Майн Рид
The Scalp Hunters
The clattering of hoofs sounded behind me, and a horseman rode up alongside. I knew, without turning my head, that it was the trapper.
“Fair swop, they say, ain’t no stealin’. Putty har, too, it ur. Wagh! It won’t neyther match nor patch mine; but it makes one’s feelin’s easier.”
Puzzled at this speech, I turned to ascertain its meaning. I was answered by the sight that met my eye. An object was hanging from the old man’s belt, like a streak of snow-white flax. But it was not that. It was hair. It was a scalp!
There were drops of blood struggling down the silvery strands as they shook, and across them, near the middle, was a broad red band. It was the track of the trapper’s knife where he had wiped it!
Chapter Forty.
The Fight in the Pass
We entered the woods, and followed the Indian trail up stream. We hurried forward as fast as the atajo could be driven. A scramble of five miles brought us to the eastern end of the valley. Here the sierras impinged upon the river, forming a cañon. It was a grim gap, similar to that we had passed on entering from the west, but still more fearful in its features. Unlike the former, there was no road over the mountains on either side. The valley was headed in by precipitous cliffs, and the trail lay through the cañon, up the bed of the stream. The latter was shallow. During freshets it became a torrent; and then the valley was inaccessible from the east, but that was a rare occurrence in these rainless regions.
We entered the cañon without halting, and galloped over the detritus, and round huge boulders that lay in its bed. Far above us rose the frowning cliffs, thousands of feet overhead. Great rocks scarped out, abutting over the stream; shaggy pines hung top downward, clinging in their seams; shapeless bunches of cacti and mezcals crawled along the cliffs, their picturesque but gloomy foliage adding to the wildness of the scene.
It was dark within the pass, from the shadow of the jutting masses; but now darker than usual, for black storm-clouds were swathing the cliffs overhead. Through these, at short intervals, the lightning forked and flashed, glancing in the water at our feet. The thunder, in quick, sharp percussions, broke over the ravine; but as yet it rained not.
We plunged hurriedly through the shallow stream, following the guide. There were places not without danger, where the water swept around angles of the cliff with an impetuosity that almost lifted our horses from their feet; but we had no choice, and we scrambled on, urging our animals with voice and spur.
After riding for a distance of several hundred yards, we reached the head of the cañon and climbed out on the bank.
“Now, cap’n,” cried the guide, reining up, and pointing to the entrance, “hyur’s yur place to make stand. We kin keep them back till thur sick i’ the guts; that’s what we kin do.”
“You are sure there is no pass that leads out but this one?”
“Ne’er a crack that a cat kud get out at; that ur, ’ceptin’ they go back by the other eend; an’ that’ll take them a round-about o’ two days, I reckin.”
“We will defend this, then. Dismount, men! Throw yourselves behind the rocks!”
“If ’ee take my advice, cap, I’d let the mules and weemen keep for’ard, with a lot o’ the men to look arter ’em; them that’s ridin’ the meanest critters. It’ll be nose an’ tail when we do go; and if they starts now, yur see wa kin easy catch up with ’em t’other side o’ the parairar.”
“You are right, Rube! We cannot stay long here. Our provisions will give out. They must move ahead. Is that mountain near the line of our course, think you?”
As Seguin spoke, he pointed to a snow-crowned peak that towered over the plain, far off to the eastward.
“The trail we oughter take for the ole mine passes clost by it, cap’n. To the south’art o’ yon snowy, thur’s a pass; it’s the way I got clur myself.”
“Very well; the party can take the mountain for their guide. I will despatch them at once.”
About twenty men, who rode the poorest horses, were selected from the band. These, guarding the atajo and captives, immediately set out and rode off in the direction of the snowy mountain. El Sol went with this party, in charge of Dacoma and the daughter of our chief. The rest of us prepared to defend the pass.
Our horses were tied in a defile; and we took our stands where we could command the embouchure of the cañon with our rifles.
We waited in silence for the approaching foe. As yet no war-whoop had reached us; but we knew that our pursuers could not be far off; and we knelt behind the rocks, straining our eyes down the dark ravine.
It is difficult to give an idea of our position by the pen. The ground we had selected as the point of defence was unique in its formation, and not easily described; yet it is necessary you should know something of its peculiar character in order to comprehend what followed.
