals were drinking deeply, eagerly, and his selection could be carefully made. After it had been, Carlos thought, that he, also, would quench his thirst at the “tank” but—business first!
Deciding which was the very finest one of all the band, he took careful, deliberate aim, shot the riata, and caught the unsuspecting beast by one of its forelegs.
Then there was consternation in the herd but, careless of other endangering hoofs or aught but his capture, the well-trained lad rushed forward headlong and closed with his captive. This was no new task for him. He had been taught the trick of “catching and throwing” by more than one employee, or passing sojourner, at Refugio, while his steel-like young muscles well endured the strain now put upon them. He had been an apt pupil and it was Miguel’s boast that the lad could beat his instructors at their own business. Yet the contest which ensued between the wild mustang and the excited boy was long and severe. There was will on each side but the human will was aided by watchful intelligence; and when the young horse-breaker had gained a seat upon his captive’s back he was satisfied, though some would have fancied the battle but just begun.
“Fight—caper—rear—buck—kick—do your worst! Have a care! Now, quiet—quiet, there, and—steady!”
He got his fingers to the animal’s nostrils and his lips to its ear, and what magic influence there was thus exerted only those wise in horse-lore can explain. The result was amazing. The mustang quivered in fear, tried once more, and futilely, to throw the boy from its back, then stood stock-still. Then Carlos relaxed his own muscles and suddenly was impelled to look up.
As silently as he had stolen upon the unconscious herd in the valley so silently he had himself been surrounded. Indians to right of him—Indians to the left of him—Indians everywhere!
Odd! But his first thought was that silly adage of old Marta:
“Who snares the wounded shall himself be snared.”
Then he rallied. He was as brave as most lads, braver than many. He had done some wonderful deeds of skill, that day, and his veins still thrilled with pride in his own achievements. Of Indians in general he was not afraid; and he saw, at once, that these did not wear the dress of the hostile Apaches. Yet their faces were stern and uncompromising as, in silence, the eldest of the company advanced and laid his hand on the youngster’s shoulder.
This old man nodded toward another brave, who seemed to give assent, and in that same terrifying silence the others grouped themselves about their chief. He signaled a youth, who promptly passed to Carlos’s side, where he still sat upon the subdued mustang and, with the pretty lariat which had done such clever work that day, bound its owner’s arms behind his back.