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Scalp Hunters

Chapter Forty Nine. A Novel Mode of Equitation

When consciousness returned, I found that I was lying on the ground, and my dog, the innocent cause of my captivity, was licking my face. I could not have been long senseless, for the savages were still gesticulating violently around me. One was waving them back. I recognised him. It was Dacoma!

The chief uttered a short harangue that seemed to quiet the warriors. I could not tell what he said, but I heard him use frequently the word Quetzalcoatl. I knew that this was the name of their god, but I did not understand, at the time, what the saving of my life could have to do with him.

I thought that Dacoma was protecting me from some feeling of pity or gratitude, and I endeavoured to recollect whether I had shown him any special act of kindness during his captivity. I had sadly mistaken the motives of that splendid savage.

My head felt sore. Had they scalped me? With the thought I raised my hand, passing it over my crown. No. My favourite brown curls were still there; but there was a deep cut along the back of my head — the dent of a tomahawk. I had been struck from behind as I came out, and before I could fire a single bullet.

Where was Rube? I raised myself a little and looked around. He was not to be seen anywhere.

Had he escaped, as he intended? No; it would have been impossible for any man, with only a knife, to have fought his way through so many. Moreover, I did not observe any commotion among the savages, as if an enemy had escaped them. None seemed to have gone off from the spot. What then had — ? Ha! I now understood, in its proper sense, Rube’s jest about his scalp. It was not a double-entendre, but a mot of triple ambiguity.

The trapper, instead of following me, had remained quietly in his den, where, no doubt, he was at that moment watching me, his scapegoat, and chuckling at his own escape.

The Indians, never dreaming that there were two of us in the cave, and satisfied that it was now empty, made no further attempts to smoke it.

I was not likely to undeceive them. I knew that Rube’s death or capture could not have benefited me; but I could not help reflecting on the strange stratagem by which the old fox had saved himself.

I was not allowed much time for reflection. Two of the savages, seizing me by the arms, dragged me up to the still blazing ruin. On, heavens! was it for this Dacoma had saved me from their tomahawks? for this, the most cruel of deaths!

They proceeded to tie me hand and foot. Several others were around, submitting to the same treatment. I recognised Sanchez the bull-fighter, and the red-haired Irishman. There were three others of the band, whose names I had never learnt.

We were in an open space in front of the burning ranche. We could see all that was going on.

The Indians were clearing it of the fallen and charred timbers to get at the bodies of their friends. I watched their proceeding’s with less interest, as I now knew that Seguin was not there.

It was a horrid spectacle when the rubbish was cleared away, laying bare the floor of the ruin. More than a dozen bodies lay upon it, half-baked, half-roasted! Their dresses were burned off; but by the parts that remained still intact from the fire, we could easily recognise to what party each had belonged. The greater number of them were Navajoes. There were also the bodies of hunters smoking inside their cindery shirts. I thought of Garey; but, as far as I could judge, he was not among them.

There were no scalps for the Indians to take. The fire had been before them, and had not left a hair upon the heads of their dead foemen.

Seemingly mortified at this, they lifted the bodies of the hunters, and tossed them once more into the flames that were still blazing up from the piled rafters. They gathered the knives, pistols, and tomahawks that lay among the ashes; and carrying what remained of their own people out of the ruin, placed them in front. They then stood around them in a circle, and with loud voices chanted a chorus of vengeance.

During all this proceeding we lay where we had been thrown, guarded by a dozen savages. We were filled with fearful apprehensions. We saw the fire still blazing, and we saw that the bodies of our late comrades had been thrown upon it. We dreaded a similar fate for our own.

But we soon found that we were reserved for some other purpose. Six mules were brought up, and upon these we were mounted in a novel fashion. We were first set astride on the bare backs, with our faces turned tailwards. Our feet were then drawn under the necks of the animals, where our ankles were closely corded together. We were next compelled to bend down our bodies until we lay along the backs of the mules, our chins resting on their rumps. In this position our arms were drawn down until our hands met underneath, where they were tied tightly by the wrists.

The attitude was painful; and to add to this, our mules, not used to be thus packed, kicked and plunged over the ground, to the great mirth of our captors.

