Майн Рид
The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse
Chapter Eighty Nine.
The Trapper’s Counsel
“Now, Bill Garey, an you, young fellur, jest clap yur eyes on thet ’ere ’campmint, an see ef thur ain’t a road leadin inter the very heart o’ it, straight as the tail o’ a skeeart fox. ’Ee see it? eh?”
“Not under kiver?” replied Garey interrogatively.
“Unner kiver – ivery step o’ the way – the best o’ kiver.”
Garey and I once more scrutinised the whole circumference of the encampment, and the ground adjacent. We could perceive no cover by which the camp could be approached. Surely there was none.
What could Rube mean? Were there clouds in the sky? Had he perceived some portent of coming darkness? and had his words reference to this?
I raised my eyes, and swept the whole canopy with inquiring glances. Up to the zenith, around the horizon – east, west, north, and south – I looked for clouds, but looked in vain. A few light cirrhi floated high in the atmosphere; but these, even when crossing the moon’s disk, cast no perceptible shadow. On the contrary, they were tokens of settled weather; and moving slowly, almost fixed upon the face of the heavens, were evidence that no sudden change might be expected. When the trapper talked of entering the camp under cover, he could not have meant under cover of darkness. What then?
“Don’t see ony kiver, old hoss,” rejoined Garey, after a pause; “neyther bush nor weed.”
“Bush!” echoed Rube – “weed! who’s talkin ’bout weeds an bushes? Thur’s other ways o’ hidin’ yur karkidge ’sides stickin’ it in a bush or unner a weed. Yur a gettin’ durnation’d pumpkin-headed, Bill Garey. I gin to think yur in the same purdicamint as the young fellur hisself. Yu’ve been a humbuggin’ wi’ one o’ them ur Mexikin moochachers.”
“No, Rube, no.”
“Durn me, ef I don’t b’lieve you hev, boy. I heern ye tell one o’ ’em – ”
“What?”
“Wagh! ye know well enuf. Didn’t ’ee tell one o’ ’em gurls at the rancherie that ye loved her as hard as a mule kud kick – sartintly ye did; them wur yur preezact words, Billee.”
“I was only jokin’, hoss.”
“Putty jokin’ thet ur ’ll be when I gits back to Bent’s Fort, and tell yur Coco squaw. He, he, he – ho, ho, hoo! Geehosophat! thur will be a rumpus bumpus!”
“Nonsense, Rube; thar’s nothin’ ov it.”
“Thur must ’a be: yur brain-pan’s out o’ order, Bill; ye hain’t hed a clur idee for days back. Bushes! an weeds too! Wagh! who sayed thur wur bushes? Whur’s yur eyes? d’yur see a bank?”
“A bank!” echoed Garey and I simultaneously.
“Ye-es,” drawled Rube – “a bank. I guess thur’s bank, right afore yur noses, ef both o’ yur ain’t as blind as the kittlins o’ a ’possum. Now, do ’ee see it?”
Neither of us made reply to the final interrogatory. For the first time, we began to comprehend Rube’s meaning; and our eyes as well as thoughts were suddenly directed upon the object indicated by his words – the bank of the stream – for to that he referred.
I have stated that the little river ran close to the Indian lines, and on one side formed the boundary of the camp. We could tell that the current was towards us; for the stream, on reaching the hill upon which we were, turned sharply off, and swept round its base. The Indian camp was on the left bank – though upon its right when viewed up-stream, as we were regarding it. Any one proceeding up the left bank must therefore necessarily pass within the lines, and through among the horses that were staked nearest to the water.
It need not be supposed that under our keen scrutiny the stream had hitherto escaped observation; I myself had long ago thought of it – as a means of covering my approach – and time after time had my eyes dwelt upon it, but without result: in its channel I could perceive no shelter from observation. Its banks were low, and without either rush or bush upon them. The green turf of the prairie stretched up to the very brink, and scarcely twelve inches below its level was the surface of the current water. This was especially the case along the front of the encampment, and for some distance above and below.
