A RESCUE IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.ByR. M. Ballantyne,Author of “The Life-boat;” “A Tale of our Coast Heroes;” “Silver Lake; or, Lost in the Snow,” &c.
ByR. M. Ballantyne,Author of “The Life-boat;” “A Tale of our Coast Heroes;” “Silver Lake; or, Lost in the Snow,” &c.
Quito was a young brave of the Tsekanie Indians, one of the tribes which dwell among the Rocky Mountains of North America.
The squaws said of him that he was tall as the pine tree, gentle as a woman, yet strong and bold like the grizly bear; and there is no doubt that much truth lay in what they said, for the young Tsekanie could throw the spear, hurl the tomahawk, bestride the wild horse, or kill the buffalo, better than any man in his tribe; although, unlike his brother braves, he never boasted of his prowess, nor talked big swelling words of what he would do to his enemies when he got hold of them! In fact, Quito was unlike a savage in many respects, and very like to a civilized gentleman in some things; for, notwithstanding his well-known courage and physical powers, he did not delight in war. He never went on the war-path except when he believed there was very good reason for so doing. He never scalped an old man, or a woman, or a child, which is more than could be said of most of his comrades. It was even said of him that on more than one occasion he had spared the life and the scalp of a prostrate foe.
On the other hand, Quito was fond of meditation and study.Of course he did not study printed books, such silently eloquent and sweet companions being utterly unknown in those far western regions, but he studied the book of nature, and was wont to say, in a quiet way, that he loved to look into the works of the Great Manitou, by which term he meant God.
Quito did not say this to everybody, for he was very reserved; he said it to his wife, whose name in the Indian language was Laughing-eye.
Laughing-eye had a loving and sympathetic heart, and Quito treated her as an equal, in which respect also he differed widely from his brethren, who were more or less addicted to beating their wives.
Once Quito went a long journey to the southward, and it so chanced that he met with a missionary in his travels, who did not miss the opportunity of telling him of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Among other things, he learned from this missionary that Christians were usually united in matrimony by a clergyman, which, the missionary explained, meant a servant and preacher of the Lord Jesus. Quito had been married in the regular Indian fashion—that is to say, he had gone to his father-in-law’s tent, demanded Laughing-eye for his wife, paid down the price required in the shape of cloth, gums, beads, and trinkets of various kinds, such as are supplied by fur traders, and then carried her off to his own wigwam.
A strange but strong desire now seized the young Indian to be married after the Christian manner to Laughing-eye, so he returned to his home in the Rocky Mountains, resolving to take his wife to the mission-station without delay.
Quito had a bosom friend, named Bunker, a white man and a hunter. Bunker might well have been ashamed of his name,as far as sound went, but he was not. He was proud of it. He was wont to say, sometimes, that “the Bunkers was comed of a good stock, an’ had bin straight-for’ard hunters in the Rocky Mountains, off an’ on, for nigh a century, an’ he hoped he would never disgrace his forefathers.” There was no fear of that, for Bunker was as sturdy, and honest, and simple-minded a man as ever shot a grizly bear, or trapped a beaver. He, too, was fond of meditation, and had great delight in the society of Quito.
On his way home the young Indian met with Bunker, who said he was going to visit some traps, but that he would follow his friend’s trail the next day, and might perhaps overtake him before he reached his village.
It was a beautiful autumn evening when Quito approached his mountain home. Not the finest park of the greatest noble in our land could compare with the magnificent scenery through which the Indian walked, with his gun on his shoulder, and his yellow leathern garments—fashioned and richly wrought by the fingers of Laughing-eye—fluttering with innumerable fringes and other ornaments in the gentle breeze. His dark eye glanced from side to side with that sharp restless motion which is peculiar to red Indians and hunters of the far west, whose lives are passed in the midst of danger from lurking enemies and wild beasts, but the restless glance was the result of caution, not of anxiety. Quito’s breast was as calm and unruffled as the surface of the lakelet along whose margin he walked, and, although he kept a sharp look-out, from the mere force of habit, he thought no more of enemies at that time than did the little birds which twittered in the bushes, unconscious and unmindful of the hawk and eagle that soared high over head.
There were woods and valleys, through which flowed streams of limpid water. Here and there were swamps, in which thousands of water-fowl and frogs filled the air with melody, for the frogs of America are a musical race, and a certain class of them actually whistle in their felicity at certain periods of the year; their whistle, however, is only one intermittent note. Elsewhere undulating plains, or prairies, gave variety to the scene, and the whole was backed by the lofty, rugged, and snow-clad peaks of the vast mountain range which runs through the whole continent from north to south.
