Майн Рид
The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse
Chapter Twenty Six.
Vows of Vengeance
I soon fell asleep again, and this time slept long and profoundly.
It was after nightfall, – in fact, near midnight, when I awoke. The air had grown chilly, but I found I had not been neglected; my serape was wrapped closely around me, and with a buffalo-robe, had sufficiently protected me from the cold while I slept.
On awaking, I felt much better and stronger. I looked around for my companions. The fire had gone out – no doubt intentionally extinguished, lest its glare amid the darkness might attract the eye of some roving Indian. The night was a clear one, though moonless; but the heaven was spangled with its sparkling worlds, and the starlight enabled me to make out the forms of the two trappers and the group of browsing horses. Of the former, one only was asleep; the other sat upright, keeping guard over the camp. He was motionless as a statue: but the small spark gleaming like a glowworm from the bowl of his tobacco pipe, gave token of his wakefulness. Dim as the light was, I could distinguish the upright form to be that of the earless trapper. It was Garey who was sleeping.
I could have wished it otherwise. I was anxious to have some conversation with the younger of my companions; I was longing for an explanation, and I should have preferred addressing myself to Garey.
My anxiety would not allow me to wait, and I turned towards Rube. He sat near me, and I spoke in a low tone, so as not to awake the sleeper. “How came you to find me?”
“By follerin yur trail.”
“Oh, you followed me then! From the settlements?”
“Not so fur. Bill an me wur camped in the chapparil, an spied you a gallupin arter the white hoss, as ef all the devils out o’ hell wur arter you. I knowd yur at a glimp; so did Bill. Sez I: ‘Bill, thet ur’s the young fellur as tuk me for a grizzly up thur in the mountains,’ and the reckoleckshun o’ the sark’instance sot me a larfin till my ole ribs ached. ‘It ur the same,’ sez Bill; an jest then, we met a Mexikin who hed been yur guide, gallupin about in sarch o’ you. He gin us a story ’bout some gurl thet hed sent you to catch the white hoss; some saynyora with a dodrotted long name. ‘Durn the weemen!’ sez I to Bill. Didn’t I, Bill?”
To this interesting interrogatory, Garey, who was but half asleep, gave an assenting grunt.
“Wal,” continued Rube, “seem thur wur a pettycoat in the case, I sez to Bill, sez I: ‘Thet young fellur ain’t a-gwine to pull up till eyther he grups the hoss, or the hoss gits clur off.’
“Now, I know’d you wur well mounted, but I knowd you wur arter the fastest critter on all these parairas; so I sez to Bill, sez I: ‘Billee, thur boun for a long gallup.’ Sez Bill: ‘Thet ur sartin.’
“Wal! Bill and me tuk the idee in our heads, thet you mout git lost, for we seed the white hoss wur a makin for the big paraira. It ain’t the biggest paraira in creashun, but it ur one of the wust to git strayed on. Yur greenhorns wur all gone back, so Bill and me catched up our critters, an as soon as we kud saddle ’em, put arter you. When we kumd out in the paraira, we seed no signs o’ you, ’ceptin yur trail. Thet we follered up; but it wur night long afore we got half way hyur, an wur obleeged to halt till sun-up.
“Wal – in the mornin, the trail wur nurly blind, on account o’ the rain; an it tuk us a good spell afore we reached the gully. ‘Thur,’ sez Bill, ‘the hoss hes jumped in, an hyur’s the trail o’ the young fellur leadin down the bank.’ Wal, we wur jest turn in to go down, when we seed yur own hoss a good ways off on the paraira, ’ithout saddle or bridle. We rid straight for him, an when we got closter, we seed somethin on the groun, right under the hoss’s nose. Thet somethin turned out to be yurself an the grizzly, lyin in grups, as quiet as a kupple o’ sleepin ’possums. Yur hoss wur a squealin like a bag o’ wild-cats, an at fust Bill an me thort you hed gone under. But upon a closter view, we seed you wur only a faintin, while the bar wur as dead as a buck. Of coorse we sot about docterin you, to fotch you roun agin.”
“But the steed? the white steed?”
“Bill hyur grupped him in the gully. A leetle further down it’s stopped up wi’ big rocks. We knowd thet, for we’d been over this groun’ afore. We knowd the hoss kudn’t a got over the rocks, an Bill went arter an foun him, on a ledge whur he hed clomb out o’ reech o’ the flood; an then he lazooed the critter, an fotched ’im up hyur. Now, young fellur, you’ve got the hul story.”
