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
Still, each carefully hid his apprehensions in his heart; nothing was
visible on the exterior; on the contrary, they redoubled their
politeness and obsequiousness toward each other, behaving rather like
brothers delighted to have met after a long separation, than as men who
two hours previously spoke together for the first time.
The sun had set about an hour, and it was quite dark when they came
within a short distance of the Jaguar's camp, whose bivouac fires
flashed out of the gloom, reflecting themselves with fantastic effects
of light on the surrounding objects, and imprinting on the rugged
scenery of the prairie a stamp of savage majesty.
"We have arrived," the hunter said, as he stopped his horse and turned
to his companion; "no one has perceived us; you can still turn back
without any fear of pursuit; what is your decision?"
"Canarios! Comrade," the soldier answered, shrugging his shoulders with
a disdainful air; "I have not come so far to shiver at the entrance of
the camp, and allow me to remark, with all the respect due to you, that
your remark appears to me singular at the least."
"I owed it to myself to make it; who knows whether you may not repent
to-morrow the hazardous step you are taking to-day?"
"That is possible. Well, what would you have? I will run the risk; my
determination is formed, and is unchangeable. So let us push on, in
Heaven's name."
"As you please, Caballero; within a quarter of an hour you will be in
the presence of the man you desire to see. You will have an explanation
with him, and my task will be accomplished."
"And I shall have nothing but thanks to offer you," the soldier quickly
interrupted him; "but let us not remain any longer here: we may attract
attention, and become the mark for a bullet, which I confess to you I am
not at all desirous of."
The hunter, without replying, let his horse feel the spur, and they
continued to advance.
Within a few minutes they entered the circle of light cast by the fire;
almost immediately the sharp click of a rifle being cocked was heard,
and a rough voice ordered them to stop in the devil's name.
The order, though not positively polite, was not the less peremptory,
and the two adventurers thought it advisable to obey.
Several armed men then issued from the entrenchments; and one of them,
addressing the strangers, asked them who they were, and what they wanted
at such an unseasonable hour.
"Who we are?" the American answered, firmly; "What we want? To come in
as quickly as we can."
"That is all very fine," the other replied; "but, if you do not tell us
your names, you will not enter so soon, especially as one of you wears a
uniform which is not in the odour of sanctity with us."
"All right, Ruperto," the American replied, "I am John Davis, and you
know me, I suppose; so let me pass, without delay. I answer for this
caballero, who has an important communication to make to the Chief."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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