Out on the Pampas; Or, The Young Settlers

by G. A. Henty

‘“Ah,” said I, “we could do without such celebrity just at present.”

‘“I don’t know,” Rube said. “If we were mere American soldiers, they would cut our throats at once: as it is, they may keep us for a more ceremonial killing.”

‘As we were talking, we were being led up towards the central hut, which was evidently the abode of the chief. He was standing at the door, tapping his riding-boot impatiently with a heavy whip; a man was holding his horse in readiness. One of the other leaders was standing talking to him. “Jehoshophat!” said I, “he is going out. We are safe for a while.”

‘El Zeres was a slight, wiry man, with a small wicked-looking eye, which gave one the “squerms” to look at, and a thin mouth curved up in a cruel smile. He was the savagest and most bloodthirsty of all the Mexican partisans. The man with him was a tall, swarthy, ferocious-looking villain.

‘El Zeres looked at us for some time without a word. Then he said, “I’ve got you at last; I’ve been on the lookout for you for a long time past.”

‘“It hasn’t been our fault we haven’t met before,” said Rube; which was true enough, for we had given him a close chase several times. El Zeres only gave an evil smile, but the other Mexican exclaimed savagely, “You dog, do you dare to answer?” and struck Rube across the face with all his force with his heavy whip.

‘Rube turned quite white, and then with a tremendous effort he broke the cowhide thongs which fastened his hands—not new rope, mind you, but cowhide—just as if it had been so much grass, and went right at the fellow who had struck him. The Mexicans gave a cry of astonishment, and threw themselves upon Rube, El Zeres shouting at the top of his voice, “Don’t draw a knife, don’t draw a knife; I’ll hang any man who injures him.”

‘Rube had got the fellow by the throat with both hands, and though the crowd of men who threw themselves upon him pulled him to the ground, he never let go, but brought the man down too. I knew it was all over with him. I was quite mad to join in and help; but though I tugged and strained at my thongs till they cut right into my wrists, I could not succeed. For a while they lay in a struggling mass on the ground, and then Rube shook himself free of them for a moment and got to his feet. A dozen men were upon him in a moment; but he was blind with rage, and would not have minded if it had been a thousand. Those who came in front went down, as if shot, before the blows of his fists; but others leapt on him from behind, and then the struggle began again. I never saw such a thing before, and never shall again. It was downright awful. They could not hold his arms. Their weight, over and over again, got him upon the ground, and over and over again he was up on his feet; but his arms, somehow, they could not hold, and the work he did with them was awful. Anything he hit went down, and when he could not hit he gripped. It was like a terrier with rats: he caught ’em by the throat, and when he did, it was all up with them. Some of them made a grab for their knives, but they had no time to use them. In a moment their eyes would seem to start from their heads; and then, as he threw ’em away, they fell in a dead lump. How long this went on I can’t say,—some minutes, though,—when a Mexican snatched the lasso, which every Mexican carries, from the saddle of El Zeres’ horse, and dropped the noose over Rube’s neck. In another moment he was lying half strangled upon the ground, and a dozen hands bound his hands behind him and his feet together with cowhide thongs. Then they stood looking at him as if he was some devil. And no wonder. Seven Mexicans lay dead on the ground, and many more were lying panting and bleeding around. The Mexicans are an active race of men, but not strong—nothing like an average American,—and Rube at any time was a giant even among us scouts; and in his rage he seemed to have ten times his natural strength. El Zeres had never moved; and except shouting to his men not to use their knives, he had taken no part whatever in it—watching the struggle with that cruel smile, as if it had only been a terrier attacked by rats. When it was over he mounted his horse, and said to one of his lieutenants who was standing near: “I must go now. I leave these men in your charge, Pedro. Fasten that one’s hands behind him; then take them inside. Put them in the inner room. Clear my things out. Take ten picked men, and don’t let any one in or out till I return. I shall be back before daybreak. I shall amuse myself to-day with thinking how I shall try the nerves of these Americanos. I can promise you all a handsome amusement of some sort, anyhow.” And he rode off.

‘I have often faced death, and ain’t afraid of it; but the unruffled face and the cruel smile of that man made my flesh creep on my bones, as I thought of what Rube and I had got to go through the next day. And now,’ Seth said, breaking off, ‘it’s getting late, and I haven’t talked such a heap for years. I will finish my yarn another night.’

Very warm were the young Hardys in their thanks to Seth for this exciting story from his own experience, and great was the discussion among themselves that arose as to how the two Americans could possibly have made their escape from their terrible predicament.