Chapter Thirty.Blinding the Pursuer.By this time the men had finished eating, and now began to gather around Seguin, for the purpose of deliberating on what course we should pursue. One had already been sent up to the rocks to act as a vidette, and warn us in case any of the Indians should be descried upon the prairie.We all felt that we were still in a dilemma. The Navajo was our captive, and his men would come to seek for him. He was too important a personage (second chief of the nation) to be abandoned without a search, and his own followers, nearly half of the tribe, would certainly be back to the spring. Not finding him there, should they not discover our tracks, they would return upon the war-trail to their country.This, we all saw, would render our expedition impracticable, as Dacoma’s band alone outnumbered us; and should we meet them in their mountain fastnesses, we should have no chance of escape.For some time Seguin remained silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground. He was evidently tracing out in his mind some plan of action. None of the hunters chose to interrupt him.“Comrades!” said he at length, “this is an unfortunatecoup, but it could not be avoided. It is well it is no worse. As it is, we must alter our plans. They will be sure to return on his track, and follow their own trail back to the Navajo towns. What then? Our band cannot either come on to the Pinon or cross the war-trail at any point. They would discover our tracks to a certainty.”“Why, can’t we go straight up to whar the rest’s cached, and then take round by the old mine? That won’t interfere with the war-trail nohow.” This was proposed by one of the hunters. “Vaya!” rejoined a Mexican; “we should meet the Navajoes just when we had got to their town! Carrai! that would never do, amigo. There wouldn’t many, of us get back again. Santisima! No.”“We ain’t obleeged to meet them,” argued the first speaker. “They’re not a-goin’ to stop at thur town when they find the nigger hain’t been back.”“It is true,” said Seguin, “they will not remain there. They will doubtless return on the war-trail again; but I know the country by the mine.”“So do I! So do I!” cried several voices. “There is no game,” continued Seguin. “We have no provisions; it is therefore impossible for us to go that way.”“We couldn’t go it, nohow.”“We should starve before we had got through the Mimbres.”“Thar’s no water that way.”“No, by gosh! not enough to make a drink for a sand-rat.”“We must take our chances, then,” said Seguin. Here he paused thoughtfully, and with a gloomy expression of countenance.“We must cross the trail,” he continued, “and go by the Prieto, or abandon the expedition.”The word “Prieto,” in opposition to the phrase “abandon the expedition,” put the hunters to their wits’ end for invention, and plan after plan was proposed; all, however, ending in the probability—in fact, certainty—that if adopted, our trail would be discovered by the enemy, and followed up before we could escape back to the Del Norte. They were, therefore, one after another rejected.During all this discussion, old Rube had not said a word. The earless trapper was sitting upon the prairie, squat on his hams, tracing out some lines with his bow, and apparently laying out the plan of a fortification.“What are ye doin’, old hoss?” inquired one of his comrades.“My hearin’ ain’t as good as ’twur afore I kim into this cussed country; but I thought I heerd some o’ ’ees say, jest now, we cudn’t cross the ’Pash trail ’ithout bein’ followed in two days. That’s a dod-rotted lie. It are.”“How are ye goin’ to prove it, hoss?”“Chut, man! yur tongue wags like a beaver’s tail in flood-time.”“Can you suggest any way in which it can be done, Rube? I confess I see none.”As Seguin made this appeal, all eyes were turned upon the trapper.“Why, cap, I kin surgest my own notion o’ the thing. It may be right, an’ it mayn’t be right; but if it wur follered out, there’ll be neither ’Pash nor Navagh that’ll smell where we go for a week. If they diz, ’ee may cut my ears off.”This was a favourite joke with Rube, and the hunters only laughed. Seguin himself could not restrain a smile, as he requested the speaker to proceed.“Fust an’ fo’most, then,” said Rube, “thur not a-gwine to come arter that nigger in less than two days.”“How can you tell that?”“This way: ’Ee see he’s only second chief, an’ they kin go on well enough ’ithout him. But that ain’t it. The Injun forgot his bow; white at that. Now ’ee all knows as well as this child, that that’s a big disgrace in the eyes o’ Injuns.”“You’re right about that, hoss,” remarked one.“Wal, so the ole ’coon thinks. Now, ’ee see, it’s as plain as Pike’s Peak that he kim away back ’ithout tellin’ any o’ the rest a syllabub about it. He’d not let ’em know if he kud help it.”“That is not improbable,” said Seguin. “Proceed, Rube!”“More’n that,” continued the trapper, “I’ll stake high thet he ordered them not to foller him, afeerd thet some on ’em mout see what he kim for. If he’d a-thought they knew or suspected, he’d ’a sent some other, an’ not kum himself; that’s what he’d ’a done.”This was all probable enough; and with the knowledge which the scalp-hunters possessed of the Navajo character, they one and all believed it to be so.“I’m sartin they’ll kum back,” continued Rube; “that ur, his half o’ the tribe, anyways; but it’ll be three days clur, an’ well up till another, afore they drinks Peenyun water.”“But they would strike our trail the day after.”“If we were green fools enough to let ’em, they wud.”“How can we prevent that?” asked Seguin.“Easy as fallin’ off a log.”“How? how?” inquired several at once.“By puttin’ them on another scent, do ’ee see?”“Yes! but in what way can we effect that?” inquired Seguin.“Why, cap, yur tumble has surely dumfoundered ye. I wud think less o’ these other dummies not seein’ at a glimp how we kin do it.”“I confess, Rube,” replied Seguin, with a smile, “I do not perceive how we can mislead them.”“Wal, then,” continued the trapper, with a chuckle of satisfaction at his own superior prairie-craft, “this child’s a-gwyne to tell ’ee how ’ee kin put them on a different track.”“Hooraw for you, old hoss!”“’Ee see a quiver on that Injun’s back?”“Ay, ay!” cried several voices.“It’s full o’ arrows, or pretty near it, I reckin.”“It is. Well?”“Wal, then, let some o’ us ride the Injun’s mustang: any other critter thet’s got the same track ’ll do; away down the ’Pash trail, an’ stick them things pointin’ south’art; an’ if the Navagh don’t travel that a way till they comes up with the ’Pashes, ’ee may have this child’s har for a plug o’ the wust Kaintucky terbaccer.”“Viva!”“He’s right, he’s right!”“Hooraw for old Rube!” and various exclamations, were uttered by the hunters.“’Tain’t needcessary for them to know why he shud ’a tuk that track. They’ll know his arrows; that’s enuf. By the time they gits back, with their fingers in thur meat-traps, we’ll hev start enough to carry us to Hackensack.”“Ay, that we will, by gollies!”“The band,” continued Rube, “needn’t come to the Peenyun spring no howsomever. They kin cross the war-trail higher up to to’rst the Heely, an’ meet us on t’other side o’ the mountain, whur thur’s a grist o’ game, both cattle an’ buffler. A plenty o’ both on the ole mission lands, I’ll be boun’. We’d hev to go thur anyways. Thur’s no hopes o’ meetin’ the buffler this side, arter the splurry them Injuns has gin them.”