Any one endeavouring to enter the camp by stealing up the channel, must have gone completely under the water, for a swimmer could have been observed upon its surface; even if a man could have approached in this way, there was no hope that a horse could be taken with him; and without the horse, what prospect of ultimate escape?
It had seemed to me impossible. More than once had I taken into consideration, and as often rejected, the idea.
Not so Rube. It was the very scheme he had conceived, and he now proceeded to point out his practicability.
“Now, theen – ees see a bank, do ’ee?”
“’Tain’t much o’ a bank,” replied Garey, rather discouragingly.
“No: ’tain’t as high as Massoora bluffs, nor the kenyons o’ Snake River – thet nob’dy durnies; but ef ’tain’t as high as it mout be, it ur ivery minnit a gettin’ higherer, I reck’n.”
“Getting higher, you think?”
“Ye-es; or whet ur putty consid’able the same thing the t’other ur a gettin’ lower.”
“The water, you mean?”
“The water ur a fallin’ – gwine down by inches at a jump; an in an hour from this, thur’ll be bluffs afront o’ the camp helf a yurd high – thet’s whet thur’ll be.”
“And you think I could get into the camp by creeping under them?”
“Sure o’t. Whet’s to hinner ye? it ur easy as fallin’ off o’ a log.”
“But the horse – how could I bring him near?”
“Jest the same way as yurself. I tell yur the bed o’ thet river ur deep enuf to hide the biggest hoss in creeashun. ’Tur now full, for the reezun thur’s been a fresh in consykwince o’ last night’s rain: ’ee needn’t mind thet – the hoss kin wade or swim eyther, an the bank ’ll kiver ’im from the eyes of the Injuns. You kin leave ’im in the river.”
“In the water?”
“In coorse – yur hoss’ll stan thur; an ef he don’t, you kin tie his nose to the bank. Don’t be skeeart, but ’ee kin take ’im as near as ’ee please; but don’t git too far to wind’ard, else them mustangs ’ll smell ’im, and then it ur all up both wi’ yurself an yur hoss. About two hundred yurds ull be yur likeliest distence. Ef ye git the gurl clur, ye kin easy run thet, I reck’n; put straight for the hoss; an whun yur mounted, gallip like hell! Put straight up higher for the timmer, whur we’ll be cached; an then, durn ’em! ef the red-skins don’t catch goss out o’ our rifles. Wagh! thet’s the way to do the thing —it ur.”
Certainly, this plan appeared practicable enough. The sinking of the water was a new element; it had escaped my observation, though Rube had noted it. It was this that had delayed him so long in giving his opinion; he had been watching it while leaning upon his rifle, though none of the rest of us had thought of such a thing. He remembered the heavy rain of the night before; he saw that it had caused a freshet in the little river; that its subsidence had begun; and, as in most prairie-streams, was progressing with rapidity. His keen eye had detected a fall of several inches during the half-hour we had been upon the ground. I could myself observe, now the thing was pointed out to me, that the banks were higher than before.
Certainly, the idea of approaching by the stream had assumed a more feasible aspect. If the channel should prove deep enough, I might get the horse sufficiently near: the rest would have to be left to stratagem and chance.
“Yur ridin’ in the Injun hoss,” said Rube, “ud niver do: it mout, on the wust pinch: an ef ee don’t git in the t’other way, ee kin still try it; but ye kud niver git acrosst through the cavayard ’ithout stampeedin’ ’em: ’em mustangs ud be sure to make sich a snortin’, and stompin’, an whigherin’, as ’ud bring the hul campmint about ye; an some o’ the sharp-eyed niggurs ’ud be sartint to find out yur hide wur white. T’other way es I’ve desized ur fur the safest —it ur.”
I was not long in making up my mind. Rube’s counsel decided me, and I resolved to act accordingly.
Chapter Ninety.
Taking to the Water
I spent but little time in preparations; these had been made already. It remained only to tighten my saddle-girths, look to the caps of my revolvers, and place both pistols and knife in the belt behind my back – where the weapons would be concealed by the pendent robe of jaguar-skins. In a few minutes I was ready.