This cruel sport was kept up even after the mules themselves had got tired of it, by the savages pricking the animals with their spears, and placing branches of the cactus under their tails. We were fainting when it ended.

Our captors now divided themselves into two parties, and started up the barranca, taking opposite sides. One went with the Mexican captives and the girls and children of the tribe. The larger party, under Dacoma — now head chief, for the other had been killed in the conflict — guarded us.

We were carried up that side on which was the spring, and, arriving at the water, were halted for the night. We were taken off the mules and securely tied to one another, our guard watching us without intermission till morning. We were then packed as before and carried westward across the desert.

Chapter Fifty. A Fast Dye

After a four days’ journey, painful even to be remembered, we re-entered the valley of Navajoa. The other captives, along with the great caballada, had arrived before us; and we saw the plundered cattle scattered over the plain.

As we approached the town, we were met by crowds of women and children, far more than we had seen on our former visit. These were guests, who had come in from other villages of the Navajoes that lay farther to the north. They were there to witness the triumphant return of the warriors, and partake of the great feast that always follows a successful foray.

I noticed many white faces among them, with features of the Iberian race. They had been captives; they were now the wives of warriors. They were dressed like the others, and seemed to participate in the general joy. They, like Seguin’s daughter, had been Indianised.

There were many Mestizoes, half-bloods, the descendants of Indians and their Mexican captives, the offspring of many a Sabine wedding.

We were carried through the streets, and out to the western side of the village. The crowd followed us with mingled exclamations of triumph, hatred, and curiosity. At the distance of a hundred yards or so from the houses, and close to the river bank, our guards drew up.

I had turned my eyes on all sides as we passed through, as well as my awkward position would permit I could see nothing of her, or any of the female captives. Where could they be? Perhaps in the temple.

This building stood on the opposite side of the town, and the houses prevented me from seeing it. Its top only was visible from the spot where we had been halted.

We were untied and taken down. We were happy at being relieved from the painful attitude in which we had ridden all the way. We congratulated ourselves that we should now be allowed to sit upright. Our self-congratulation was brief. We soon found that the change was “from the frying-pan into the fire.” We were only to be “turned.” We had hitherto lain upon our bellies; we were now to be laid upon our backs.

In a few moments the change was accomplished, our captors handling us as unceremoniously as though we had been inanimate things. Indeed we were nearly so.

We were spread upon the green turf on our backs. Around each man four long pins were driven into the ground, in the form of a parallelogram. Our arms and legs were stretched out to their widest, and raw-hide thongs were looped about our wrists and ankles. These were passed over the pins, and drawn so tightly that our joints cracked with the cruel tension. Thus we lay, faces upturned, like so many hides spread out to be sun-dried.

We were placed in two ranks, “endways,” in such a manner that the heads of the front-rank men rested between the feet of their respective “rears.” As there were six of us in all, we formed three files, with short intervals between.

Our attitudes and fastenings left us without the power of moving a limb. The only member over which we had any control was the head; and this, thanks to the flexibility of our necks, we could turn about, so as to see what was going on in front or on either side of us.

As soon as we were fairly staked down, I had the curiosity to raise my head and look around me. I found that I was “rear rank, right file,” and that my file leader was the ci-devant soldier O’Cork.

The Indian guards, after having stripped us of most of our clothing, left us; and the girls and squaws now began to crowd around. I noticed that they were gathering in front of my position, and forming a dense circle around the Irishman. I was struck with their ludicrous gestures, their strange exclamations, and the puzzled expression of their countenances.

“Ta — yah! Ta — yah!” cried they, and the whole crowd burst into shrill screams of laughter.

What could it mean? Barney was evidently the subject of their mirth; but what was there about him to cause it, more than about any of the rest of us?

I raised my head to ascertain: the riddle was solved at once. One of the Indians, in going off, had taken the Irishman’s cap with him, and the little, round, red head was exposed to view. It lay midway between my feet, like a luminous ball, and I saw that it was the object of diversion.

By degrees, the squaws drew nearer, until they were huddled up in a thick crowd around the body of our comrade. At length one of them stooped and touched the head, drawing back her fingers with a start and a gesture, as though she had burned them.

