“How?”
“You see this dark line. It is not three miles distant. You know that timber like that does not grow on the naked face of a cliff. It is a gorge, and, I’ll warrant, a watercourse too. They will pass through it.”
“Beautiful! We could meet them as they came up it,” cried several at once.
“No, lads—no! You are all wrong. They will keep the bottom—the heavy timber, I warrant you. It’s no use losing time. We must round to the road, and forward. Who knows that we may not find work enough yet? Come!”
So saying, our commanding officer rose up, and, walking back to the arroyo, leapt into his saddle. Of course we followed his example, but with no very amiable feelings. I, for one, felt satisfied that we might have made a dashing thing of it, and entered the camp with flying colours. I felt, and so did my friend Clayley, like a schoolboy who had come too late for his lesson, and would gladly have been the bearer of a present to his master: moreover, we had learned from our comrades that it was the expressed intention of the commander-in-chief to capture as many of the enemy as possible on this occasion. This determination arose from the fact, well authenticated, that hundreds who had marched out of Vera Cruz on parole had gone direct to Cerro Gordo, with the intention of fighting us again; and no doubt some of these honourable soldiers were among the gentry now climbing down the barranca.
With these feelings, Clayley and I were anxious to do something that might cover our late folly, and win our way back to favour at head-quarters.
“Let me take fifty of your men and try this. You know, Major Twing, I have a score to rub out.”
“I cannot, Captain—I cannot. We must on. Forward!”
And the next moment we were moving at a trot in the direction of El Plan.
For the first time I felt angry at Twing; and, drawing my bridle tighter, I fell back to the rear. What would I not have given for the “Rifle Rangers” at that moment?