“That is true enough,” said Seguin. “We must go round the mountain before we can expect to fall in with the buffalo. The Indian hunt has chased them clean off from the Llanos. Come, then! Let us set about our work at once. We have yet two hours before sunset. What would you do first, Rube? You have given the plan: I will trust to you for the details.”“Why, in my opeenyun, cap, the fust thing to be did are to send a man as straight as he can gallip to whur the band’s cached. Let him fotch them acrost the trail.”“Where should they cross, do you think?”“About twenty mile north o’ hyur thur’s a dry ridge, an’ a good grist o’ loose donicks. If they cross as they oughter, they needn’t make much sign. I kud take a train o’ Bent’s waggons over, that ’ud puzzle deaf Smith to foller ’em. I kud.”“I will send a man off instantly. Here, Sanchez! you have a good horse, and know the ground. It is not over twenty miles to where they are cached. Bring them along the ridge, and with caution, as you have heard. You will find us around the north point of the mountain. You can travel all night, and be up with us early in the morning. Away!”The torero, without making any answer, drew his horse from the picket, leaped into the saddle, and rode off at a gallop towards the north-west.“It is fortunate,” said Seguin, looking after him for some moments, “that they have trampled the ground about here, else the tracks made in our last encounter would certainly have told tales upon us.”“Thur’s no danger about that,” rejoined Rube; “but when we rides from hyur, cap’n, we mustn’t foller their trail. They’d soon sight our back tracks. We had best keep up yander among the loose donicks.” Rube pointed to the shingle that stretched north and south along the foot of the mountain.“Yes, that shall be our course. We can leave this without leaving any tracks. What next?”“The next idee ur, to get rid o’ yon piece o’ machin’ry,” and the trapper, as he spoke, nodded in the direction of the skeleton.“True! I had forgotten it. What shall we do with it?”“Bury it,” advised one.“Wagh! no. Burn it!” cried another.“Ay, that’s best,” said a third.The latter suggestion was adopted.The skeleton was brought down; the stains of the blood were carefully rubbed from the rocks; the skull was shivered with a tomahawk, and the joints were broken in pieces. The whole mass was then flung upon the fire, and pounded down among numerous bones of the buffalo, already simmering in the cinders. An anatomist only could have detected the presence of a human skeleton.“Now, Rube; the arrows?”“If ’ee’ll leave that to me an’ Bill Garey, I think them two niggurs kin fix ’em so as to bamfoozle any Injuns thur is in these parts. We’ll hev to go three mile or tharabout; but we’ll git back by the time ’ee hev filled yur gourds, an’ got yur traps ready for skeetin’.”“Very well! take the arrows.”“Four’s gobs for us,” said Rube, taking that number from the quiver. “Keep the rest. ’Ee’ll want more wolf-meat afore we start. Thur’s not a tail o’ anythin’ else till we git clur roun’ the mountain yander. Billee! throw your ugly props over that Navagh mustang. Putty hoss too; but I wudn’t giv my old mar for a hul cavayard o’ him. Gi’s a sprig o’ the black feather.”Here the old trapper drew one of the ostrich feathers out of the helmet of the Navajo chief, and continued—“Boyees! take care o’ the ole mar till I kum back, an don’t let her stampede, do ’ee hear. I wants a blanket. Don’t all speak at oncest!”“Here, Rube, here!” cried several, holding out their blankets.“E’er a one ’ll do. We needs three: Bill’s an’ mine an’ another’n. Hyur, Billee! take these afore ye. Now ride down the ’Pash trail three hunred yards, or tharabout, an’ then pull up. Don’t take the beaten pad, but keep alongside, an’ make big tracks. Gallop!”The young hunter laid his quirt to the flanks of the mustang, and started at full gallop along the Apache trail.When he had ridden a distance of three hundred yards or so, he halted to wait for further directions from his comrade.Old Rube, at the same time, took an arrow; and, fastening a piece of ostrich feather to the barb, adjusted it on one of the upright poles which the Indians had left standing on the camp-ground. It was placed in such a manner that the head pointed southward in the direction of the Apache trail, and was so conspicuous with the black feather that no one coming in from the Llanos could fail to see it.This done, he followed his companion on foot, keeping wide out from the trail, and making his tracks with great caution. On coming up with Garey, he stuck a second arrow in the ground: its point also inclined to the south, and so that it could be seen from the former one.Garey then galloped forward, keeping on the trail, while Rube struck out again to the open prairie, and advanced in a line parallel to it.Having ridden a distance of two or three miles, Garey slackened his pace, and put the mustang to a slow walk. A little farther on he again halted, and held his horse at rest, in the beaten path.Rube now came up, and spread the three blankets lengthwise along the ground, and leading westward from the trail. Garey dismounted, and led the animal gently on the blankets.As its feet rested on two at a time, each, as it became the rearmost, was taken up, and spread again in front; and this was repeated until they had got the mustang some fifty lengths of himself out into the prairie. The movement was executed with an adroitness equal to that which characterised the feat of Sir Walter Raleigh.Garey now took up the blankets, and, remounting, commenced riding slowly back by the foot of the mountain; while Rube returned to the trail, and placed a third arrow at the point where the mustang had parted from it. He then proceeded south as before. One more was yet needed to make doubly sure.When he had gone about half a mile, we saw him stoop over the trail, rise up again, cross toward the mountain foot, and follow the path taken by his companion. The work was done; the finger-posts were set; the ruse was complete!El Sol, meanwhile, had been busy. Several wolves were killed and skinned, and the meat was packed in their skins. The gourds were filled, our captive was tied on a mule, and we stood waiting the return of the trappers.Seguin had resolved to leave two men at the spring as videttes. They were to keep their horses by the rocks, and supply them with the mule-bucket, so as to make no fresh tracks at the water. One was to remain constantly on an eminence, and watch the prairie with the glass. They could thus descry the returning Navajoes in time to escape unobserved themselves along the foot of the mountain. They were then to halt at a place ten miles to the north, where they could still have a view of the plain. There they were to remain until they had ascertained what direction the Indians should take after leaving the spring, when they were to hurry forward and join the band with their tidings.All these arrangements having been completed as Rube and Garey came up, we mounted our horses and rode by a circuitous route for the mountain foot. When close in, we found the path strewed with loose cut-rock, upon which the hoofs of our animals left no track. Over this we rode forward, heading to the north, and keeping in a line nearly parallel to the “war-trail.”
