The White Chief: A Legend of Northern MexicoReid, Mayne
History
The White Chief: A Legend of Northern Mexico
Reid, Mayne
Southwest, New -- History -- Fiction
The sergeant was humiliated. He had for a long time been victor in
these sports--for Carlos had not been present until this day, or had
never before taken part in them. Vizcarra was little better pleased.
His favourite humbled--himself the loser of ten golden onzas--no small
sum, even to the Comandante of a frontier Presidio. Moreover, to be
jibed by the fair senoritas for losing a wager he had himself
challenged, and which, no doubt, he felt certain of winning. From that
moment Vizcarra liked not "Carlos the cibolero."
The next exhibition consisted in riding at full gallop to the edge of a
deep "zequia" which passed near the spot. The object of this was to
show the courage and activity of the rider as well as the high training
of the steed.
The zequia--a canal used for irrigation--was of such width that a horse
could not well leap over it, and deep enough to render it no very
pleasant matter for a horseman to get into. It therefore required both
skill and daring to accomplish the feat. The animal was to arrive upon
the bank of the canal in full run, and to be drawn up suddenly, so that
his four feet should rest upon the ground inside a certain line. This
line was marked at less than two lengths of himself from the edge of the
drain. Of course the bank was quite firm, else the accomplishment of
such a feat would have been impossible.
Many succeeded in doing it to perfection; and an admirable piece of
horsemanship it was. The horse, suddenly checked in his impetuous
gallop, upon the very brink of the zequia, and drawn back on his
haunches, with head erect, starting eyeballs, and open smoking nostrils,
formed a noble picture to look upon. Several, however, by way of
contrast, gave the crowd a ludicrous picture to laugh at. These were
either faint-hearted riders, who stopped short before arriving near the
bank, or bold but unskilful ones, who overshot the mark, and went plunge
into the deep muddy water. Either class of failure was hailed by groans
and laughter, which the appearance of the half-drowned and dripping
cavaliers, as they weltered out on the bank, rendered almost continuous.
On the other hand, a well-executed manoeuvre elicited _vivas_ of
applause.
No wonder that, under such a system of training and emulation, these
people are the finest riders in the world, and such they certainly are.
It was observed that Carlos the cibolero took no part in this game.
What could be the reason? His friends alleged that he looked upon it as
unworthy of him. He had already exhibited a skill in horsemanship of a
superior kind, and to take part in this would be seeking a superfluous
triumph. Such was in fact the feeling of Carlos.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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