These could not be going in search of the dead body of Henry Poindexter. At that hour no one suspected that the young man was dead, or even that he was missing. The riderless horse had not yet come in to tell the tale of woe. The settlement was still slumbering, unconscious that innocent blood had been spilt.
Though setting out from nearly the same point, and proceeding in a like direction, there was not the slightest similarity between the two parties of mounted men. Those earliest a-start were all of pure Iberian blood; or this commingled with Aztecan. In other words they were Mexicans.
It required neither skill nor close scrutiny to discover this. A glance at themselves and their horses, their style of equitation, the slight muscular development of their thighs and hips—more strikingly observable in their deep-tree saddles—the gaily coloured serapés shrouding their shoulders, the wide velveteen calzoneros on their legs, the big spurs on their boots, and broad-brimmed sombreros on their heads, declared them either Mexicans, or men who had adopted the Mexican costume.
That they were the former there was not a question. The sallow hue; the pointed Vandyke beard, covering the chin, sparsely—though not from any thinning by the shears—the black, close-cropped chevelure; the regular facial outline, were all indisputable characteristics of the Hispano-Moro-Aztecan race, who now occupy the ancient territory of the Moctezumas.
One of the four was a man of larger frame than any of his companions. He rode a better horse; was more richly apparelled; carried upon his person arms and equipments of a superior finish; and was otherwise distinguished, so as to leave no doubt about his being the leader of the cuartilla.
He was a man of between thirty and forty years of age, nearer to the latter than the former; though a smooth, rounded cheek—furnished with a short and carefully trimmed whisker—gave him the appearance of being younger than he was.
But for a cold animal eye, and a heaviness of feature that betrayed a tendency to behave with brutality—if not with positive cruelty—the individual in question might have been described as handsome.
A well formed mouth, with twin rows of white teeth between the lips, even when these were exhibited in a smile, did not remove this unpleasant impression. It but reminded the beholder of the sardonic grin that may have been given by Satan, when, after the temptation had succeeded, he gazed contemptuously back upon the mother of mankind.
It was not his looks that had led to his having become known among his comrades by a peculiar nick-name; that of an animal well known upon the plains of Texas.
His deeds and disposition had earned for him the unenviable soubriquet “El Coyote.”