By this time the men had finished eating, and now began to gather around Seguin, for the purpose of deliberating on what course we should pursue. One had already been sent up to the rocks to act as a vidette, and warn us in case any of the Indians should be descried upon the prairie.
We all felt that we were still in a dilemma. The Navajo was our captive, and his men would come to seek for him. He was too important a personage (second chief of the nation) to be abandoned without a search, and his own followers, nearly half of the tribe, would certainly be back to the spring. Not finding him there, should they not discover our tracks, they would return upon the war-trail to their country.
This, we all saw, would render our expedition impracticable, as Dacoma’s band alone outnumbered us; and should we meet them in their mountain fastnesses, we should have no chance of escape.
For some time Seguin remained silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground. He was evidently tracing out in his mind some plan of action. None of the hunters chose to interrupt him.
“Comrades!” said he at length, “this is an unfortunatecoup, but it could not be avoided. It is well it is no worse. As it is, we must alter our plans. They will be sure to return on his track, and follow their own trail back to the Navajo towns. What then? Our band cannot either come on to the Pinon or cross the war-trail at any point. They would discover our tracks to a certainty.”
“Why, can’t we go straight up to whar the rest’s cached, and then take round by the old mine? That won’t interfere with the war-trail nohow.” This was proposed by one of the hunters. “Vaya!” rejoined a Mexican; “we should meet the Navajoes just when we had got to their town! Carrai! that would never do, amigo. There wouldn’t many, of us get back again. Santisima! No.”
“We ain’t obleeged to meet them,” argued the first speaker. “They’re not a-goin’ to stop at thur town when they find the nigger hain’t been back.”
“It is true,” said Seguin, “they will not remain there. They will doubtless return on the war-trail again; but I know the country by the mine.”
“So do I! So do I!” cried several voices. “There is no game,” continued Seguin. “We have no provisions; it is therefore impossible for us to go that way.”
“We couldn’t go it, nohow.”
“We should starve before we had got through the Mimbres.”
“Thar’s no water that way.”
“No, by gosh! not enough to make a drink for a sand-rat.”
“We must take our chances, then,” said Seguin. Here he paused thoughtfully, and with a gloomy expression of countenance.
“We must cross the trail,” he continued, “and go by the Prieto, or abandon the expedition.”
The word “Prieto,” in opposition to the phrase “abandon the expedition,” put the hunters to their wits’ end for invention, and plan after plan was proposed; all, however, ending in the probability—in fact, certainty—that if adopted, our trail would be discovered by the enemy, and followed up before we could escape back to the Del Norte. They were, therefore, one after another rejected.
During all this discussion, old Rube had not said a word. The earless trapper was sitting upon the prairie, squat on his hams, tracing out some lines with his bow, and apparently laying out the plan of a fortification.
“What are ye doin’, old hoss?” inquired one of his comrades.
“My hearin’ ain’t as good as ’twur afore I kim into this cussed country; but I thought I heerd some o’ ’ees say, jest now, we cudn’t cross the ’Pash trail ’ithout bein’ followed in two days. That’s a dod-rotted lie. It are.”
“How are ye goin’ to prove it, hoss?”
“Chut, man! yur tongue wags like a beaver’s tail in flood-time.”
“Can you suggest any way in which it can be done, Rube? I confess I see none.”
As Seguin made this appeal, all eyes were turned upon the trapper.
“Why, cap, I kin surgest my own notion o’ the thing. It may be right, an’ it mayn’t be right; but if it wur follered out, there’ll be neither ’Pash nor Navagh that’ll smell where we go for a week. If they diz, ’ee may cut my ears off.”
This was a favourite joke with Rube, and the hunters only laughed. Seguin himself could not restrain a smile, as he requested the speaker to proceed.
“Fust an’ fo’most, then,” said Rube, “thur not a-gwine to come arter that nigger in less than two days.”
“How can you tell that?”
“This way: ’Ee see he’s only second chief, an’ they kin go on well enough ’ithout him. But that ain’t it. The Injun forgot his bow; white at that. Now ’ee all knows as well as this child, that that’s a big disgrace in the eyes o’ Injuns.”
“You’re right about that, hoss,” remarked one.
“Wal, so the ole ’coon thinks. Now, ’ee see, it’s as plain as Pike’s Peak that he kim away back ’ithout tellin’ any o’ the rest a syllabub about it. He’d not let ’em know if he kud help it.”
“That is not improbable,” said Seguin. “Proceed, Rube!”
“More’n that,” continued the trapper, “I’ll stake high thet he ordered them not to foller him, afeerd thet some on ’em mout see what he kim for. If he’d a-thought they knew or suspected, he’d ’a sent some other, an’ not kum himself; that’s what he’d ’a done.”
This was all probable enough; and with the knowledge which the scalp-hunters possessed of the Navajo character, they one and all believed it to be so.
“I’m sartin they’ll kum back,” continued Rube; “that ur, his half o’ the tribe, anyways; but it’ll be three days clur, an’ well up till another, afore they drinks Peenyun water.”
“But they would strike our trail the day after.”
“If we were green fools enough to let ’em, they wud.”
“How can we prevent that?” asked Seguin.
“Easy as fallin’ off a log.”
“How? how?” inquired several at once.
“By puttin’ them on another scent, do ’ee see?”
“Yes! but in what way can we effect that?” inquired Seguin.
“Why, cap, yur tumble has surely dumfoundered ye. I wud think less o’ these other dummies not seein’ at a glimp how we kin do it.”
