The Border Rifles: A Tale of the Texan WarAimard, Gustave
History
The Border Rifles: A Tale of the Texan War
Aimard, Gustave
Texas -- History -- To 1846 -- Fiction; Western stories
In this way, the Captain, by pretending to admit the ideas of this
ignorant Indian, had led him quietly to abandon them.
By this time all were astir in the camp, the arrieros were rubbing down
and loading the mules, while the troopers were saddling their horses and
making all preparations for a start.
The Captain watched all the movements with feverish energy, spurring
some on, scolding others, and assuring himself that his orders were
punctually carried out.
When all the preparations were completed, the young officer ordered that
the morning meal should be eaten all standing, and with the bridle
passed over the arm, in order to lose no time, and then gave the signal
for departure.
The soldiers mounted, but at the moment when the column started to leave
the camp finally, a loud noise was heard in the chaparral, the branches
were violently pulled back, and a horseman dressed in a dragoon uniform
appeared a short distance from the party, toward which he advanced at a
gallop.
On coming in front of the Captain, he stopped short, and raised his
hand respectfully to the peak of his forage cap.
"_Dios guarde a Vm!_" he said, "have I the honour of speaking with
Captain Don Juan Melendez?"
"I am he," the Captain answered in great surprise; "what do you want?"
"Nothing personally," the trooper said, "but I have to place a despatch
in your Excellency's hands."
"A despatch--from whom?"
"From his most Excellent General Don José-Maria Rubio, and the contents
of the despatch must be important, for the General ordered me to make
the utmost diligence, and I have ridden forty-seven leagues in nineteen
hours, in order to arrive more quickly."
"Good!" the Captain answered; "Give it here."
The dragoon drew from his bosom a large letter with a red seal, and
respectfully offered it to the officer.
The latter took it and opened it, but, before reading it, he gave the
motionless and impassive soldier before him a suspicious glance, which
he endured, however, with imperturbable assurance.
The man seemed to be about thirty years of age, tall and well built; he
wore his uniform with a certain amount of ease; his intelligent features
had an expression of craft and cunning, rendered more marked still by
his incessantly moving black eyes, which only rested with considerable
hesitation on the Captain.
Sum total, this individual resembled all Mexican soldiers, and there was
nothing about him that could attract attention or excite suspicion.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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