Taking the trail again, we kept on—now advancing at a slower pace, and with a greater degree of caution. Late rain had moistened the prairie-turf, and we could perceive the racks without dismounting. At intervals, there were stretches of drier surface, where the hoof had scarcely left its impression. In such places, one leaped from the saddle, and led the way on foot. Rube or Garey usually performed this office; and so rapidly did they move along the trail, that our horses were seldom in a walk. With bodies half bent, and eyes gliding along the ground, they pressed forward like hounds running by the scent, but, unlike these, the trackers made no noise. Not a word was spoken by any one. I had no list for speech; my agony was too intense for utterance.
With Cyprio I had conversed upon the harrowing theme, and that only at starting. From him I had gathered further details. No doubt, the matador had performed his office. Oh, God! without ears!
Cyprio had seen blood; it was streaming adown her neck and over her bosom: her slight garments were stained red with it. He knew not whence it came, or why she was bleeding. He was not present when that blood had been drawn; it was in her chamber, he thought. She was bleeding when the ruffians dragged her forth!
Belike, too, the herredero had done his work? Cyprio had seen the blacksmith, but not the fierro. He heard they had branded some at the piazza, among others the daughter of the alcalde—pobre Conchita! He did not see them brand the Dona Isolina.
The ruffian deed might have been accomplished for all that; there was plenty of time, while the boy lay hid, or before she had been dragged from her chamber.
How was she placed upon the horse?
Despite my heart’s bitterness, as I put these interrogatories, I could not help thinking of the Cossack legend. The famed classic picture came vividly before my mind. Wide was the distance between the Ukraine and the Rio Bravo. Had the monsters who re-enacted this scene on the banks of the Mexican river—had these ever heard of Mazeppa? Possibly their leader had; but it was still more probable that the fiendish thought was original.
The fashion at least was. Cyprio had seen and described it.
She was laid longitudinally upon the back of the steed, her head resting upon the point of his shoulder. Her face was downward, her cheek touching the withers. Her arms embraced the neck, and her wrists were made fast under the animal’s throat. Her body was held in this position by means of a belt around her waist, attached to a surcingle on the horse—both tightly buckled. In addition to this, her ankles, bound together by a thong, were fastened to the croup, with her feet projecting beyond the hips!
I groaned as I listened to the details.