I still loitered a while, to wait for the falling of the water; not long – my anxiety did not permit me to tarry long. The hour of the council might be nigh – I might be too late for the crisis. Not long did I loiter.
It was not necessary. Even by the moonlight, we could distinguish the dark line of the bank separating the grassy turf from the surface of the water. The rippling current was shining like silver-lace, and, by contrast, the brown earthy strip that rose vertically above it, could be observed more distinctly. It was sensibly broader.
I could wait no longer. I leaped into the saddle. My comrades crowded around me to say a parting word: and with a wish or a prayer upon their lips, one after another pressed my hand. Some doubted of their ever seeing me again – I could tell this from the tone of their leave-taking – others were more confident. All vowed to revenge me if I fell.
Rube and Garey went with me down the hill.
At the point where the stream impinged upon the hill? there were bushes; these continued up the declivity, and joined the timber upon the summit. Under their cover we descended, reaching the bank just at the salient angle of the bend. A thin skirting of similar bushes ran around the base of the hill, and we now perceived that by following the path on which we had come, the ambuscade might have been brought a little nearer to the camp. But the cover was not so good as the grove upon the summit, and in case of a retreat, it would be necessary to gallop up the naked face of the slope, and thus expose our numbers. It was decided, therefore, after a short consultation, to leave the men where they were.
From the bend, where we stood, to the Indian camp? the river trended almost in a straight line, and its long reach lay before our eyes like a band of shining metal. Along its banks, the bush extended no farther. A single step towards the camp would have exposed us to the view of its occupants.
At this point, therefore, it was necessary for me to take to the water; and dismounting, I made ready for the immersion.
The trappers had spoken their last words of instruction and counsel; they had both grasped my hand, giving it a significant squeeze that promised more than words; but to these, too, had they given utterance.
“Don’t be afeerd, capt’n!” said the younger. “Rube and I won’t be far off. If we hear your pistols, we’ll make a rush to’rst you, and meet you half-way anyhow; and if onything should happen amiss,” – here Garey spoke with emphasis – “you may depend on’t we’ll take a bloody revenge.”
“Yees!” echoed Rube, “we’ll do jest thet. Thur’ll be many a nick in Targuts afore next Krissmuss ef you ur rubbed out, young fellur; thet I swar to ye. But don’t be skeeart! Keep yur eye sharp-skinned, an yur claws steady, an thur’s no fear but yu’ll git clur. Oncest yur clur o’ the camp, ’ee may reck’n on us. Put straight for the timmer, an gallip as ef Ole Scratch wur a-gruppin’ at the tail o’ yur critter.”
I waited to hear no more, but leading Moro down the bank, at a place where it sloped, I stepped gently into the current. My well-trained steed followed without hesitation, and in another instant we were both breast-deep in the flood.
The water was just the depth I desired. There was a half-yard of bank that rose vertically above the surface; and this was sufficient to shelter either my own head, as I stood erect, or the frontlet of my horse. Should the channel continue of uniform depth as far as the camp, the approach would be easy indeed: and, for certain hydrographic reasons, I was under the belief it would.
The plumes of the Indian bonnet rose above the level of the meadow-turf; and as the feathers – dyed of gay colours – would have formed a conspicuous object, I took off the gaudy head-dress, and carried it in my hand.
I also raised the robe of jaguar-skin over my shoulders, in order to keep it dry; and for the same reason, temporarily carried my pistols above the water-line.
The making of these slight alterations occupied only a minute or so; and, as soon as they were completed, I moved forward through the water.
The very depth of the stream proved a circumstance in my favour. In wading, both horse and man make less noise in deep than in shallow water; and this was an important consideration. The night was still – too still for my wishes – and the plunging sound would have been heard afar off; but fortunately there were rapids below – just where the stream forced its way through the spur of the hill – and the hissing sough of these, louder in the still night, was borne upon the air to the distance of many miles. Their noise, to my own ears, almost drowned the plashing made by Moro and myself. I had noted this point d’avantage before embarking upon the enterprise.