The stream, after meandering over a shallow, shingly channel, entered the cañon through a vast gate-like gap, between two giant portals. One of these was the abrupt ending of the granite ridge, the other a detached mass of stratified rock. Below this gate the channel widened for a hundred yards or so, where its bed was covered with loose boulders and logs of drift timber. Still farther down, the cliffs approached each other, so near that only two horsemen could ride between them abreast; and beyond this the channel again widened, and the bed of the stream was filled with rocks, huge fragments that had fallen from the mountain.
The place we occupied was among the rocks and drift, within the cañon, and below the great gap which formed its mouth. We had chosen the position from necessity, at at this point the bank shelved out and offered a way to the open country, by which our pursuers could outflank us, should we allow them to get so far up. It was necessary, therefore, to prevent this; and we placed ourselves to defend the lower or second narrowing of the channel. We knew that below that point beetling cliffs walled in the stream on both sides, so that it would be impossible for them to ascend out of its bed. If we could restrain them from making a rush at the shelving bank, we would have them penned up from any farther advance. They could only flank our position by returning to the valley, and going about by the western end, a distance of fifty miles at the least. At all events, we should hold them in check until the atajo had got a long start; and then, trusting to our horses, we intended to follow it in the night. We knew that in the end we should have to abandon the defence, as the want of provisions would not allow us to hold out for any length of time.
At the command of our leader we had thrown ourselves among the rocks. The thunder was now pealing over our heads, and reverberating through the cañon. Black clouds rolled along the cliffs, split and torn by brilliant jets. Big drops, still falling thinly, slapped down upon the stones.
As Seguin had told me, rain, thunder, and lightning are rare phenomena in these regions; but when they do occur, it is with that violence which characterises the storms of the tropics. The elements, escaping from their wonted continence, rage in fiercer war. The long-gathering electricity, suddenly displaced from its equilibrium, seems to revel in havoc, rending asunder the harmonies of nature.
The eye of the geognosist, in scanning the features of this plateau land, could not be mistaken in the character of its atmosphere. The dread cañons, the deep barrancas, the broken banks of streams, and the clay-cut channels of the arroyos, all testified that we were in a land of sudden floods.
Away to the east, towards the head waters of the river, we could see that the storm was raging in its full fury. The mountains in that direction were no longer visible. Thick rain-clouds were descending upon them, and we could hear the sough of the falling water. We knew that it would soon be upon us.
“What’s keepin’ them anyhow?” inquired a voice.
Our pursuers had time to have been up. The delay was unexpected.
“The Lord only knows!” answered another. “I s’pose thar puttin’ on a fresh coat o’ paint at the town.”
“They’ll get their paint washed off, I reckin. Look to yer primin’, hosses! that’s my advice.”
“By gosh! it’s a-goin’ to come down in spouts.”
“That’s the game, boyees! hooray for that!” cried old Rube.
“Why? Do you want to git soaked, old case?”
“That’s adzactly what this child wants.”
“Well, it’s more ’n I do. I’d like to know what ye want to git wet for. Do ye wish to put your old carcass into an agey?”
“If it rains two hours, do ’ee see,” continued Rube, without paying attention to the last interrogatory, “we needn’t stay hyur, do ’ee see?”
“Why not, Rube?” inquired Seguin, with interest.
“Why, cap,” replied the guide, “I’ve seed a skift o’ a shower make this hyur crick that ’ee wudn’t care to wade it. Hooray! it ur a-comin’, sure enuf! Hooray!”
As the trapper uttered these exclamations, a vast black cloud came rolling down from the east, until its giant winds canopied the defile. It was filled with rumbling thunder, breaking at intervals into louder percussions, as the red bolts passed hissing through it. From this cloud the rain fell, not in drops, but, as the hunter had predicted, in “spouts.”
The men, hastily throwing the skirts of their hunting shirts over their gun-locks, remained silent under the pelting of the storm.
Another sound, heard between the peals, now called our attention. It resembled the continuous noise of a train of waggons passing along a gravelly road. It was the sound of hoof-strokes on the shingly bed of the cañon. It was the horse-tread of the approaching Navajoes!
Suddenly it ceased. They had halted. For what purpose? Perhaps to reconnoitre.