This elicited fresh peals of laughter, and very soon all the women of the village were around the Irishman, “scroodging” one another to get a closer view. None of the rest of us were heeded, except to be liberally trampled upon; and half a dozen big, heavy squaws were standing upon my limbs, the better to see over one another’s shoulders.

As there was no great stock of clothing to curtain the view, I could see the Irishman’s head gleaming like a meteor through the forest of ankles.

After a while the squaws grew less delicate in their touch; and catching hold of the short, stiff bristles, endeavoured to pluck them out, all the while screaming with laughter.

I was neither in the state of mind nor the attitude to enjoy a joke; but there was a language in the back of Barney’s head, an expression of patient endurance, that would have drawn smiles from a gravedigger; and Sanchez and the others were laughing aloud.

For a long time our comrade endured the infliction, and remained silent; but at length it became too painful for his patience, and he began to speak out.

“Arrah, now, girls,” said he, in a tone of good-humoured intreaty, “will yez be aizy? Did yez niver see rid hair afore?”

The squaws, on hearing the appeal, which of course they understood not, only showed their white teeth in loud laughter.

“In trath, an’ iv I had yez on the sod, at the owld Cove o’ Cark beyant, I cud show yez as much av it as ’ud contint ye for yer lives. Arrah, now, keep aff me! Be the powers, ye’re trampin’ the toes aff me feet! Ach! don’t rug me! Holy Mother! will yez let me alone? Divil resave ye for a set of — ”

The tone in which the last words were uttered showed that O’Cork had at length lost his temper; but this only increased the assiduity of his tormentors, whose mirth now broke beyond bounds. They plucked him harder than ever, yelling all the while; so that, although he continued to scold, I could only hear him at intervals ejaculating: “Mother av Moses!” “Tare-an-ages!” “Holy vistment!” and a variety of similar exclamations.

This scene continued for several minutes; and then, all at once, there was a lull, and a consultation among the women, that told us they were devising some scheme.

Several girls were sent off to the houses. These presently returned, bringing a large olla, and another vessel of smaller dimensions. What did they intend to do with these? We soon learned.

The olla was filled with water from the adjacent stream, and carried up, and the smaller vessel was set down beside Barney’s head. We saw that it contained the yucca soap of the Northern Mexicans. They were going to wash out the red!

The Irishman’s hand-stays were now loosened, so that he could sit upright; and a copious coat of the “soft-soap” was laid on his head, completely covering his hair. A couple of sinewy squaws then took hold of him by the shoulders, and with bunches of bark fibres applied the water, and scrubbed it in lustily.

The application seemed to be anything but pleasant to Barney, who roared out, ducking his head on all sides to avoid it. But this did not serve him. One of the squaws seized the head between her hands, and held it steady, while the other set to it afresh and rubbed harder than ever.

The Indians yelled and danced around; but in the midst of all I could hear Barney sneezing, and shouting in a smothered voice —

“Holy Mother! — htch-tch! Yez may rub — tch-itch! — till yez fetch-tch the skin aff — atch-ich-ich! an’ it won’t — tscztsh! — come out. I tell yez — itch-ch! it’s in the grain — itch-itch! It won’t come out — itch-itch! — be me sowl it won’t — atch-itch-hitch!”

But the poor fellow’s expostulations were in vain. The scrubbing continued, with fresh applications of the yucca, for ten minutes or more; and then the great olla was lifted, and its contents dashed upon his head and shoulders.

What was the astonishment of the women to find that instead of modifying the red colour, it only showed forth, if possible, more vivid than ever!

Another olla of water was lifted, and soused about the Irishman’s ears, but with no better effect.

Barney had not had such a washing for many a day; at least, not since he had been under the hands of the regimental barber.

When the squaws saw that, in spite of all their efforts, the dye still stuck fast, they desisted, and our comrade was again staked down. His bed was not so dry as before; neither was mine, for the water had saturated the ground about us, and we lay in mud. But this was a small vexation, compared with many others we were forced to put up with.

