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
The guide pushed on, without the least hesitation, appearing perfectly
sure of the road he followed, contenting himself by giving at lengthened
intervals a glance to the right or left, but not once checking the pace
of his horse.
It was nearly mid-day; the heat was growing stifling, the horses and
men, who had been on the march since four in the morning along almost
impracticable roads, were exhausted with fatigue, and imperiously
claimed a few hours' rest, which was indispensable before proceeding
further.
The Captain resolved to let the troop camp in one of those vast
clearings, so many of which are found in these parts, and are formed by
the fall of trees overthrown by a hurricane, or dead of old age.
The command to halt was given. The soldiers and arrieros gave a sigh of
relief, and stopped at once.
The Captain, whose eyes were accidentally fixed at this moment on the
guide, saw a cloud of dissatisfaction on his brow; still, feeling he
was watched, the man at once recovered himself, pretended to share the
general joy, and dismounted.
The horses and mules were unsaddled, that they might browse freely on
the young tree shoots and the grass that grew abundantly on the ground.
The soldiers enjoyed their frugal meal, and lay down on their zarapés to
sleep.
Ere long, the individuals composing the caravan were slumbering, with
the exception of two, the Captain and the guide.
Probably each of them was troubled by thoughts sufficiently serious to
drive away sleep, and keep them awake, when all wanted to repose.
A few paces from the clearing, some monstrous iguanas were lying in the
sun, wallowing in the grayish mud of a stream whose water ran with a
slight murmur through the obstacles of every description that impeded
its course. Myriads of insects filled the air with the continued buzzing
of their wings; squirrels leaped gaily from branch to branch; the birds,
hidden beneath the foliage, were singing cheerily, and here and there
above the tall grass might be seen the elegant head and startled eyes of
a deer or an ashata, which suddenly rushed beneath the covert with a low
of terror.
But the two men were too much occupied with their thoughts to notice
what was going on around them.
The Captain raised his head at the very moment when the guide had fixed
on him a glance of strange meaning: confused at being thus taken
unawares, he tried to deceive the officer by speaking to
him--old-fashioned tactics, however, by which the latter was not duped.
"It is a hot day, Excellency," he said, with a nonchalant air.
"Yes," the Captain answered, laconically.
"Do you not feel any inclination for sleep?"
"No."
"For my part, I feel my eyelids extraordinarily heavy, and my eyes close
against my will; with your permission I will follow the example of our
comrades, and take a few moments of that refreshing sleep they seem to
enjoy so greatly."
"One moment--I have something to say to you."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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