On their march they observed a sort of rude order—riding two and two—though this formation was forced upon them by the necessity of the narrow path, rather than from any control of their leader.
Where the road at intervals ran through openings, the ranks were broken at will; and the troop would get clumped together, to string out again on re-entering the chapparal path.
For myself, I was guarded by a brace of morose wretches, as I have said, one riding on each side of me; and both armed with long naked blades; which, had I shown the slightest sign of attempting to escape, would have been thrust into me without either reluctance or remorse.
But there was no chance even to make the attempt. I was strapped to the stirrups, with my hands firmly bound behind my back; and lest the steed, on which they had mounted me, should stray from the track, the lazo of one of my keepers was passed through the bitt-ring of the bridle, and then attached to the tree of the robber’s own saddle.
In this manner was our march conducted—the route being towards Orizava. There was no mistaking the direction: for the snow-capped summit of the great “Citlapetel” was right before our faces—piercing up into a sky of cloudless azure.
From the top of a ridge which we crossed, shortly after coming out of the timber, I discovered that we were yet at no great distance from Cerro Gordo itself; so near, that on glancing back—for we were now riding away from it—I could see the American flag upon “El Telegrafo,” and could even distinguish the stars and stripes!
My chase after the riderless horse had carried me several miles from Corral Falso; but I had been all the while riding back in the direction of the battle-field—in a line nearly parallel to the main road, over which my troop had been travelling. It was only on re-entering the timber that the chase had conducted me in a different direction—southward, towards Orizava.
I could now understand how I had fallen into the hands of Rayas and his robbers.
After the battle, these worthies had lingered in the neighbourhood of the field—for what purpose I knew not then—plunder, I supposed—and this was, no doubt, the explanation, so far as most of them were concerned. Their chief, however, had a different object; one which, ere long, I was enabled to comprehend.
The character of the country around Cerro Gordo—a labyrinth of cañons and barrancos—covered with a thick growth of tangled chapparal, rendered their remaining near the field of their defeat an easy matter—unattended with danger. They knew the pursuit had passed up the main road to Jalapa; and there was not the remotest chance of their being followed across country.