For a long time the Indian women and children clustered around us, each in turn minutely examining the head of our comrade. We, too, came in for a share of their curiosity; but O’Cork was “the elephant.”

They had seen hair like ours oftentimes upon their Mexican captives; but, beyond a doubt, Barney’s was the first red poll that had ever been scratched in the valley of Navajoa.

Darkness came on at length, and the squaws returned to the village, leaving us in charge of the guards, who all the night sat watchfully beside.

Chapter Fifty One. Astonishing the Natives.

Up to this time we had no knowledge of the fate that was designed for us; but, from all that we had ever heard of these savages, as well as from our own experience of them, we anticipated that it would be a cruel one.

Sanchez, however, who knew something of their language, left us no room to doubt such a result. He had gathered from the conversation of the women what was before us. After these had gone away, he unfolded the programme as he had heard it.

“To-morrow,” said he, “they will dance the mamanchic — the great dance of Montezuma. That is a fête among the girls and women. Next day will be a grand tournament, in which the warriors will exhibit their skill in shooting with the bow, in wrestling, and feats of horsemanship. If they would let me join them, I could show them how.”

Sancho, besides being an accomplished torero, had spent his earlier years in the circus, and was, as we all knew, a most splendid horseman.

“On the third day,” continued he, “we are to ‘run amuck,’ if you know what that is.”

We had all heard of it.

“And on the fourth — ”

“Well? upon the fourth?”

“They will roast us!”

We might have been more startled at this abrupt declaration had the idea been new to us, but it was not. The probability of such an end had been in our thoughts ever since our capture. We knew that they did not save us at the mine for the purpose of giving us an easier death; and we knew, too, that these savages never made men prisoners to keep them alive. Rube was an exception; but his story was a peculiar one, and he escaped only by his extreme cunning. “Their god,” continued Sanchez, “is the same as that of the Mexican Aztecs; for these people are of that race, it is believed. I don’t know much about that, though I’ve heard men talk of it. He is called by a queer, hard name. Carrai! I don’t remember it.”

“Quetzalcoatl?”

“Caval! that’s the word. Pues, señores; he is a fire-god, and fond of human flesh; prefers it roasted, so they say. That’s the use we’ll be put to. They’ll roast us to please him, and at the same time to satisfy themselves. Dos pajaros al un golpe!” (Two birds with one stone.)

That this was to be our fate was no longer probable, but certain; and we slept upon the knowledge of it the best way we could.

In the morning we observed dressing and painting among the Indians. After that began dancing, the dance of the mamanchic.

This ceremony took place upon the prairie, at some distance out in front of the temple.

As it was about commencing, we were taken from our spread positions and dragged up near it, in order that we might witness the “glory of the nation.”

We were still tied, however, but allowed to sit upright. This was some relief, and we enjoyed the change of posture much more than the spectacle.

I could not describe the dance even if I had watched it, which I did not. As Sanchez had said, it was carried on only by the women of the tribe. Processions of young girls, gaily and fantastically attired, and carrying garlands of flowers, circled and leaped through a variety of figures. There was a raised platform, upon which a warrior and maiden represented Montezuma and his queen, and around these the girls danced and chanted. The ceremony ended by the dancers kneeling in front, in a grand semicircle. I saw that the occupants of the throne were Dacoma and Adèle. I fancied that the girl looked sad.

“Poor Seguin!” thought I: “there is none to protect her now. Even the false father, the medicine chief, might have been her friend. He, too, is out of the way, and — ”

But I did not occupy much time with thoughts of her; there was a far more painful apprehension than that. My mind, as well as my eyes, had dwelt upon the temple during the ceremony. We could see it from the spot where we had been thrown down; but it was too distant for me to distinguish the faces of the white females that were clustered along its terraces. She no doubt was among them, but I was unable to make her out. Perhaps it was better I was not near enough. I thought so at the time.

I saw Indian men among the captives; and I had observed Dacoma, previous to the commencement of the dance, proudly standing before them in all the paraphernalia of his regal robes.

Rube had given me the character of this chief: brave, but brutal. My heart was oppressed with a painful heaviness as we were hurried back to our former places.

