I had been observing for some time that the mustang, although without a bridle in its mouth, carried one upon the pommel of its saddle. The reins were hanging in a loose coil over the horn.
This half explained to me why the animal had been going across country without a rider. Had it been bridled, I should have concluded that it had left its owner upon the field of Cerro Gordo, or parted with him in the hot pursuit succeeding that action.
But a bridle suspended from the saddle-bow with bit, curb, and head-piece attached forbade the conjecture; at the same time suggesting another: that the mustang must have made its escape from some temporary halting-place, where, like our own horses at Corral Falso, it had been unbridled to bait.
It was not this conjecture that influenced me to continue the chase; but the fact that the bridle-reins, suspended over the saddle-horn, had begun to trail among the animals feet, and promised, ere long, to prove an impediment to its flight. It was my observation of this that lured me on.
Chance, not prowess, was likely to give me the victory. But what mattered it, so long as there would be no one to witness the event?
My comrades would not know how I had effected the capture; and, instead of returning to them empty-handed crest-fallen with chagrin I should ride back in triumph; and so should Moro, the steel-grey mustang following at his heels.
Inspired by this pleasant anticipation, I once more struck the spur into the flank of my brave steed, which needed not such prompting. It was merely mechanical. Perhaps Moro knew as much, and forgave me for the unnecessary infliction.
Quite unnecessary, as it proved; for, at the very instant I was causing it, the riderless mustang, just as I had been wishing and expecting, became entangled in its trailing bridle, and rolled headlong upon the grass.
Before it could recover its legs, Moro was snorting by its side; and Moros rider, having forsaken his own steed, had looped the lazo around its neck, and secured it as a captive.
I was not left much time to congratulate myself on my good luck; for, in truth, it was luck, and only that, to which I had been indebted for the capture of the mustang.
Having secured the animal, as I supposed to a certainty, I was proceeding to re-insert its own bit between its teeth, in order the more easily to lead it along with me on the return journey to Corral Falso.
I was even full of self-gratulation chuckling over the conquest I had accomplished anticipating one of those pleasant little triumphs one feels on having performed a feat, however trifling, under the eyes of ones everyday associates.
I believed I should have nothing more to do than attach the captured mustang to the ring of my saddle-tree, remount my own steed, and ride back to the false enclosure.
The cup was at my lips; I had forgotten the slip.
Literally may I say the slip, though the word may need explanation.
I was returning towards my own steed, with the intention of once more regaining my saddle, and riding back in the direction I had come, when a swishing noise fell upon my ear, that caused the blood to curdle
within my veins, as if the sound so heard had been the summons of the last trumpet.
The wild cry that succeeded this sound added little to its terrors; for I knew that one was but the prelude to the other.
The first was to me a noise well known and easily identified. It was the whistling of lazos projected through the air. The second was but the triumphant cheer that accompanied their projection.
I looked up in dismay, which instantly became despair. It was not causeless. The air above me was a network of ropes, each with a running noose at its end.
I might not have observed their intricate coiling, nor perhaps did I at the moment. I was not allowed much time for minute observation. Almost in the same instant that the swishing sounded in my ears, I felt my body encircled by closing cords; and the next moment I was jerked from my feet, and flung with violence upon my back.
Story 1, Chapter XX A Cuadrilla of Salteadores
It was a party of horsemen, about forty in number irregularly armed, but all armed one way or another. They must have seen me as I advanced up the long opening among the trees, though I had no idea that I had been observed by human eye.
Perhaps they had not seen me, but only received warning of my approach by hearing the hoof-strokes of my horse; or they might have seen the steed I was in pursuit of, before mine had made its appearance in the avenue.
At all events, they had been made aware of my coming in some way, and had thrown themselves into an ambush on both sides of the path.
Improbable as it might appear, I could not help fancying that the grey mustang had been sent forth as a stool pigeon, so well had the creature succeeded in decoying me into their midst.
I scrambled over the ground, and at length managed to recover my legs. On looking up, I saw that I was surrounded; and felt, moreover, that, although permitted to regain my feet, I was still tightly held in the loops of numerous lazos, which encircled my neck, arms, waist, and limbs.