On reaching the summit of a hill, on which Quito had often halted when returning from his frequent hunting expeditions, to gaze in satisfaction at his village in the far distance, and think of Laughing-eye, a shade of deep and unmistakeable anxiety crossed his grave features, and instead of halting, as he was wont to do, he hastened onwards at redoubled speed, for his eye missed the wreaths of smoke that at other times had curled up above the trees, and one or two of the wigwams which used to be visible from that point of view were gone.
The terrible anxiety that filled Quito’s breast was in a short time changed into fierce despair, when he suddenly turned round the base of a cliff, behind which his village lay, and beheld his late home a mass of blackened ruins. Little circles of grey ashes indicated where the tents had been, and all over the ground were scattered charred bones and masses of putrefying flesh, which told of ruthless murder.
Savage nature is not like civilized. No sound or word escaped the desolate Indian, who now knew that he was the last of his race, but the heaving bosom, the clenched teeth, and compressed lips, the fierce glittering eye, and the darklyfrowning brows, told of a deadly struggle of anguish and wrath within.
While Quito was still gazing at the dreadful scene, he observed something move among the bushes near him and darted towards it. It proved to be an old woman, who was blind and scarcely able to make herself understood. She was evidently famishing from hunger, so Quito’s first care was to give her a little of the dried meat which formed his store of provisions. After she had devoured some of it, and drunk greedily of the water which he fetched from a neighbouring stream in a cup of birch bark, she told him that the camp had been suddenly attacked, some days before, by a war-party of enemies, who had slain all the men and old women, and carried the young women away into captivity—among them Laughing-eye.
As far as outward appearance went, Quito received the news with calm indifference, but his subsequent actions told another tale. His first step was to erect a sort of hut out of the broken fragments of wigwams that lay around, into which he led the old woman, and placed within her reach a large vessel of water with a small bark cup. He then gave her all his provisions, sufficient for more than a week’s consumption, and told her he would return to her as soon as possible. The poor creature appeared grateful, and sought to detain him, but this he would not permit Having learned from her the name of the tribe that attacked the village, and that she had escaped in the generalmêléeby crawling into the bush, he asked which way their enemies had gone. When she had related all she had to tell on the subject, Quito left her, and divested himself of nearly every article of unnecessary costume, placed a tomahawk and scalping-knife in his girdle, slung a short bow and aquiver of arrows on his back, and, throwing his gun on his shoulder, prepared to quit the spot. Before leaving, he kneeled beside the old squaw and said in her ear:—
“In a day or two Bunker will be here. Tell him I have gone to the west by the Mustang Valley, and that he must follow my trail quickly.”
The old woman promised to do this, and then Quito took his leave.
For several days he followed up the trail of the retreating Indians with the perseverance and unerring certainty of a bloodhound. He took so little rest and went on with such unflagging energy that he gradually drew near to them, a fact which became evident from the heat that still remained in the ashes of their camp fires when he came upon them.
At last he reached one of those mighty rivers which traverse the great continent from west to east. Here he found that his enemies had crossed, and he prepared to plunge in and swim over, though the current was turbulent, deep, and broad. Tying his powder in a piece of leather on the top of his head to keep it dry, he was about to take the water when he espied an old Indian canoe, and proceeded to examine before launching it. While thus engaged he was arrested by one of the most astonishing sights that had ever met his gaze.
Rapidly and perceptibly the great river that rolled before him began to diminish in volume. Accustomed as he was to all the varying aspects of lake and stream in their conditions of flood and drought, Quito had never seen anything at all resembling that which now occurred before his eyes. His wonted reason and sagacity were at fault; it was utterly unaccountable!
Naturally his untutored mind began to look upon the phenomenon in a superstitious light. At first he was alarmed, and sat down to gaze in silent wonder, while the water continued to sink in its bed, began to flow sluggishly, then collected into pools, and finally ceased to flow altogether, leaving the bed of the river quite dry in many places. After a time it occurred to the Indian that this might be a direct interposition on the part of the Manitou, to enable him to cross on foot and pursue his enemies without delay. Full of this idea, Quito rose, and, with feelings of deep awe, went down the bank of the river and began to walk across its bed.
He had got about half way over when he was arrested by a peculiar sound, something like distant thunder but more continuous; he stopped, and listened intently. He was more perplexed than ever, for no sound of the wilderness with which he was acquainted at all resembled it; it seemed to come from the mountains, but a bend in the river concealed the distance from his view.
The sound increased gradually in strength until it became a continuous roar, louder than the fiercest gale that ever blew. Quito stood erect and motionless with eyes and nostrils distended, uncertain what to do, when suddenly a mighty flood of waters came thundering round the bend of the river above him. On it came, with deafening clamour, a wall of water full twenty feet high, tumbling mighty trees and huge stones over its gleaming crest like playthings, and licking them up again to hurl them on in mad fury!