“An the hoss,” added Garey, rising from his recumbent position, “he’s yourn, capt’n. Ef you hadn’t rid him down, I couldn’t a roped him so easy. He’s yourn, ef yu’ll accept o’ him.”
“Thanks, thanks! not for the gift alone, but I may thank you for my life. But for you, I might never have left this spot. Thanks! old comrades, thanks!”
Every point was now cleared up. There was mystery no longer, though, from an expression which Garey had dropped, I still desired a word with him in private.
On further inquiry, I learned that the trappers were on their way to take part in the campaign. Some barbarous treatment they had experienced from Mexican soldiers at a frontier post, had rendered both of them inveterate foes to Mexico; and Rube declared he would never be contented until he had “plugged a score of the yellur-hided vamints.” The breaking out of the war gave them the opportunity they desired, and they were now on their way, from a distant part of prairie-land, to take a hand in it.
The vehemence of their hostility towards the Mexicans somewhat surprised me – as I knew it was a recent feeling with them – and I inquired more particularly into the nature of the ill-treatment they had received. They answered me by giving a detailed account of the affair. It had occurred at one of the Mexican frontier towns, where, upon a slight pretext, the trappers had been arrested and flogged, by order of the commanding officer of the post.
“Yes–s!” said Rube, the words hissing angrily through his teeth; “yes–s, flogged! – a mountain-man flogged by a cussed monkey of a Mexikin! Ne’er a mind! ne’er a mind! By the ’tarnal God! – an when I say thet, I swar it – this niggur don’t leave Mexiko till he hes rubbed out a soger for every lash they gin him – an that’s twenty!”
“Hyur’s another, old hoss!” cried Garey, with equal earnestness of manner – “hyur’s another that swars the same oath!”
“Yes, Billee, boy! I guess we’ll count some in a skrimmage. Thur’s two a’ready! lookee thur, young fellur!”
As Rube said this, he held his rifle close to my eyes, pointing with his finger to a particular part of the stock. I saw two small notches freshly cut in the wood. I knew well enough what these notches meant; they were a registry of the deaths of two Mexicans, who had fallen by the hand or bullet of the trapper. They had not been the only victims of that unerring and deadly weapon. On the same piece of wood-work I could see long rows of similar souvenirs, apart from each other, only differing a little in shape. I knew something of the signification of these horrible hieroglyphics; I knew they were the history of a life fearfully spent – a life of red realities.
The sight was far from pleasant. I turned my eyes away, and remained silent.
“Mark me, young fellur!” continued Rube, who noticed that I was not gratified by the inspection; “don’t mistake Bill Garey an me for wild beests; we ain’t thet quite; we’ve been mighty riled, I reck’n; but f’r all thet, we ain’t a-gwine to take revenge on weemen an childer, as Injuns do. No – weemen an childer don’t count, nor men neyther, unless thur sogers. We’ve no spite agin the poor slaves o’ Mexiko. They never did me nor Bill harm. We’ve been on one skurry, along wi’ the Yutaws, down to the Del Nort settlements. Thur’s whur I made them two nicks; but neyther Bill or me laid a finger on the weemen an childer. It wur bekase the Injuns did, thet we left ’em. We’re jest kum from thur. We want fair fight among Christyun whites; thet’s why we’re hyur. Now, young fellur!”
I was glad to hear Rube talk in this manner, and I so signified to him. Indianised as the old trapper was – with all his savageness, all his reckless indifference to ordinary emotions – I knew there was still a touch of humanity in his breast. Indeed, on more than one occasion, I had witnessed singular displays of fine feeling on the part of Rube. Circumstanced as he was, he is not to be judged by the laws of civilised life.
“Your intention, then, is to join some corps of rangers, is it not?” I asked after a pause.
“I shed like it,” replied Garey: “I shed like to join your company, capt’n; but Rube hyur won’t consent to it.”
“No!” exclaimed the other with emphasis; “I’ll jine no kumpny. This niggur fights on his own hook. Yur see, young fellur, I hev been all my life a free mountaineeman, an don’t understan sogerin, nohow. I mout make some mistake, or I moutn’t like some o’ the reg’lashuns; thurfor I prefers fightin arter my own fashun. Bill an me kin take care o’ ourselves, I reck’n. Kin we, Bill? – eh, boyee?”
“I guess so, old hoss,” replied Garey mildly; “but for all that, Rube, I think it would be better to go at it in a reglar way – particlarly as the capt’n hyur would make the sogerin part as easy as possible. Wudn’t yur, capt’n?”
“The discipline of my corps is not very severe. We are Rangers, and our duties are different from those of regular soldiers – ”
“It ur no use,” interrupted Rube; “I must fight as I’ve allers fit, free to kum an free to go whur I please. I won’t bind myself to nuthin. I moutn’t like it, an mout desart.”