At the distance of two hundred yards from the bushes, I paused to look back. My purpose was to fix in my memory the direction of the hill, and more especially the point where my comrades had been left in ambush: in the event of a close pursuit, it would not do to mistake their exact situation.
I easily made out the place, and observed that, for several reasons, a better could not have been chosen. The trees that timbered the crest of the hill were of a peculiar kind – none more so upon the earth. They were a species of arborescent yucca, then unknown to botanists. Many of them were forty feet in height; and their thick angular branches, and terminal fascicles of rigid leaves, outlined against the sky, formed a singular, almost an unearthly spectacle. It was unlike any other vegetation upon earth, more resembling a grove of cast-iron than a wood of exogenous trees.
Why I regarded the spot as favourable for an ambush, was chiefly this: a party approaching it from the plain, and climbing the hill, might fancy a host of enemies in their front; for the trees themselves, with their heads of radiating blades, bore a striking resemblance to an array of plumed gigantic warriors. Many of the yuccas were only six feet in height, with tufted heads, and branchless trunks as gross as the body of a man, and they might readily have been mistaken for human beings.
I perceived at a glance the advantage of the position. Should the Indians pursue me, and I could succeed in reaching the timber before them, a volley from my comrades would check the pursuers, however numerous. The nine rifles would be enough, with a few shots from the revolvers. The savages would fancy nine hundred under the mystifying shadows of that spectral-like grove.
With confidence, strengthened by these considerations, I once more turned my face up-stream; and breasting the current, waded on.
Chapter Ninety One.
Up-Stream
My progress was far from being rapid. The water was occasionally deeper or shallower, but generally rising above my hips – deep enough to render my advance a task of time and difficulty. The current was of course against me; and though not very swift, seriously impeded me. I could have advanced more rapidly, but for the necessity of keeping my head and that of my horse below the escarpment of the bank. At times it was a close fit, with scarcely an inch to spare; and in several places I was compelled to move with my neck bent, and my horse’s nose held close down to the surface of the water.
At intervals, I paused to rest myself – for the exertion of wading against the current wearied me, and took away my breath. This was particularly the case when I required to go in a crouching attitude; but I chose my resting-places where the channel was deepest, and where I could stand erect.
I was all the while anxious to look up and take a survey of the camp: I wished to ascertain its distance and position; but I dared not raise my head above the level of the bank: the sward that crowned it was smooth as a mown meadow, and the edge-line of the turf even and unbroken. Had I shown but my hand above it, it might have been seen in that clear white light. I dared not show either hand or head.
I had advanced I knew not how far, but I fancied I must be near the lines. All the way, I had kept close under the left bank – which, as Rube had predicted, now rose a full half-yard above the water-line. This was a favourable circumstance; and another equally so was the fact that the moon on that – the eastern side – was yet low in the sky, and consequently the bank flung a broad black shadow that extended nearly half-way across the stream. In this shadow I walked, and its friendly darkness sheltered both myself and my horse.
I fancied I must be near the lines, and longed to reconnoitre them, but, for the reasons already given, dared not.
I was equally afraid to make any farther advance – for that might be still more perilous. I had already noted the direction of the wind: it blew from the river, and towards the camp; and should I bring my horse opposite the line of the mustangs, I would then be directly to windward of them, and in danger from their keen nostrils. They would be almost certain to take up the scent of my steed, and utter their warning snorts. The breeze was light, but so much the worse. There was sufficient to carry the smell, and not enough to drown the plunging noise necessarily made by my horse moving through the water, with the occasional hollow pounding of his hoofs upon the rocks at the bottom.
If I raised my head over the bank, there was the danger of being seen; if I advanced, the prospect was one of equal peril of being scented.
For some moments I stood hesitating – uncertain as to whether I should leave my horse, or lead him a little farther. I heard noises from the camp, but they were not distinct enough to guide me.