“I confess, Rube,” replied Seguin, with a smile, “I do not perceive how we can mislead them.”
“Wal, then,” continued the trapper, with a chuckle of satisfaction at his own superior prairie-craft, “this child’s a-gwyne to tell ’ee how ’ee kin put them on a different track.”
“Hooraw for you, old hoss!”
“’Ee see a quiver on that Injun’s back?”
“Ay, ay!” cried several voices.
“It’s full o’ arrows, or pretty near it, I reckin.”
“It is. Well?”
“Wal, then, let some o’ us ride the Injun’s mustang: any other critter thet’s got the same track ’ll do; away down the ’Pash trail, an’ stick them things pointin’ south’art; an’ if the Navagh don’t travel that a way till they comes up with the ’Pashes, ’ee may have this child’s har for a plug o’ the wust Kaintucky terbaccer.”
“Viva!”
“He’s right, he’s right!”
“Hooraw for old Rube!” and various exclamations, were uttered by the hunters.
“’Tain’t needcessary for them to know why he shud ’a tuk that track. They’ll know his arrows; that’s enuf. By the time they gits back, with their fingers in thur meat-traps, we’ll hev start enough to carry us to Hackensack.”
“Ay, that we will, by gollies!”
“The band,” continued Rube, “needn’t come to the Peenyun spring no howsomever. They kin cross the war-trail higher up to to’rst the Heely, an’ meet us on t’other side o’ the mountain, whur thur’s a grist o’ game, both cattle an’ buffler. A plenty o’ both on the ole mission lands, I’ll be boun’. We’d hev to go thur anyways. Thur’s no hopes o’ meetin’ the buffler this side, arter the splurry them Injuns has gin them.”
“That is true enough,” said Seguin. “We must go round the mountain before we can expect to fall in with the buffalo. The Indian hunt has chased them clean off from the Llanos. Come, then! Let us set about our work at once. We have yet two hours before sunset. What would you do first, Rube? You have given the plan: I will trust to you for the details.”
“Why, in my opeenyun, cap, the fust thing to be did are to send a man as straight as he can gallip to whur the band’s cached. Let him fotch them acrost the trail.”
“Where should they cross, do you think?”
“About twenty mile north o’ hyur thur’s a dry ridge, an’ a good grist o’ loose donicks. If they cross as they oughter, they needn’t make much sign. I kud take a train o’ Bent’s waggons over, that ’ud puzzle deaf Smith to foller ’em. I kud.”
“I will send a man off instantly. Here, Sanchez! you have a good horse, and know the ground. It is not over twenty miles to where they are cached. Bring them along the ridge, and with caution, as you have heard. You will find us around the north point of the mountain. You can travel all night, and be up with us early in the morning. Away!”
The torero, without making any answer, drew his horse from the picket, leaped into the saddle, and rode off at a gallop towards the north-west.
“It is fortunate,” said Seguin, looking after him for some moments, “that they have trampled the ground about here, else the tracks made in our last encounter would certainly have told tales upon us.”
“Thur’s no danger about that,” rejoined Rube; “but when we rides from hyur, cap’n, we mustn’t foller their trail. They’d soon sight our back tracks. We had best keep up yander among the loose donicks.” Rube pointed to the shingle that stretched north and south along the foot of the mountain.
“Yes, that shall be our course. We can leave this without leaving any tracks. What next?”
“The next idee ur, to get rid o’ yon piece o’ machin’ry,” and the trapper, as he spoke, nodded in the direction of the skeleton.
“True! I had forgotten it. What shall we do with it?”
“Bury it,” advised one.
“Wagh! no. Burn it!” cried another.
“Ay, that’s best,” said a third.
The latter suggestion was adopted.
The skeleton was brought down; the stains of the blood were carefully rubbed from the rocks; the skull was shivered with a tomahawk, and the joints were broken in pieces. The whole mass was then flung upon the fire, and pounded down among numerous bones of the buffalo, already simmering in the cinders. An anatomist only could have detected the presence of a human skeleton.
“Now, Rube; the arrows?”
“If ’ee’ll leave that to me an’ Bill Garey, I think them two niggurs kin fix ’em so as to bamfoozle any Injuns thur is in these parts. We’ll hev to go three mile or tharabout; but we’ll git back by the time ’ee hev filled yur gourds, an’ got yur traps ready for skeetin’.”
“Very well! take the arrows.”
“Four’s gobs for us,” said Rube, taking that number from the quiver. “Keep the rest. ’Ee’ll want more wolf-meat afore we start. Thur’s not a tail o’ anythin’ else till we git clur roun’ the mountain yander. Billee! throw your ugly props over that Navagh mustang. Putty hoss too; but I wudn’t giv my old mar for a hul cavayard o’ him. Gi’s a sprig o’ the black feather.”
Here the old trapper drew one of the ostrich feathers out of the helmet of the Navajo chief, and continued—
“Boyees! take care o’ the ole mar till I kum back, an don’t let her stampede, do ’ee hear. I wants a blanket. Don’t all speak at oncest!”
“Here, Rube, here!” cried several, holding out their blankets.
“E’er a one ’ll do. We needs three: Bill’s an’ mine an’ another’n. Hyur, Billee! take these afore ye. Now ride down the ’Pash trail three hunred yards, or tharabout, an’ then pull up. Don’t take the beaten pad, but keep alongside, an’ make big tracks. Gallop!”
The young hunter laid his quirt to the flanks of the mustang, and started at full gallop along the Apache trail.
When he had ridden a distance of three hundred yards or so, he halted to wait for further directions from his comrade.
Old Rube, at the same time, took an arrow; and, fastening a piece of ostrich feather to the barb, adjusted it on one of the upright poles which the Indians had left standing on the camp-ground. It was placed in such a manner that the head pointed southward in the direction of the Apache trail, and was so conspicuous with the black feather that no one coming in from the Llanos could fail to see it.
This done, he followed his companion on foot, keeping wide out from the trail, and making his tracks with great caution. On coming up with Garey, he stuck a second arrow in the ground: its point also inclined to the south, and so that it could be seen from the former one.
Garey then galloped forward, keeping on the trail, while Rube struck out again to the open prairie, and advanced in a line parallel to it.
Having ridden a distance of two or three miles, Garey slackened his pace, and put the mustang to a slow walk. A little farther on he again halted, and held his horse at rest, in the beaten path.