Quito bounded across the dry bed of the river for his life, and reached the opposite bank only a few seconds before the rushing torrent swept by, leaving a very chaos on its surging breast.
Fetching his breath quickly, the Indian turned and gazed long in solemn silence at the magnificent scene. Then the thought of Laughing-eye recurred to him. He turned at once and pursued his way with redoubled speed.
Only a few miles above this spot he discovered the cause of the phenomenon he had just witnessed. A land-slip, on an unusually large scale, had occurred. It had been caused by the water undermining the soil of a high bank. The half of a huge hill had tumbled into the river and dammed it across, so that no water could escape. Trees were heaped in wild confusion—some with their heads in the earth and their roots in the air; piles of stones and rubbish crushed the shattered limbs, and great fissures yawned everywhere in the mass.
Ere long the searching water had cut through the obstruction, and, bursting away in all the strength of its recovered freedom, had produced the startling results which we have described.
Day after day Quito followed the trail of his enemies, and night after night he lay down on the hard ground to snatch a couple of hours’ repose before resuming the chase, regardless of fatigue or cold, for hope steeled his muscles, and his heart was warmed by love.
At last, one evening he came upon them. He saw their wigwams on a little plain, which was free from shrubs and trees, although surrounded by the latter. The smoke of their fires curled up in straight columns, for the air was so still that the sound of the horses’ jaws munching their food could be distinctly heard at some distance from the camp.
Quito lay down until the shades of night fell, and watched his enemies. He saw them post sentries for the night; he noted the silence that gradually stole over the scene as thesavages lay down to rest, and he saw the fires die down until the whole camp was shrouded in darkness. During the hours that he watched there he lay as still as a fallen tree—only his dark eyes moved about, restlessly.
At last he rose and prepared for action. Leaving his quiver and bow behind him, he took his gun and advanced—at first in a crouching attitude. He might have been a shadow, so noiseless were his motions. The edge of the forest gained, he sank into the long grass of the prairie, like a phantom, and disappeared. Thenceforth his progress was like to that of the serpent. Pushing his gun before him he gradually worked his way forward until he had passed the line of sentries and gained the midst of the camp. Here his proceedings were cool and daring.
He first crawled among the horses, and made up his mind as to which two of them were the best. Then he went to the chief’s tent, and, gently raising the curtain of skin, looked in. His enemy was there sound asleep. He could have stabbed him to the heart, as he lay, with such deadly certainty, that he would have died without being able to utter a cry, but Quito’s object was to rescue, not to avenge. He observed that the chief lay alone in his tent. A grim smile crossed the Indian’s face as he lowered the curtain and again sank among the grass.
There was a large tent near to that of the chief, and Quito knew that there were women in it, but whether or not his wife was there he had not been able to ascertain from his distant view-point in the woods.
Raising the edge of this tent, he found that it was full of slumbering women, but it required a close inspection of their faces in the dark to ascertain who they were—so close that hisface almost touched that of the first woman he looked at. His heart throbbed, for he thought he recognised the features of Laughing-eye. Just then the sleeper drew a long breath and sighed, and Quito knew that it was his lost one. He also guessed that the others were the women of his own tribe, but he knew that it would be impossible for him, single-handed, to save them at that time. To save his wife would be difficult enough, he thought.
Putting his face close to that of Laughing-eye, he heaved a long-drawn sigh, and yawned pretty loudly, imitating a woman’s voice as much as possible, and giving his wife a push. She half awoke, and, turning round in a sleepy way, muttered a few unintelligible words.
Quito again drew a long breath, and muttered a sleepy remark.
Laughing-eye was startled. She raised her head to listen. This was the moment of danger. If taken by surprise, she might utter a cry or an exclamation which might awaken her companions, and the rousing of the whole camp would be certain to follow, for Indians’ ears are very sharp. Quito felt the difficulty and danger of his position, but there was only one course left open to him.
“Hist! Laughing-eye,” he whispered, close in his wife’s ear.
Next instant his left hand was on her mouth, and with his right he pressed her down, as she made an effort to rise. The effort was momentary, almost involuntary. Immediately she lay so still that Quito knew she had recognised him, so he whispered a few more words, and released her.
Nothing more was said. Speech was not necessary, for Indians’ wits are sharpened by experience. Quito glided, one might almost say melted, away, and Laughing-eye followedhim so quietly through the same aperture that the blanket which she left behind appeared merely to subside into a flat state. Quito did not stop to speak outside. Gliding through the grass, serpent-like, in the direction of the horses, he was followed by his wife, and after some minutes, for they moved very slowly, they were clear of the group of tents. Not far from them one of the sentinels stood leaning on his rifle, and gazing into the far-off horizon, where a faint glimmer of light showed that the moon was about to rise.