“But by binding yourself,” suggested I, “you draw pay and rations; whereas – ”
“Durn pay an rashuns!” exclaimed the old trapper, striking the butt of his rifle upon the prairie. “Durn pay an rashuns! Young fellur, I fights for revenge!”
This was said in an energetic and conclusive manner, and I urged my advice no further.
“Look hyur, cap!” continued the speaker in a more subdued tone. “Though I ain’t a-gwine to jine yur fellurs, yet thur ur a favour I wud axe from yur; an thet is, to let me an Bill keep by you, or foller whuriver you lead. I don’t want to spunge for rashuns; we’ll git thet ef thur’s a head o’ game in Mexiko, an ef thur ain’t, why we kin eat a Mexikin. Can’t we, Bill? – eh, boyee?”
Garey knew this was one of Rube’s jokes, and laughingly assented; adding at the same time, that he would prefer eating any other “sort o’ a vamint.”
“Ne’er a mind!” continued Rube: “we ain’t a-gwine to starve. So, young fellur, ef you agrees to our goin on them tarms, yu’ll heve a kupple o’ rifles near you thet won’t miss fire —they won’t.”
“Enough! You shall go and come as you please. I shall be glad to have you near me, without binding you to any term of service.”
“Hooray! – thet’s the sort for us! Kum, Billee! – gie’s another suck out o’ yur gourd. Hyur’s success to the Stars and Stripes! Hooray for Texas!”
Chapter Twenty Seven
A “Weed”-Prairie on Fire.
My recovery was rapid. My wounds, though deep, were not dangerous; they were only flesh-wounds, and closed rapidly under the cauterising influence of the lechuguilla. Rude as my doctors were, in the matter of such a malady, I could not have fallen into better hands. Both, during their lives of accident and exposure, had ample practice in the healing art; and I would have trusted either, in the curing of a rattle-snake’s bite, or the tear of a grizzly bear’s claw, in preference to the most accomplished surgeon. Old Rube, in particular, thoroughly understood the simple pharmacopoeia of the prairies; and his application to my wounds of the sap of the pita plant, obtained among the rocks of the ravine, bespoke his skill. This plant, a bromelia, is of the same genus as the Agave Americana, and by travellers often confounded with the latter, though quite a distinct plant from the maguey of cultivation. It grows in most parts of Mexico and South America, extending as far north as the latitude of 30 degrees, and even farther. There is no spot too arid or barren to give support to it. It is a true desert plant; and even on the naked rock, its curved and thorny blades may be seen radiating on all sides from the tall flower-stalk, that shoots upward like a signal-staff, to the height of twenty feet. As already observed, its uses are manifold: the fibre of its leaves can be manufactured into thread, cordage, and cloth; fences are constructed of the growing plant, and thatch of the blades when cut; its sap, distilled, furnishes the fiery but not unwholesome mezcal; and the large egg-shaped core or stem is eaten for food. Tribes of Indians – Lipans, Comanches, and Apachés – use it extensively as an article of diet. One branch of the great Apaché nation are distinguished – “Mezcaleros” (eaters of the mezcal-plant). They bake it in ground-ovens of heated stones, along with the flesh of the wild-horse. It is firm when cooked, with a translucent appearance like candied fruits. I have eaten it; it is palatable – I might say delicious. The mastication of it is accompanied by a prinkling sensation upon the tongue, singular to one unaccustomed to it. It is a gift of nature to the desert regions – where it grows in greatest luxuriance, and where it serves the same purpose in the economy of the savage natives as the ixias, mesembryanthemums, and zarnias (the Caffre bread), upon the arid karoos of Southern Africa.
One of the most esteemed qualities of this bromelia is the cauterising property of its juice – well known to the natives of the Mexican table-land, and to the Peruvians, where several species are found of like virtues. It will cause ordinary wounds to cicatrise in a few hours, and even “ugly gashes” will yield to it in time.
My companions had full knowledge of its effects; and, having extracted the sap from its large succulent leaves, and boiled it to the consistency of honey, they applied it to my wounds. This operation they from time to time repeated, and the scratches were healed in a period marvellously short. My strength, too, was soon restored. Garey with his gun catered for the cuisine, and the ruffed grouse, the prairie partridge, and roasted ribs of fresh venison, were dainties even to an invalid.
In three days I was strong enough to mount; and bidding adieu to our camping-ground, we all three set forth, taking with us our beautiful captive. He was still as wild as a deer; but we had adopted precautions to prevent him from getting away from us. The trappers led him between them, secured to the saddles of both by a lazo.
