The Silent Rifleman! A tale of the Texan prairies

by Henry William Herbert

"The immediate risk of the last is greatest; the ultimate risk the least; but, in truth, it is chance, anyhow."

Gordon desired him to help the lady to mount, replaced his slender baggage on the back of the good horse Emperor, and then, without setting a foot in the stirrup, laid his hand lightly on the pummel, and vaulted into the saddle.

After this, miles and miles vanished beneath the feet of their horses, as they pressed onward steadily and swiftly; Pierre, once again in the van, leading them on, rifle unslung and ready, at Emperor's fast slashing trot.

Now they were within a mile or less of the digy brow, steeper and more abrupt than any which they had yet passed, from the other side of which the smoke rose in grey volumes, having been fed with recent fuel. Here, then, Pierre halted, and caused the pack-mules to be securely tethered to stakes driven into the moist earth of the prairie bottom, together with the horse of the Mexican.

The prisoner—after being once more interrogated, and persisting in his tale that there were but six men; that there was a large stream at the base of the descent; and that the fire was on this side of the stream—was dismounted, gagged, bound hand and foot, and laid on his back upon the grass.

This done, Gordon arranged his handful of men, himself leading on the right, while Pierre rode forward some six horse-lengths in advance, and Julia, who had refused positively to remain behind the pack-mules, followed a length or two behind.

Now they were within twenty paces of the extreme brow of the ridge, which alone separated them from their enemy—three paces more would have brought their heads into relief against the sky above the summit of the hill, and discovered them to the sentinel, if there were one, on duty. At this moment, Pierre pulled his horse short up, dismounted silently, and with a gesture to the well-trained and gallant animal, which, it was evident, he understood—for he stood stock still on the instant, with ears erect, expanded nostril, straining eye, quivering in every limb with fiery eagerness—cast himself down, rifle in hand, among the shorter herbage which clothed the steep ascent.

There were, as the prisoner had stated, six men only; two of whom were awake, the one a sentinel stalking to and fro with the escopeta in his hand, the other, a non-commissioned officer, who sat smoking his cigarillo by the fire, over which a camp kettle, filled with some savory mess, was simmering.

The death-shot, which sped its bullet crashing through the brain of the hapless sentinel, aroused them all, and brought them to their feet, amazed and terrified, and unprepared for action.