This conjecture proved to be correct; for in a few moments a small red object appeared over a distant rock. It was the forehead of an Indian with its vermilion paint. It was too distant for the range of a rifle, and the hunters watched it without moving.
Soon another appeared, and another, and then a number of dark forms were seen lurking from rock to rock, as they advanced up the cañon. Our pursuers had dismounted, and were approaching us on foot.
Our faces were concealed by the “wrack” that covered the stones; and the Indians had not yet discovered us. They were evidently in doubt as to whether we had gone on, and this was their vanguard making the necessary reconnaissance.
In a short time the foremost, by starts and runs, had got close up to the narrow part of the cañon. There was a boulder below this point, and the upper part of the Indian’s head showed itself for an instant over the rock. At the same instant half a dozen rifles cracked; the head disappeared; and, the moment after, an object was seen down upon the pebbles, at the base of the boulder. It was the brown arm of the savage, lying palm upward. We knew that the leaden messengers had done their work.
The pursuers, though at the expense of one of their number, had now ascertained the fact of our presence, as well as our position; and the advanced party were seen retreating as they had approached.
The men who had fired reloaded their pieces, and, kneeling down as before, watched with sharp eyes and cocked rifles.
It was a long time before we heard anything more of the enemy; but we knew that they were deliberating on some plan of attack.
There was but one way by which they could defeat us: by charging up the cañon, and fighting us hand-to-hand. By an attack of this kind their main loss would be in the first volley. They might ride upon us before we could reload; and, far outnumbering us, would soon decide the day with their long lances. We knew all this; but we knew, too, that a first volley, when well delivered, invariably staggers an Indian charge, and we relied on such a hope for our safety.
We had arranged to fire by platoons, and thus have the advantage of a second discharge, should the Indians not retreat at the first.
For nearly an hour the hunters crouched under the drenching rain, looking only to keep dry the locks of their pieces. The water, in muddy rivulets, began to trickle through the shingle, and eddying around the rocks, covered the wide channel in which we now stood, ankle-deep. Both above and below us, the stream, gathered up by the narrowing of the channel, was running with considerable velocity.
The sun had set, at least it seemed so, in the dismal ravine where we were. We were growing impatient for the appearance of our enemy.
“Perhaps they have gone round,” suggested one.
“No; thar a-waitin’ till night. They’ll try it then.”
“Let ’em wait, then,” muttered Rube, “ef thur green enuf. A half an hour more’ll do; or this child don’t understan’ weather signs.”
“Hist! hist!” cried several voices together. “See; they are coming!”
All eyes were bent down the pass. A crowd of dark objects appeared in the distance, filling up the bed of the stream. They were the Indians, and on horseback. We knew from this that they were about to make a dash. Their movements, too, confirmed it. They had formed two deep, and held their bows ready to deliver a flight of arrows as they galloped up.
“Look out, boyees!” cried Rube; “thur a-comin’ now in airnest. Look to yur sights, and give ’em gos; do ’ee hear?”
As the trapper spoke, two hundred voices broke into a simultaneous yell. It was the war-cry of the Navajoes!
As its vengeful notes rang upon the cañon, they were answered by loud cheers from the hunters, mingled with the wild whoops of their Delaware and Shawano allies.
The Indians halted for a moment beyond the narrowing of the cañon, until those who were rearmost should close up. Then, uttering another cry, they dashed forward into the gap.
So sudden was their charge that several of them had got fairly through before a shot was fired. Then came the reports of the guns; the crack – crack – crack of rifles; the louder detonations of the Spanish pieces, mingled with the whizzing sound of Indian arrows. Shouts of encouragement and defiance were given on both sides; and groans were heard, as the grooved bullet or the poisoned barb tore up the yielding flesh.
Several of the Indians had fallen at the first volley. A number had ridden forward to the spot of our ambush, and fired their arrows in our faces. But our rifles had not all been emptied; and these daring savages were seen to drop from their saddles at the straggling and successive reports.
The main body wheeled behind the rocks, and were now forming for a second charge. This was the moment of danger. Our guns were idle, and we could not prevent them from passing the gap, and getting through to the open country.
I saw Seguin draw his pistol, and rush forward, calling upon those who were similarly armed to follow his example. We ran after our leader down to the very jaws of the cañon, and stood waiting the charge.
