Chapter Fifty Two.
The mulatto and zambo—Manuel and Pepe were their respective names—in half-an-hour after were ready for the road. Their preparations did not cost them half that time; but a quarter of an hour was spent on the guisado, and each smoked a husk cigarrito, while their horses were grinding up the half-dozen heads of green maize that had been thrown them.
Having finished their cigars, the hunters leaped into their saddles, and rode off.
The mulatto was armed with a long rifle, of the kind used by American hunters, and a knife of the sort since known as a “Bowie,” with a strong thick blade keenly pointed and double-edged for some inches from the point—a terrible weapon in close combat. These arms he had brought with him from the Mississippi valley, where he had learnt how to use them.
The zambo carried an escopeta strapped in a slanting direction along the flap of his saddle, a machete upon his thigh, and a bow with a quiver of arrows hung over his back. The last of these weapons—for certain purposes, such as killing game, or when a silent shot may be desirable—is preferred to any sort of fire-arms. Arrows can be delivered more rapidly than bullets, and, should the first shot fail, the intended victim is less likely to be made aware of the presence of his enemy.
In addition to these weapons, both had pistols stuck in their belts, and lazos hanging coiled from their saddle-bows.
Behind them on the croup each carried his provisions—a few strips of tasajo with some cold tortillas tied in a piece of buckskin. A double-headed calabash for water, with sundry horns, pouches, and bags, completed their equipment. A pair of huge gaunt dogs trotted behind their horses’ heels, fierce and savage-looking as their masters. One was the wolf-dog of the country, the other a Spanish bloodhound.
“What road, Man’l?” inquired the zambo as they parted from the hut; “straight down to the Pecos?”
“No, Pepe boy: must climb, go round. Seen making down valley, somebody guess what we’re after—send him word we’re coming. He suspect—we not grow rich so easily. No—must get up by old track—cross to dry gully—down that to Pecos. Take longer—make things surer, boy Pepe.”