We did not return in the direction of our old trail; my companions knew a shorter route – at least one upon which we should sooner reach water – and that is the most important consideration on a prairie-journey. We headed in a more westerly direction; by which, keeping in a straight line, we expected to strike the Rio Grande some distance above the rancheria.
The sky was leaden-grey – the sun not being visible – and with no guide in the heavens, we knew that we might easily diverge from a direct course. To provide against this, my companions had recourse to a compass of their own invention.
On taking our departure from camp, a sapling was stuck into the ground, and upon the top of this was adjusted a piece of bear’s-skin, which, with the long hair upon it, could be distinguished at the distance of a mile or more. The direction having been determined upon, another wand, similarly garnished with a tuft of the bear’s-skin, was set up several hundred yards distant from the first.
Turning our backs upon these signal-posts, we rode off with perfect confidence, glancing back at intervals to make sure we were keeping the line. So long as they remained in sight, and aligned with each other, we could not otherwise than travel in a straight path. It was an ingenious contrivance, but it was not the first time I had been witness to the ingenuity of my trapper-friends, and therefore I was not astonished.
When the black tufts were well-nigh hidden from view, a similar pair – the materials for which had been brought along – were erected; and these insured our direction for another stretch of a mile; then fresh saplings were planted; and so on, till we had passed over six miles of the plain.
We now came in sight of timber right ahead of us, and apparently about five miles distant. Towards this we directed our course.
We reached the timber about noon, and found it to consist of black-jack and post-oak groves, with mezquite and wild china-trees interspersed, and here and there some taller trees of the honey-locust (Gleditschia triacanthos). It was not a close forest, but a succession of groves, with openings between – avenues and grassy glades.
There were many pleasant spots, and, faint with the ride, I would fain have chosen one of them for a resting-place; but there was no water, and without water we could not halt. A short distance farther, and we should reach a stream – a small arroyo, an affluent of the Rio Grande. So promised my companions, and we rode onward.
After passing a mile or so through the timber-openings, we came out on the edge of a prairie of considerable extent. It was full three miles in diameter, and differed altogether from the plain we had left behind us. It was of the kind known in hunter phraseology as a “weed-prairie” – that is, instead of having a grassy turf, its surface was covered in a thick growth of flowering-plants, as helianthus, malvas, altheas, hibiscus, and other tall annuals standing side by side, and frequently laced together by wild-pea vines and various species of convolvulus. Such a flower-prairie was the one now before us, but not a flower was in sight; they had all bloomed, faded, and fallen – perhaps unseen by human eye – and the withered stalks, burned by a hot sun, looked brown and forbidding. They tracked and broke at the slightest touch, their seed-pods shelling their contents like rain upon the loose earth.
Instead of striking across this prairie, we skirted around its edge; and at no great distance arrived on the banks of the arroyo.
We had made but a short march; but my companions, fearful that a longer ride might bring on fever, proposed to encamp there for the night, and finish our journey on the following day. Though I felt strong enough to have gone farther, I made no objection to the proposal; and our horses were at once unsaddled and picketed near the banks of the arroyo.
The stream ran through a little bottom-valley covered with a sward of grass, and upon this we staked our steeds; but a better place offered for our camp upon the higher ground; and we chose a spot under the shade of a large locust-tree, upon the edge of the great wilderness of weeds. To this place we carried our saddles, bridles, and blankets, and having collected a quantity of dead branches, kindled our camp-fire.
We had already quenched our thirst at the stream, but, although we were all three hungry enough, the dried flesh of the grizzly bear proved but a poor repast. The rivulet looked promising for fish. Garey had both hooks and line in his “possible sack,” and I proposed the angle.
The young trapper soon baited his hooks; and he and I, repairing to the stream, cast our lines, sat down, and waited for a nibble.
Fishing was not to Rube’s taste. For a few minutes he stood watching us, but evidently with little interest, either in the sport, or what it might produce. Rube was not a fish-eater.
“Durn yur fish!” exclaimed he at length: “I’d ruther hev a hunk o’ deer-meat than all the fish in Texas. I’ll jest see ef I kin scare up somethin; the place looks likely for deer – it do.”
So saying, the old trapper shouldered his long rifle, and stalking off up the bank, was soon out of sight.
Garey and I continued bobbing with but indifferent success.
We had succeeded in drawing out a couple of cat-fish, not the most palatable of the finny tribe, when the crack of Rube’s rifle sounded in our ears. It seemed to come from the weed-prairie, and we both ran up on the high bank to ascertain what success had attended the shot.