I looked back down the river, in the hope of being able to calculate the distance I had come, and by that means decide where I was; but my observation furnished no data by which I could determine my position. With my eyes almost on a level with the surface of the water, I could not judge satisfactorily of distance.
I turned my face up-stream again, and scrutinised the parapet line of the bank.
Just then I saw an object over its edge that answered well to guide me: it was the croup and hip-bones of a horse – one of the mustangs staked near the bank. I saw neither the head nor shoulders of the animal; its hind-quarters were towards the stream; its head was to the grass – it was browsing.
The sight gratified me. The mustang was full two hundred yards above the point I had reached. I knew that its position marked the outer line of the encampment. I was in the very place where I wanted to be – about two hundred yards from the lines. Just at that distance I desired to leave my horse.
I had taken the precaution to bring with me my picket-pin – one of the essentials of the prairie traveller. It was the work of a moment to delve it into the bank. I needed not to drive it with violence: my well-trained steed never broke fastening, however slight. With him the stake was only required as a sign that he was not free to wander.
In a moment, then, he was staked; and with a “whisper” I parted from him, and kept on up-stream.
I had not waded a dozen yards farther, when I perceived a break in the line of the bank. It was a little gully that led slantingly from the level of the prairie down to the bed of the stream. Its counterpart I perceived on the opposite side. The two indicated a ford or crossing used by buffaloes, wild-horses, and other denizens of the prairie.
At first, I viewed it with apprehension; I feared it might uncover my body to the eyes of the enemy; but on coming opposite, my fears were allayed: the slope was abrupt, and the high ground screened me as before. There would be no danger in passing the place.
As I was about moving on, an idea arrested me; and I paused to regard the gully with a look of greater interest. I perceived an advantage in it.
I had been troubled about the position in which I had left my horse. Should I succeed in getting back, of course it would be under the pressure of a hot pursuit, and my steed was not conveniently placed; his back was below the level of the bank. He might easily be mounted, but how should I get him out of the channel of the stream? Only by a desperate leap might he reach the plain above: but he might fail in the effort – time might be lost, when time and speed would be most wanted.
I had been troubled with this thought; it need trouble me no longer. The “crossing” afforded easy access either to or from the bed of the river – the very thing I wanted.
I was not slow to profit by the discovery. I turned back, and having released the rein, led my horse gently up to the break.
Choosing a spot under the highest part of the bank, I fastened him as before, and again left him.
I now moved with more ease and confidence, but with increased caution. I was getting too near to risk making the slightest noise in the water; a single plash might betray me.
It was my intention to keep within the channel, until I had passed the point where the horses were staked; by so doing, I should avoid crossing the line of the horse-guards, and, what was quite as important, that of the horses themselves – for I was equally apprehensive of being discovered by the latter. Once inside their circle, they would take no notice of me – for doubtless there would be other Indians within sight; and I trusted to my well-counterfeited semblance of savagery to deceive the eyes of these equine sentinels.
I did not wish to go far beyond their line; that would bring me in front of the camp itself – too near its fires and its idle groups.
I had noticed before starting that there was a broad belt between the place occupied by the men, and that where their horses were staked. This “neutral” ground was little used by the camp loungers, and somewhere on the edge of it I was desirous of making my entrée.
I succeeded to my utmost wishes. Closely hugging the bank, I passed the browsing mustangs – under their very noses I glided past, for I could hear them munching the herbage right over me – but so silently did I steal along, that neither snort nor hoof-stroke heralded my advance.
In a few minutes, I was sufficiently beyond them for my purpose.
I raised my head; slowly and gently I raised it, till my eyes were above the level of the prairie slope.
No one was near. I could see the swarth savages grouped around their fires; but they were a hundred yards off, or more. They were capering, and talking, and laughing; but no ear was bent, and no eye seemed turned towards me. No one was near.
I grasped the bank with my hands, and drew myself up. Slowly and silently I ascended, like some demon from the dark trap-door of a stage.
On my knees, I reached the level of the turf; and, then gently rising to my feet, I stood erect within the limits of the Indian camp – to all appearance as complete a savage as any upon the ground!