To pass this man was difficult, indeed, it would have been impossible, had he not been a very young man, whose eyes were rather heavy, and whose experience of Indian warfare was slight. They succeeded, however, and Quito ceased to advance when he came up to a splendid horse which stood picketted by a long line to a peg driven into the ground, and with its fore feet “hobbled,” or tied together. Without a word he cut the hobbles, and the line by which the animal was fastened, the end of which last he placed in Laughing-eye’s hand. She had crept up alongside of her husband, and remained perfectly quiet, while he glided away from her.
She might have remained perhaps two minutes in this state, when, peeping upwards, she saw another horse moving towards her. Instantly her husband was by her side, and she saw that the end of a rope was in his hand.
“Go first,” whispered Quito in her ear, “fly towards the rising sun.”
The whisper was so soft that the very grasshoppers at their side must have failed to hear it. In a moment both Indians stood up, and Quito lifted his wife lightly on the horse whose larryat she held.
Such a proceeding could not, of course, pass unnoticed in an Indian camp. Instantly a yell was given by a sentry. Just as Quito vaulted on his steed’s back a couple of arrows whizzed past his ear, and the young warrior whom they had first seen darted at his horse’s head. A blow from the butt of Quito’s gun felled him, and in another moment husband and wife were bounding away at full stretch over the plain—the former giving utterance to a shout of defiance, which the savages returned with yells of fury, accompanied by a mixed shower of arrows and bullets.
Just as Quito was bounding over the crest of a mound the chief of the Indians fired a shot at a venture. He took no aim, but the bullet sped with fatal accuracy, and pierced the heart of Quito’s horse, which fell heavily to the earth, sending its rider over its head. The Indian fell with such violence that he lay for a moment or two stunned. Seeing this, Laughing-eye at once reined up, and galloping back leaped to the ground. Quito rose, and, staggering towards the horse, made an effort to lift his wife on to its back. He failed, and before another attempt could be made the unfortunate fugitives were surrounded and recaptured.
Hopeless, indeed, was Quito’s case now. Death by slow torture was certain to be his end, while Laughing-eye would be doomed to slavery. Yet both husband and wife conducted themselves with quiet dignity, and an assumption of stoical indifference.
But their case was not so hopeless as they supposed. Other eyes besides those of their enemies witnessed what had passed.
Quito’s bosom friend, Bunker, on reaching the desolatevillage, and learning from the old woman what had occurred, set off in pursuit of his friend without delay, and travelled at his utmost speed. But the man whom he followed was about equal to himself in physical powers and endurance, so that he could not overtake him easily. On the way he fell in with four trappers like himself, who readily consented to join him. These all continued to advance together night and day, with the exception of the brief time devoted to necessary sleep, but they did not overtake Quito until he had reached the camp of his enemies. They gained on him during the time he lay watching the camp, and waiting for the hour of action. Arriving at the spot where he had left his bow and arrows, not half an hour after he had quitted it, they at once guessed that he was reconnoitring the camp, and resolved to await the issue. While the hunters were yet discussing the best method of procedure, the yell of the sentry was heard.
“Down with you, lads,” cried Bunker, sinking into the grass, “they’ll come this way.”
“No,” cried one of the others, “they’re off to the left—a man an’ a squaw.”
“That’s them—Quito and Laughing-eye,” exclaimed Bunker, “an’ all the reptiles after them. Now, boys, git hold o’ the horses—look alive!”
The sturdy hunter set the example. Big though he was, he bounded over the bushes like a deer, followed by his comrades. While all the men of the camp were in hot pursuit of the fugitives they ran up to the horses, and each secured one, which he mounted, having previously cut the hobbles of all the rest and sent them flying over the plain.
A regular fight then ensued, in which the Indians werebeaten and their captives rescued. The remainder of the horses, too, were secured, and, mounted on these, the whole party returned to their village in the Mustang Valley.
Here the state of things was so desolate and mournful that it was resolved all the Indians who remained should start with Quito and his wife for the Mission Station in the south. This intention was carried out the next day, and they parted with many expressions of good-will from their friends the hunters, who returned to their wild and lonesome occupations of shooting and trapping in the mountains.
After a long journey the Indians reached the Mission Station, where they remained three weeks under the instruction of the missionary. At the end of that time they expressed their desire to join themselves to the followers of Jesus Christ, and were baptized. Then Quito begged that the missionary would unite him to his wife after the manner of the Christians. Of course there could be no objection to this request, so it was complied with—and thus Quito and Laughing-eye were baptized and married on the same day.