Rube now came up, and spread the three blankets lengthwise along the ground, and leading westward from the trail. Garey dismounted, and led the animal gently on the blankets.
As its feet rested on two at a time, each, as it became the rearmost, was taken up, and spread again in front; and this was repeated until they had got the mustang some fifty lengths of himself out into the prairie. The movement was executed with an adroitness equal to that which characterised the feat of Sir Walter Raleigh.
Garey now took up the blankets, and, remounting, commenced riding slowly back by the foot of the mountain; while Rube returned to the trail, and placed a third arrow at the point where the mustang had parted from it. He then proceeded south as before. One more was yet needed to make doubly sure.
When he had gone about half a mile, we saw him stoop over the trail, rise up again, cross toward the mountain foot, and follow the path taken by his companion. The work was done; the finger-posts were set; the ruse was complete!
El Sol, meanwhile, had been busy. Several wolves were killed and skinned, and the meat was packed in their skins. The gourds were filled, our captive was tied on a mule, and we stood waiting the return of the trappers.
Seguin had resolved to leave two men at the spring as videttes. They were to keep their horses by the rocks, and supply them with the mule-bucket, so as to make no fresh tracks at the water. One was to remain constantly on an eminence, and watch the prairie with the glass. They could thus descry the returning Navajoes in time to escape unobserved themselves along the foot of the mountain. They were then to halt at a place ten miles to the north, where they could still have a view of the plain. There they were to remain until they had ascertained what direction the Indians should take after leaving the spring, when they were to hurry forward and join the band with their tidings.
All these arrangements having been completed as Rube and Garey came up, we mounted our horses and rode by a circuitous route for the mountain foot. When close in, we found the path strewed with loose cut-rock, upon which the hoofs of our animals left no track. Over this we rode forward, heading to the north, and keeping in a line nearly parallel to the “war-trail.”
Chapter Thirty One.A Buffalo “Surround.”A march of twenty miles brought us to the place where we expected to be joined by the band. We found a small stream heading in the Pinon Range, and running westward to the San Pedro. It was fringed with cotton-trees and willows, and with grass in abundance for our horses. Here we encamped, kindled a fire in the thicket, cooked our wolf-mutton, ate it, and went to sleep.The band came up in the morning, having travelled all night. Their provisions were spent as well as ours, and instead of resting our wearied animals, we pushed on through a pass in the sierra in hopes of finding game on the other side.About noon we debouched through the mountain pass into a country of openings—small prairies, bounded by jungly forests, and interspersed with timber islands. These prairies were covered with tall grass, and buffalo signs appeared as we rode into them. We saw their “roads,” “chips,” and “wallows.”We saw, moreover, thebois de vacheof the wild cattle. We would soon meet with one or the other.We were still on the stream by which we had camped the night before, and we made a noon halt to refresh our animals.The full-grown forms of the cacti were around us, bearing red and yellow fruit in abundance. We plucked the pears of the pitahaya, and ate them greedily; we found service-berries, yampo, and roots of the “pomme blanche.” We dined on fruits and vegetables of various sorts, indigenous only to this wild region.But the stomachs of the hunters longed for their favourite food, the hump ribs and boudins of the buffalo; and after a halt of two hours, we moved forward through the openings.We had ridden about an hour among chapparal, when Rube, who was some paces in advance, acting as guide, turned in his saddle and pointed downward.“What’s there, Rube?” asked Seguin, in a low voice.“Fresh track, cap’n; buffler!”“What number; can you guess?”“A gang o’ fifty or tharabout. They’ve tuk through the thicket yander-away. I kin sight the sky. Thur’s clur ground not fur from us; and I’d stak a plew thur in it. I think it’s a small parairia, cap.”“Halt here, men!” said Seguin; “halt and keep silent. Ride forward, Rube. Come, Monsieur Haller, you’re fond of hunting; come along with us!”I followed the guide and Seguin through the bushes; like them, riding slowly and silently.In a few minutes we reached the edge of a prairie covered with long grass. Peering cautiously through the leaves of the prosopis, we had a full view of the open ground. The buffaloes were on the plain!It was, as Rube had rightly conjectured, a small prairie about a mile and a half in width, closed in on all sides by a thick chapparal. Near the centre was a motte of heavy timber, growing up from a leafy underwood. A spur of willows running out from the timber indicated the presence of water.“Thur’s a spring yander,” muttered Rube. “They’ve jest been a-coolin’ their noses at it.”This was evident enough, for some of the animals were at the moment walking out of the willows; and we could see the wet clay glistening upon their flanks, and the saliva glancing down from their jaws.“How will we get at them, Rube?” asked Seguin; “can we approach them, do you think?”“I doubt not, cap. The grass ’ud hardly kiver us, an thur a-gwine out o’ range o’ the bushes.”“How then? We cannot run them; there’s not room. They would be into the thicket at the first dash. We would lose every hoof of them.”“Sartin as Scripter.”“What is to be done?”“This niggur sees but one other plan as kin be used jest at this time.”“What is it?”“Surround.”“Right; if we can do that. How is the wind?”“Dead as an Injun wi’ his head cut off,” replied the trapper, taking a small feather out of his cap and tossing it in the air. “See, cap, it falls plump!”“It does, truly.”“We kin easily git roun’ them bufflers afore they wind us; an’ we hev men enough to make a picket fence about them. We can hardly set about it too soon, cap. Thur a movin’ torst the edge yander.”“Let us divide the men, then,” said Seguin, turning his horse; “you can guide one-half of them to their stands. I will go with the other. Monsieur Haller, you had better remain where you are. It is as good a stand as you can get. Have patience. It may be an hour before all are placed. When you hear the bugle, you may gallop forward and do your best. If we succeed, you shall have sport and a good supper, which I suppose you feel the need of by this time.”So saying, Seguin left me, and rode back to the men, followed by old Rube.It was their purpose to separate the band into two parties, each taking an opposite direction, and to drop men here and there at regular intervals around the prairie. They would keep in the thicket while on the march, and only discover themselves at a given signal. In this way, should the buffaloes allow time for the execution of the movement, we should be almost certain of securing the whole gang.As soon as Seguin had left me, I looked to my rifle and pistols, putting on a fresh set of caps. After that, having nothing else to occupy me, I remained seated in my saddle, eyeing the animals as they fed unconscious of danger. I was full of anxiety lest some clumsy fellow might discover himself too soon, and thus spoil our anticipated sport.After a while I could see the birds flying up from the thicket, and the screaming of the blue jay indicated to me the progress of the “surround.”Now and then, an old bull, on the skirts of the herd, would toss up his shaggy mane, snuff the wind, and strike the ground fiercely with his hoof, evidently labouring under a suspicion that all was not right.The others did not seem to heed these demonstrations, but kept on quietly cropping the luxuriant grama.I was thinking how nicely we were going to have them in the trap, when an object caught my eye, just emerging from the motte. It was a buffalo calf, and I saw that it was proceeding to join the gang. I thought it somewhat strange that it should be separated from the rest, for the calves, trained by their mothers to know the wolf, usually keep up with the herd.