Free Carlota by Scott O’Dell Page B

the other. I said goodbye to my father and led the horses at a quick trot out of the camp to the clump of trees against the hill.
    The sun shone somewhere beyond the mountain rim, but here below, the mist was cold and heavy. I sat on Tiburón and kept my eyes on the place, which was close by, where the trail led out of the canyon. Far off I could see the fire of our camp and the men standing around it.
    I heard no sound, nothing, as the first gringo rode out of the brush. He was seated on a small gray horse and he had braid on his hat and on his shoulders. He held the reins in one hand. A scabbard and sword hung from his saddle horn. I had no idea then, as he rode slowly past me, that he was General Kearny of the American Army.
    From where I stood under the oak trees on a little rise, the valley stretched before me. On my right hand was the narrow ravine down which General Kearny came and his officers and men would come. The ravine led into a valley, off to my left, that was about three leagues in length and about a league in width, shallow and rolling. A stream that wandered through it was marked by willows and sycamore trees.
    Across the valley, where we had camped that night, I saw our men run for their horses. Before the officer on the gray gelding had gone more than a dozen steps, they rode out of the camp and raced at a hard gallop away from him, down the valley.
    More officers now came into view, riding in single file. Among them I recognized the man on the spotted horse who had stopped at Dos Hermanos, Lieutenant Carson.
    With Don Andrés and Don Roberto in the lead, our men were fleeing. Or so I thought. I guess that the gringos thought so too, for at once they set off in pursuit.
    By now the first of the soldiers had ridden out of the canyon. Their horses looked scrawny and tired. The soldiers stopped to gaze at the valley, then at their officers in pursuit of the fleeing Californians.
    But as the soldiers stood there at the mouth of the ravine, the Californians suddenly turned and rode back, still at a gallop, in a wide sweep along the far side of the valley, near the hill that was covered with cactus. This proved to be a ruse. It was to make the gringos think that our band was in flight.
    The gringo officers pulled up their horses, not knowing what to expect. They did not know whether to follow the Californians or to stand where they were.
    Then the Californians wheeled and galloped down upon the standing officers. I heard the voice of Don Andrés Pico. "Santiago and at them!" he shouted. It was the battle cry of the Spaniards who drove the Moors from Spain.
    A gringo captain yanked at his sword, but he found that the sword was rusted in its scabbard. He drew a pistol and shouted to the officers who stood facing the oncoming lancers. I heard the thud of a musket, the one that belonged to Martinez. The shot struck the captain and he fell from the saddle.
    I saw Lieutenant Carson, the man who had come to the ranch asking for food. He raised his rifle to use as a club. General Kearny who stood near him was struck by a lance and dropped to the ground. Most of the gringo officers were now on the ground, pierced by the steel-tipped lances.
    The Californians swept past. I looked for my father, but I did not see him. Don Roberto raised his hand and waved to me. I still did not see my father. The lancers galloped hard for the lower part of the valley.
    A second group of men rode out of the canyon. These were gringo soldiers, not officers. They charged toward the battlefield in the meadow where the officers sprawled in the grass. The soldiers saw our lancers fleeing westward down the valley. They raised their rifles and set off to pursue them.
    They had not gone far when the lancers quickly wheeled, as they had done once before, and galloped back upon the soldiers. The soldiers, like the officers, now found that their rifles had rusted in the rain and would not shoot. They raised them to use as clubs, but our men