Most of the next night was spent by the Indians in feasting. Not so with us. We were rarely and scantily fed; and we suffered, too, from thirst, our savage guards scarcely deigning to supply us with water, though a river Was running at our feet.

Another morning, and the feasting recommenced. More sheep and cattle were slaughtered, and the fires steamed anew with the red joints that were suspended over them.

At an early hour the warriors arrayed themselves, though not in war attire, and the tournament commenced. We were again dragged forward to witness their savage sports, but placed still farther out on the prairie.

I could distinguish, upon the terrace of the temple, the whitish dresses of the captives. The temple was their place of abode.

Sanchez had told me this. He had heard it from the Indians as they conversed one with another. The girls were to remain there until the fifth day, that after our sacrifice. Then the chief would choose one of the number for his own household, and the warriors would “gamble” for the rest! Oh, these were fearful hours!

Sometimes I wished that I could see her again once before I died. And then reflection whispered me, it was better not. The knowledge of my fate would only add fresh bitterness to hers. Oh, these were fearful hours!

I looked at the savage tournament. There were feats of arms and feats of equitation. Men rode at a gallop, with one foot only to be seen over the horse, and in this attitude threw the javelin or shot the unerring shaft. Others vaulted from horse to horse, as they swept over the prairie at racing speed. Some leaped to their saddles, while their horses were running at a gallop, and some exhibited feats with the lasso. Then there was a mock encounter, in which the warriors unhorsed each other, as knights of the olden time.

It was, in fact, a magnificent spectacle — a grand hippodrome of the desert; but I had no eyes for it.

It had more attraction for Sanchez. I saw that he was observing every new feat with interested attention. All at once he became restless. There was a strange expression on his face; some thought, some sudden resolve, had taken possession of him.

“Say to your braves,” said he, speaking to one of our guards in the Navajo tongue; “say that I can beat the best of them at that. I could teach them to ride a horse.”

The savage reported what his prisoner had said, and shortly after several mounted warriors rode up, and replied to the taunt.

“You! a poor white slave, ride with the warriors of Navajo! Ha! ha! ha!”

“Can you ride upon your head?” inquired the torero.

“On our heads? How?”

“Standing upon your head while your horse is in a gallop.”

“No; nor you, nor anyone. We are the best riders on the plains; we cannot do that.”

“I can,” affirmed the bull-fighter, with emphasis.

“He is boasting! he is a fool,” shouted several.

“Let us see!” cried one. “Give him a horse; there is no danger.”

“Give me my own horse, and I will show you.”

“Which is your horse?”

“None of them now, I suppose; but bring me that spotted mustang, and clear me a hundred lengths of him on the prairie, and I shall teach you a trick.”

As I looked to ascertain what horse Sanchez meant, I saw the mustang which he had ridden from the Del Norte. I noticed my own favourite, too, browsing with the rest.

After a short consultation among themselves, the torero’s request was acceded to. The horse he had pointed out was lassoed out of the caballada and brought up, and our comrade’s thongs were taken off. The Indians had no fear of his escaping. They knew that they could soon overtake such a steed as the spotted mustang; moreover, there was a picket constantly kept at each entrance of the valley. Even could he beat them across the plains, it would be impossible for him to get out to the open country. The valley itself was a prison.

Sanchez was not long in making his preparations. He strapped a buffalo-skin tightly on the back of his horse, and then led him round for some time in a circle, keeping him in the same track.

After practising thus for a while, he dropped the bridle and uttered a peculiar cry, on hearing which the animal fell into a slow gallop around the circle. When the horse had accomplished two or three rounds, the torero leaped upon his back, and performed the well-known feat of riding on his head.

Although a common one among professional equestrians, it was new to the Navajoes, who looked on with shouts of wonder and admiration. They caused the torero to repeat it again and again, until the spotted mustang had become all of one colour.

Sanchez, however, did not leave off until he had given his spectators the full programme of the “ring,” and had fairly “astonished the natives.”

When the tournament was ended, and we were hauled back to the river-side, the torero was not with us. Fortunate Sanchez! He had won his life! Henceforth he was to be riding-master to the Navajo nation!