“It has stayed behind at the spring,” thought I. “Perhaps the others pushed it from the water, and it could not drink until they were gone.”I fancied that it moved clumsily, as if wounded; but it was passing through the long grass, and I could not get a good view of it.There was a pack of coyotes (there always is) sneaking after the herd. These, perceiving the calf, as it came out of the timber, made an instant and simultaneous attack upon it. I could see them skipping around it, and fancied I could hear their fierce snarling; but the calf appeared to fight its way through the thick of them; and after a short while, I saw it close in to its companions, where I lost sight of it among the others.“A game young bull,” soliloquised I, and again I ran my eye around the skirting of the chapparal to watch how the hunters were getting forward with the “surround.” I could perceive the flashing of brilliant wings over the bramble, and hear the shrill voices of the jay-birds. Judging by these, I concluded that the men were moving slowly enough. It was half an hour since Seguin had left me, and I could perceive that they were not half-way round as yet.I began to make calculations as to how long I would have to wait, soliloquising as follows:—“Diameter of the prairie, a mile and a half. It is a circle three times that: four miles and a half. Phew! I shall not hear the signal in much less than an hour. I must be patient then, and—what! The brutes are lying down! Good! There is no danger now of their making off. We shall have rare sport! One, two, three, six of them down! It must be the heat and the water. They have drunk too much. There goes another. Lucky devils! They have nothing else to do but eat and sleep, while I—no! eight down! Well! I hope soon to eat, too. What an odd way they have of coming to the ground! How different from anything of the bovine tribe I have yet observed! I have never seen buffaloes quieting down before. One would think they were falling as if shot! Two more alongside the rest! They will soon be all upon the turf. So much the better. We can gallop up before they get to their feet again. Oh, that I could hear that horn!”And thus I went on rambling from thought to thought, and listening for the signal, although I knew that it could not be given for some time yet.The buffaloes kept moving slowly onward, browsing as they went, and continuing to lie down one after another. I thought it strange, their stretching themselves thus successively; but I had observed farm cattle do the same, and I was at that time but little acquainted with the habits of the buffalo. Some of them appeared to toss about on the ground and kick violently. I had heard of a peculiarity of these animals termed “wallowing.”“They are at it,” thought I. I wished much to have a clearer view of this curious exercise, but the high grass prevented me. I could only see their shaggy shoulders, and occasionally their hoofs kicking up over the sward.I watched their movements with great interest, now feeling secure that the “surround” would be complete before they would think of rising.At length the last one of the gang followed the example of his companions, and dropped over.They were all now upon their sides, half-buried in the bunch grass. I thought I noticed the calf still upon its feet; but at that moment the bugle sounded, and a simultaneous cheer broke from all sides of the prairie.I pressed the spur to my horse’s flank, and dashed out into the open plain. Fifty others had done the same, yelling as they shot out of the thicket.With my reins resting on my left fingers, and my rifle thrown crosswise, I galloped forward, filled with the wild excitement that such an adventure imparts. I was cocked and ready, resolved upon having the first shot.It was but a short distance from where I had started to the nearest buffalo. I was soon within range, my horse flying like an arrow.“Is the animal asleep? I am within ten paces of him, and still he stirs not! I will fire at him as he lies.”I raised my rifle, levelled it, and was about to pull the trigger, when something red gleamed before my eyes. It was blood!I lowered the piece with a feeling of terror, and commenced dragging upon the rein; but, before I could pull up, I was carried into the midst of the prostrate herd. Here my horse suddenly stopped, and I sat in my saddle as if spell-bound. I was under the influence of a superstitious awe. Blood was before me and around me. Turn which way I would, my eye rested upon blood!My comrades closed in, yelling as they came; but their yelling suddenly ceased, and one by one reined up, as I had done, with looks of consternation and wonder.It was not strange, at such a sight. Before us lay the bodies of the buffaloes. They were all dead, or quivering in the last throes. Each bad a wound above the brisket, and from this the red stream gurled out, and trickled down their still panting sides. Blood welled from their mouths and out of their nostrils. Pools of it were filtering through the prairie turf; and clotted gouts, flung out by the struggling hoof, sprinkled the grass around them!“Oh, heavens! what could it mean?”“Wagh! Santisima! Sacré Dieu!” were the exclamations of the hunters.“Surely no mortal hand has done this?”“It wa’n’t nuthin’ else,” cried a well-known voice, “ef yur call an Injun a mortal. ’Twur a red-skin, and this child—look ’ee-e!”I heard the click of a rifle along with this abrupt exclamation. I turned suddenly. Rube was in the act of levelling his piece. My eye involuntarily followed the direction of the barrel. There was an object moving in the long grass.“A buffalo that still kicks,” thought I, as I saw themass of dark-brown hair; “he is going to finish him; it is the calf!”I had scarcely made the observation when the animal reared up on its hind legs, uttering a wild human scream; the shaggy hide was flung off; and a naked savage appeared, holding out his arms in an attitude of supplication.I could not have saved him. The rifle had cracked, the ball had sped. I saw it piercing his brown breast, as a drop of sleet strikes upon the pane of glass; the red spout gushed forth, and the victim fell forward upon the body of one of the animals.