It was soon to come; for the enemy, exasperated by many circumstances, were determined on our destruction, cost what it might. Again we heard their fierce war-cry, and amidst its wild echoes the savages came galloping into the gap.
“Now’s yur time,” cried a voice; “fire! Hooray!”
The cracks of fifty pistols were almost simultaneous. The foremost horses reared up and fell back, kicking and sprawling in the gap. They fell, as it were, in a body, completely choking up the channel. Those who came on behind urged their animals forward. Some stumbled on the heap of fallen bodies. Their horses rose and fell again, trampling both dead and living among their feet. Some struggled over and fought us with their lances. We struck back with our clubbed guns, and closed upon them with our knives and tomahawks.
The stream rose and foamed against the rocks, pent back by the prostrate animals. We fought thigh-deep in the gathering flood. The thunder roared overhead, and the lightning flashed in our faces, as though the elements took part in the conflict!
The yelling continued wild and vengeful as ever. The hunters answered it with fierce shouts. Oaths flew from foaming lips, and men grappled in the embrace that ended only in death!
And now the water, gathered into a deep dam, lifted the bodies of the animals that had hitherto obstructed it, and swept them out of the gap. The whole force of the enemy would be upon us. Good heavens! they are crowding up, and our guns are empty!
At this moment a new sound echoed in our ears. It was not the shouts of men, nor the detonation of guns, nor the pealing of the thunder. It was the hoarse roaring: of the torrent!
A warning cry was heard behind us. A voice called out: “Run for your lives! To the bank! to the bank!”
I turned, and beheld my companions rushing for the slope, uttering words of terror and caution. At the same instant my eye became fixed upon an approaching object. Not twenty yards above where I stood, and just entering the cañon, came a brown and foaming mass. It was water, bearing on its crested front huge logs of drift and the torn branches of trees. It seemed as though the sluice of some great dam had been suddenly carried away, and this was the first gush of the escaping flood!
As I looked it struck the portals of the cañon with a concussion like thunder, and then, rearing back, piled up to a height of twenty feet. The next moment it came surging through the gap.
I heard their terrified cry as the Indians wheeled their horses and fled. I ran for the bank, followed by my companions. I was impeded by the water, which already reached to my thighs; but with desperate energy I plunged and weltered through it, till I had gained a point of safety.
I had hardly climbed out when the torrent rolled past with a hissing, seething sound. I stood to observe it. From where I was I could see down the ravine for a long reach. The Indians were already in full gallop, and I saw the tails of their hindmost horses just disappearing round the rocks.
The bodies of the dead and wounded were still lying in the channel. There were hunters as well as Indians. The wounded screamed as they saw the coming flood. Those who had been our comrades called to us for help; we could do nothing to save them. Their cries had hardly reached us when they were lifted upon the crest of the whirling current, like so many feathers, and carried off with the velocity of projectiles!
“Thar’s three good fellows gone under! Wagh!”
“Who are they?” asked Seguin, and the men turned round with inquiring looks.
“Thar’s one Delaware, and big Jim Harris, and – ”
“Who is the third man that’s missing? Can anyone tell?”
“I think, captain, it’s Kirker.”
“It is Kirker, by the ’tarnal! I seed him down. Wagh! They’ll lift his har to a sartinty.”
“Ay, they’ll fish him out below. That’s a sure case.”
“They’ll fish out a good haul o’ thur own, I reckin. It’ll be a tight race, anyhow. I’ve heern o’ a horse runnin’ agin a thunder shower; but them niggurs ’ll make good time, if thur tails ain’t wet afore they git t’other eend – they will.”
As the trapper spoke, the floating and still struggling bodies of his comrades were carried to a bend in the cañon, and whirled out of sight. The channel was now filled with the foaming yellow flood that frothed against the rocks as it forged onward.
Our danger was over for the time. The cañon had become impassable; and, after gazing for a while upon the torrent, most of us with feelings of awe, we turned away, and walked toward the spot where we had left our horses.
Chapter Forty One.
The Barranca
We staked our horses upon the open plain, and, returning to the thicket, cut down wood and kindled fires. We felt secure. Our pursuers, even had they escaped back to the valley, could not now reach us, except by turning the mountains or waiting for the falling of the flood.
We knew that that would be as sudden as its rise, should the rain cease; but the storm still raged with unabated fury.
