In perfect coolness, we regarded them—at least so much can I say for my comrades. Though life or death rested upon the issue, both were as cool at that moment as if they had been only observing the movements of a gang of buffaloes! There was no sign of trepidation—hardly a symptom of excitement visible in the countenance of either. Now and then, a half-muttered ejaculation, a rapid exchange of thought—relating to some fresh movement of the enemy—alone told that both were alive to the peril of the situation.
I cannot affirm that I shared with them this extreme and perfect sang froid; though upon my nerves, less indifferent to danger, their example had its effect, and inspired me with courage sufficient for the occasion. Besides, I drew confidence from another source. In case of defeat, I had a resource unshared by my companions—perhaps unthought of by them. Trusting to the matchless speed of my horse, as a last resort, I might possibly escape. I could have ridden off at that moment without fear of being overtaken, but the craven thought was not entertained for an instant. By my honour, no! I should have accepted death upon the spot rather than desert the brave men who stood by my side. To them I was indebted for my life. ’Twas for me that theirs were now in peril; and from the first moment I had determined to stand by them to the end, and sell my blood at its dearest. In the event of both falling before me, it would then be time enough to think of flight.
Even this contingency had the effect of strengthening my courage, and at that moment I viewed the vengeful foe with a coolness and freedom from fear that now, in the retrospect, surprises me.
During the interval of inaction that followed, I was cool enough to reflect upon the demand which the guerrilla leader had made—the surrender of my person. Why was I singled out? We were all enemies alike—all Americans or Texans—on Mexican soil, and armed for strife. Why did they want me alone?
Was it because I was superior in rank to my companions? But how knew they this?—how knew they I was a “ranger-captain”? Ha! they must have known it before; they must have come out specially in search of me!
A light flashed suddenly into my mind—a suspicion strong almost as certainty. But for the sun glancing in my eyes, I might have earlier obtained an explanation of the mystery.
I drew down the visor of my forage-cap, stretching it to its full extent; I increased the shade with my flattened palms, and from under them strained my eyes upon the leader of the band. Already his voice, while in conversation with Garey, had aroused a faint recollection within me. I had heard that voice only once, but I thought I remembered it. Guided by my suspicion, I now scrutinised more closely the countenance of the man. Fortunately the face was turned towards me, and, despite the dazzling of the sunbeams, despite the slouched sombrero, I recognised the dark features of Rafael Ijurra! In that glance I comprehended the situation. He it was who wanted the “ranger-captain!”
There was doubt no longer. My suspicion was a certainty; but with the next throb of my heart rose another, a thousand times more painful—a suspicion of—
With an effort, I stifled my emotions; a movement was perceptible among the guerrilleros; the moment of action had arrived!