“Wagh! Rube!” exclaimed one of the men; “why didn’t ye give him time to skin the meat? He mout as well ’a done that when he war about it;” and the man laughed at his savage jest.“Look ’ee hyur, boyees!” said Rube, pointing to the motte; “if ’ee look sharp, yur mout scare up another calf yander away! I’m a-gwine to see arter this Injun’s har; I am.”The hunters, at the suggestion, galloped off to surround the motte.I felt a degree of irresolution and disgust at this cool shedding of blood. I drew my rein almost involuntarily, and moved forward to the spot where the savage had fallen. He lay back uppermost. He was naked to the breech-clout. There was the debouchure of a bullet below the left shoulder, and the black-red stream was trickling down his ribs. The limbs still quivered, but it was in the last spasms of parting life.The hide in which he had disguised himself lay piled up where it had been flung. Beside it were a bow and several arrows. The latter were crimsoned to the notch, the feathers steeped in blood and clinging to the shafts. They had pierced the huge bodies of the animals, passing through and through. Each arrow had taken many lives! The old trapper rode up to the corpse, and leisurely dismounted from his mare.“Fifty dollar a plew!” he muttered, unsheathing his knife and stooping over the body. “It’s more’n I got for my own. It beats beaver all hollow. Cuss beaver, say this child. Plew a plug—ain’t worth trappin’ if the varmint wur as thick as grass-jumpers in calf-time. ’Ee up, niggur,” he continued, grasping the long hair of the savage, and holding the face upward; “let’s get a squint of your phisog. Hooraw! Coyote ’Pash! Hooraw!”And a gleam of triumph lit up the countenance of the old man as he uttered these wild exclamations.“Apash, is he?” asked one of the hunters, who had remained near the spot.“That he are, Coyote ’Pash, the very niggurs that bobtailed this child’s ears. I kin swar to thur ugly picters anywhur I get my peepers upon ’em. Wouwough—ole woofy! got ’ee at last, has he! Yur a beauty, an’ no mistake.”So saying, he gathered the long crown locks in his left hand, and with two slashes of his knife, held quarte and tierce, he cut a circle around the top of the head, as perfect as if it had been traced by compasses. He then took a turn of the hair over his wrist, giving it a quick jerk outward. At the same instant, the keen blade passed under the skin, and the scalp was taken!“Counts six,” he continued, muttering to himself while placing the scalp in his belt; “six at fifty—three hunder shiners for ’Pash har; cuss beaver trappin’! says I.”Having secured the bleeding trophy, he wiped his knife upon the hair of one of the buffaloes, and proceeded to cut a small notch in the woodwork of his gun, alongside five others that had been carved there already. These six notches stood for Apaches only; for as my eye wandered along the outlines of the piece, I saw that there were many other columns in that terrible register!
A march of twenty miles brought us to the place where we expected to be joined by the band. We found a small stream heading in the Pinon Range, and running westward to the San Pedro. It was fringed with cotton-trees and willows, and with grass in abundance for our horses. Here we encamped, kindled a fire in the thicket, cooked our wolf-mutton, ate it, and went to sleep.
The band came up in the morning, having travelled all night. Their provisions were spent as well as ours, and instead of resting our wearied animals, we pushed on through a pass in the sierra in hopes of finding game on the other side.
About noon we debouched through the mountain pass into a country of openings—small prairies, bounded by jungly forests, and interspersed with timber islands. These prairies were covered with tall grass, and buffalo signs appeared as we rode into them. We saw their “roads,” “chips,” and “wallows.”
We saw, moreover, thebois de vacheof the wild cattle. We would soon meet with one or the other.
We were still on the stream by which we had camped the night before, and we made a noon halt to refresh our animals.
The full-grown forms of the cacti were around us, bearing red and yellow fruit in abundance. We plucked the pears of the pitahaya, and ate them greedily; we found service-berries, yampo, and roots of the “pomme blanche.” We dined on fruits and vegetables of various sorts, indigenous only to this wild region.
But the stomachs of the hunters longed for their favourite food, the hump ribs and boudins of the buffalo; and after a halt of two hours, we moved forward through the openings.
We had ridden about an hour among chapparal, when Rube, who was some paces in advance, acting as guide, turned in his saddle and pointed downward.
“What’s there, Rube?” asked Seguin, in a low voice.
“Fresh track, cap’n; buffler!”
“What number; can you guess?”
“A gang o’ fifty or tharabout. They’ve tuk through the thicket yander-away. I kin sight the sky. Thur’s clur ground not fur from us; and I’d stak a plew thur in it. I think it’s a small parairia, cap.”
“Halt here, men!” said Seguin; “halt and keep silent. Ride forward, Rube. Come, Monsieur Haller, you’re fond of hunting; come along with us!”
I followed the guide and Seguin through the bushes; like them, riding slowly and silently.
In a few minutes we reached the edge of a prairie covered with long grass. Peering cautiously through the leaves of the prosopis, we had a full view of the open ground. The buffaloes were on the plain!
It was, as Rube had rightly conjectured, a small prairie about a mile and a half in width, closed in on all sides by a thick chapparal. Near the centre was a motte of heavy timber, growing up from a leafy underwood. A spur of willows running out from the timber indicated the presence of water.
“Thur’s a spring yander,” muttered Rube. “They’ve jest been a-coolin’ their noses at it.”
This was evident enough, for some of the animals were at the moment walking out of the willows; and we could see the wet clay glistening upon their flanks, and the saliva glancing down from their jaws.
“How will we get at them, Rube?” asked Seguin; “can we approach them, do you think?”
“I doubt not, cap. The grass ’ud hardly kiver us, an thur a-gwine out o’ range o’ the bushes.”
“How then? We cannot run them; there’s not room. They would be into the thicket at the first dash. We would lose every hoof of them.”
“Sartin as Scripter.”
“What is to be done?”
“This niggur sees but one other plan as kin be used jest at this time.”
“What is it?”
“Surround.”
“Right; if we can do that. How is the wind?”
“Dead as an Injun wi’ his head cut off,” replied the trapper, taking a small feather out of his cap and tossing it in the air. “See, cap, it falls plump!”
“It does, truly.”
“We kin easily git roun’ them bufflers afore they wind us; an’ we hev men enough to make a picket fence about them. We can hardly set about it too soon, cap. Thur a movin’ torst the edge yander.”
“Let us divide the men, then,” said Seguin, turning his horse; “you can guide one-half of them to their stands. I will go with the other. Monsieur Haller, you had better remain where you are. It is as good a stand as you can get. Have patience. It may be an hour before all are placed. When you hear the bugle, you may gallop forward and do your best. If we succeed, you shall have sport and a good supper, which I suppose you feel the need of by this time.”