We could soon overtake the atajo; but we determined to remain for some time at the cañon, until men and horses had refreshed themselves by eating. Both were in need of food, as the hurried events of the preceding days had given no opportunity for a regular bivouac.
The fires were soon blazing under shelter of the overhanging rocks; and the dried meat was broiled for our suppers, and eaten with sufficient relish. Supper ended, we sat, with smoking garments, around the red embers. Several of the men had received wounds. These were rudely dressed by their comrades, the doctor having gone forward with the atajo.
We remained for several hours by the cañon. The tempest still played around us, and the water rose higher and higher. This was exactly what we wished for; and we had the satisfaction of seeing the flood increase to such a height that, as Rube assured us, it could not subside for hours. It was then resolved that we should continue our journey.
It was near midnight when we drew our pickets and rode off. The rain had partially blinded the trail made by El Sol and his party, but the men who now followed it were not much used to guide-posts, and Rube, acting as leader, lifted it at a trot. At intervals the flashes of lightning showed the mule tracks in the mud, and the white peak that beckoned us in the distance.
We travelled all night. An hour after sunrise we overtook the atajo, near the base of the snow mountain. We halted in the mountain pass; and, after a short while spent in cooking and eating breakfast, continued our journey across the sierra. The road led through a dry ravine, into an open plain that stretched east and south beyond the reach of our vision. It was a desert.
I will not detail the events that occurred to us in the passage of that terrible jornada. They were similar to those we experienced in the deserts to the west. We suffered from thirst, making one stretch of sixty miles without water. We passed over sage-covered plains, without a living object to break the death-like monotony that extended around us. We cooked our meals over the blaze of the artemisia. But our provisions gave out; and the pack mules, one by one, fell under the knives of the hungry hunters. By night we camped without fires; we dared not kindle them; for though, as yet, no pursuers had appeared, we knew they must be on our trail. We had travelled with such speed that they had not been able to come up with us.
For three days we headed towards the south-east. On the evening of the third we descried the Mimbres Mountains towering up on the eastern border of the desert. The peaks of these were well known to the hunters, and became our guides as we journeyed on.
We approached the Mimbres in a diagonal direction, as it was our purpose to pass through the sierra by the route of the old mine, once the prosperous property of our chief. To him every feature of the landscape was a familiar object. I observed that his spirits rose as we proceeded onward.
At sundown we reached the head of the Barranca del Oro, a vast cleft that traversed the plain leading down to the deserted mine. This chasm, like a fissure caused by some terrible earthquake, extended for a distance of twenty miles. On either side was a trail; for on both the table-plain ran in horizontally to the very lips of the abyss. About midway to the mine, on the left brow, the guide knew of a spring, and we proceeded towards this with the intention of camping by the water.
We dragged wearily along. It was near midnight when we arrived at the spring. Our horses were unsaddled and staked on the open plain.
Here Seguin had resolved that we should rest longer than usual. A feeling of security had come over him as he approached these well-remembered scenes.
There was a thicket of young cotton-trees and willows fringing the spring, and in the heart of this a fire was kindled. Another mule was sacrificed to the manes of hunger; and the hunters, after devouring the tough steaks, flung themselves upon the ground and slept. The horse-guard only, out by the caballada, stood leaning upon his rifle, silent and watchful.
Resting my head in the hollow of my saddle, I lay down by the fire. Seguin was near me with his daughter. The Mexican girls and the Indian captives lay clustered over the ground, wrapped in their tilmas and striped blankets. They were all asleep, or seemed so.
I was as wearied as the rest, but my thoughts kept me awake. My mind was busy with the bright future. “Soon,” thought I, “shall I escape from these horrid scenes; soon shall I breathe a purer atmosphere in the sweet companionship of my beloved Zoe. Beautiful Zoe! before two days have passed I shall again be with you, press your impassioned lips, call you my loved: my own! Again shall we wander through the silent garden by the river groves; again shall we sit upon the moss-grown seats in the still evening hours; again shall we utter those wild words that caused our hearts to vibrate with mutual happiness! Zoe, pure and innocent as the angels.” The child-like simplicity of that question, “Enrique, what is to marry?” Ah! sweet Zoe! you shall soon learn. Ere long I shall teach you. Ere long wilt thou be mine; for ever mine!