Sure enough, Rube was out in the prairie, nearly half a mile distant from the camp. His head and shoulders were just visible above the tall stalks of the helianthus; and we could see, by his stooping at intervals, that he was bending over some game he had killed, skinning or cutting it up. The game we could not see, on account of the interposed culms of the weeds.
“A deer, I reck’n,” remarked Garey. “Buffler don’t often o’ late years stray so far to the southert, though I’ve killed some on the Grande, higher up.”
Without other remark passing between us, we descended to the arroyo, and recommenced our fishing. We took it for granted that Rube did not require any aid, or he would have signalled to us. He would soon return with his game to the camp.
We had just discovered that silver-fish (a species of hyodori) were plentiful in the stream, and this kept our attention fixed. We were desirous of taking some of them for our dinner, knowing them to be excellent eating, and far superior to the despised “cat.”
Having changed our bait for some small pieces of gold-lace, which my uniform furnished, we succeeded in pulling several of these beautiful creatures out of the water; and were congratulating one another upon the delicious broil we should have, when our conversation was suddenly interrupted by a crackling noise, that caused both of us to turn our faces towards the prairie.
The sight that met our eyes prompted us to spring simultaneously to our feet. Our horses already reared upon their lazoes – neighing with affright – and the wild screams of Rube’s mustang-mare were loud and continuous. There was no mystery about the cause; that was obvious at a glance. The wind had blown some sparks among the dry flower-stalks. The weed-prairie was on fire!
Though startled at the first sight of the conflagration, for ourselves we had nothing to fear. The bottom on which we stood was a sward of short buffalo-grass; it was not likely to catch fire, and even if it did, we could easily escape from it. There is not much danger in a burning prairie where the grass is light and short; one can dash through the line of flame, with no greater injury than the singeing of his hair, or a little suffocation from the smoke; but upon a plain covered with rank and thick vegetation, the case is very different. We therefore felt no apprehension for ourselves, but we did for our companion; his situation filled us with alarm.
Was he still where we had last seen him? This was the first question we asked one another. If so, then his peril was great indeed; his escape would be almost hopeless!
We had observed him a full half-mile out among the weeds, and on foot too. To have attempted a retreat towards the opposite side of the prairie, would have been folly: it was three miles off. Even on horseback, the flames would have overtaken him! Mounted, or on foot, he could not have got out of the way through those tall stalks – laced as they were by pea-vines and other trailing plants – whose tough tangle would have hindered the progress even of the strongest horse!
To have returned to the near side would be his only chance; but that would be in the very face of the fire, and, unless he had started long before the flames broke out, it was evident that his retreat in that direction would be cut off. As already stated, the weeds were as dry as tinder; and the flames, impelled by gusts of wind, at intervals shot out their red tongues, licking up the withered stalks, coiling like serpents around them, and consuming them almost instantaneously.
Filled with forebodings, my companion and I ran in the direction of the prairie.
When first noticed by us, the fire had extended but a few yards on each side of the locust-tree we had chosen for our camp. We were not opposite this point at the moment, having gone a little way down the arroyo; we ran, therefore, not towards the camp, but for the nearest point of high ground, in order to discover the situation of our friend.
On reaching the high ground, about two hundred yards from the locust, we saw to our astonishment that the fire had already spread, and was now burning forward to the spot where we had climbed up!
We had only a moment to glance outward, when the conflagration, hissing and crackling as it passed, rolled in front of us, and with its wall of flame shut off our view of the prairie.
But that glance had shown us all, and filled our hearts with sorrow and dismay; it revealed the situation of the trapper – no longer a situation of peril, but, as we supposed, of certain death!
He was still in the place where we had last seen him; he had evidently made no attempt to escape from it. Perhaps the knowledge that such an attempt must have failed, and hindered him from making it. The reflection that he might as well die where he stood, as be licked up by the flames in the act of fleeing from them, had bound him to the spot, wavering and undecided!
Oh! it was a dread sight to see that old man, hardened sinner that he was about to be snatched into eternity!
I remember his wild look, as the red flame, roiling between us, shut him from our sight! We saw him but for a single instant: his head and shoulders were alone visible above the tall weeds. He made no sign either with voice or arm; but I fancied that even at that distance I could read his glance of despair!
Was there no hope? Could no exertion be made to rescue him? Could he do nothing for himself? Was there no chance of his being able to clear a circle round him, and burn off a space before the line of fire could come up? Such a ruse has often availed, but no – never in such a ground as that! The weeds were too thick and tall – it could not be done – Garey said it could not be done.
There was no hope, then. The old trapper was lost!