“Zoe! Zoe! are you awake? Do you lie sleepless on your soft couch? or am I present in your dreams? Do you long for my return, as I to hasten it? Oh, that the night were past! I cannot wait for rest. I could ride on sleepless – tireless – on – on!”
My eye rested upon the features of Adèle, upturned and shining in the blaze of the fire. I traced the outlines of her sister’s face: the high, noble front, the arched eyebrow, and the curving nostril. But the brightness of complexion was not there; the smile of angelic innocence was not there. The hair was dark, the skin browned; and there was a wildness in the expression of the eye, stamped, no doubt, by the experience of many a savage scene. Still was she beautiful, but it was beauty of a far less spiritual order than that of my betrothed.
Her bosom rose and fell in short, irregular pulsations. Once or twice, while I was gazing, she half awoke, and muttered some words in the Indian tongue. Her sleep was troubled and broken.
During the journey, Seguin had waited upon her with all the tender solicitude of a father; but she had received his attentions with indifference, or at most regarded them with a cold thankfulness. It was difficult to analyse the feelings that actuated her. Most of the time she remained silent and sullen.
The father endeavoured, once or twice, to resuscitate the memories of her childhood, but without success; and with sorrow at his heart he had each time relinquished the attempt.
I thought he was asleep. I was mistaken. On looking more attentively in his face, I saw that he was regarding her with deep interest, and listening to the broken phrases that fell from her lips. There was a picture of sorrow and anxiety in his look that touched me to the heart.
As I watched him, the girl murmured some words, to me unintelligible, but among them I recognised the name “Dacoma.”
I saw that Seguin started as he heard it.
“Poor child!” said he, seeing that I was awake; “she is dreaming, and a troubled dream it is. I have half a mind to wake her out of it.”
“She needs rest,” I replied.
“Ay, if that be rest. Listen! again ‘Dacoma.’”
“It is the name of the captive chief.”
“Ay; they were to have been married according to their laws.”
“But how did you learn this?”
“From Rube: he heard it while he was a prisoner at the town.”
“And did she love him, do you think?”
“No. It appears not. She had been adopted as the daughter of the medicine chief, and Dacoma claimed her for a wife. On certain conditions she was to have been given to him; but she feared, not loved him, as her words now testify. Poor child! a wayward fate has been hers.”
“In two journeys more her sufferings will be over. She will be restored to her home, to her mother.”
“Ah! if she should remain thus it will break the heart of my poor Adèle.”
“Fear not, my friend. Time will restore her memory. I think I have heard of a parallel circumstance among the frontier settlements of the Mississippi.”
“Oh! true, there have been many. We will hope for the best.”
“Once in her home the objects that surrounded her in her younger days may strike a chord in her recollection. She may yet remember all. May she not?”
“Hope! Hope!”
“At all events, the companionship of her mother and sister will soon win her from the thoughts of savage life. Fear not! She will be your daughter again.”
I urged these ideas for the purpose of giving consolation. Seguin made no reply; but I saw that the painful and anxious expression still remained clouding his features.
My own heart was not without its heaviness. A dark foreboding began to creep into it from some undefined cause. Were his thoughts in communion with mine?
“How long,” I asked, “before we can reach your house on the Del Norte?”
I scarce knew why I was prompted to put this question. Some fear that we were still in peril from the pursuing foe?
“The day after to-morrow,” he replied, “by the evening. Heaven grant we may find them safe!”
I started as the words issued from his lips. They had brought pain in an instant. This was the true cause of my undefined forebodings.
“You have fears?” I inquired, hastily.
“I have.”
“Of what? of whom?”
“The Navajoes.”
“The Navajoes!”
“Yes. My mind has not been easy since I saw them go eastward from the Pinon. I cannot understand why they did so, unless they meditated an attack on some settlements that lie on the old Llanos’ trail. If not that, my fears are that they have made a descent on the valley of El Paso, perhaps on the town itself. One thing may have prevented them from attacking the town: the separation of Dacoma’s party, which would leave them too weak for that; but still the more danger to the small settlements both north and south of it.”
The uneasiness I had hitherto felt arose from an expression which Seguin had dropped at the Pinon spring. My mind had dwelt upon it, from time to time, during our desert journeyings; but as he did not speak of it afterwards, I thought that he had not attached so much importance to it. I had reasoned wrongly.