So saying, Seguin left me, and rode back to the men, followed by old Rube.
It was their purpose to separate the band into two parties, each taking an opposite direction, and to drop men here and there at regular intervals around the prairie. They would keep in the thicket while on the march, and only discover themselves at a given signal. In this way, should the buffaloes allow time for the execution of the movement, we should be almost certain of securing the whole gang.
As soon as Seguin had left me, I looked to my rifle and pistols, putting on a fresh set of caps. After that, having nothing else to occupy me, I remained seated in my saddle, eyeing the animals as they fed unconscious of danger. I was full of anxiety lest some clumsy fellow might discover himself too soon, and thus spoil our anticipated sport.
After a while I could see the birds flying up from the thicket, and the screaming of the blue jay indicated to me the progress of the “surround.”
Now and then, an old bull, on the skirts of the herd, would toss up his shaggy mane, snuff the wind, and strike the ground fiercely with his hoof, evidently labouring under a suspicion that all was not right.
The others did not seem to heed these demonstrations, but kept on quietly cropping the luxuriant grama.
I was thinking how nicely we were going to have them in the trap, when an object caught my eye, just emerging from the motte. It was a buffalo calf, and I saw that it was proceeding to join the gang. I thought it somewhat strange that it should be separated from the rest, for the calves, trained by their mothers to know the wolf, usually keep up with the herd.
“It has stayed behind at the spring,” thought I. “Perhaps the others pushed it from the water, and it could not drink until they were gone.”
I fancied that it moved clumsily, as if wounded; but it was passing through the long grass, and I could not get a good view of it.
There was a pack of coyotes (there always is) sneaking after the herd. These, perceiving the calf, as it came out of the timber, made an instant and simultaneous attack upon it. I could see them skipping around it, and fancied I could hear their fierce snarling; but the calf appeared to fight its way through the thick of them; and after a short while, I saw it close in to its companions, where I lost sight of it among the others.
“A game young bull,” soliloquised I, and again I ran my eye around the skirting of the chapparal to watch how the hunters were getting forward with the “surround.” I could perceive the flashing of brilliant wings over the bramble, and hear the shrill voices of the jay-birds. Judging by these, I concluded that the men were moving slowly enough. It was half an hour since Seguin had left me, and I could perceive that they were not half-way round as yet.
I began to make calculations as to how long I would have to wait, soliloquising as follows:—
“Diameter of the prairie, a mile and a half. It is a circle three times that: four miles and a half. Phew! I shall not hear the signal in much less than an hour. I must be patient then, and—what! The brutes are lying down! Good! There is no danger now of their making off. We shall have rare sport! One, two, three, six of them down! It must be the heat and the water. They have drunk too much. There goes another. Lucky devils! They have nothing else to do but eat and sleep, while I—no! eight down! Well! I hope soon to eat, too. What an odd way they have of coming to the ground! How different from anything of the bovine tribe I have yet observed! I have never seen buffaloes quieting down before. One would think they were falling as if shot! Two more alongside the rest! They will soon be all upon the turf. So much the better. We can gallop up before they get to their feet again. Oh, that I could hear that horn!”
And thus I went on rambling from thought to thought, and listening for the signal, although I knew that it could not be given for some time yet.
The buffaloes kept moving slowly onward, browsing as they went, and continuing to lie down one after another. I thought it strange, their stretching themselves thus successively; but I had observed farm cattle do the same, and I was at that time but little acquainted with the habits of the buffalo. Some of them appeared to toss about on the ground and kick violently. I had heard of a peculiarity of these animals termed “wallowing.”
“They are at it,” thought I. I wished much to have a clearer view of this curious exercise, but the high grass prevented me. I could only see their shaggy shoulders, and occasionally their hoofs kicking up over the sward.
I watched their movements with great interest, now feeling secure that the “surround” would be complete before they would think of rising.
At length the last one of the gang followed the example of his companions, and dropped over.
They were all now upon their sides, half-buried in the bunch grass. I thought I noticed the calf still upon its feet; but at that moment the bugle sounded, and a simultaneous cheer broke from all sides of the prairie.
I pressed the spur to my horse’s flank, and dashed out into the open plain. Fifty others had done the same, yelling as they shot out of the thicket.
With my reins resting on my left fingers, and my rifle thrown crosswise, I galloped forward, filled with the wild excitement that such an adventure imparts. I was cocked and ready, resolved upon having the first shot.
It was but a short distance from where I had started to the nearest buffalo. I was soon within range, my horse flying like an arrow.
“Is the animal asleep? I am within ten paces of him, and still he stirs not! I will fire at him as he lies.”
I raised my rifle, levelled it, and was about to pull the trigger, when something red gleamed before my eyes. It was blood!
I lowered the piece with a feeling of terror, and commenced dragging upon the rein; but, before I could pull up, I was carried into the midst of the prostrate herd. Here my horse suddenly stopped, and I sat in my saddle as if spell-bound. I was under the influence of a superstitious awe. Blood was before me and around me. Turn which way I would, my eye rested upon blood!
My comrades closed in, yelling as they came; but their yelling suddenly ceased, and one by one reined up, as I had done, with looks of consternation and wonder.
It was not strange, at such a sight. Before us lay the bodies of the buffaloes. They were all dead, or quivering in the last throes. Each bad a wound above the brisket, and from this the red stream gurled out, and trickled down their still panting sides. Blood welled from their mouths and out of their nostrils. Pools of it were filtering through the prairie turf; and clotted gouts, flung out by the struggling hoof, sprinkled the grass around them!
“Oh, heavens! what could it mean?”
“Wagh! Santisima! Sacré Dieu!” were the exclamations of the hunters.
“Surely no mortal hand has done this?”
“It wa’n’t nuthin’ else,” cried a well-known voice, “ef yur call an Injun a mortal. ’Twur a red-skin, and this child—look ’ee-e!”
I heard the click of a rifle along with this abrupt exclamation. I turned suddenly. Rube was in the act of levelling his piece. My eye involuntarily followed the direction of the barrel. There was an object moving in the long grass.
“A buffalo that still kicks,” thought I, as I saw themass of dark-brown hair; “he is going to finish him; it is the calf!”
I had scarcely made the observation when the animal reared up on its hind legs, uttering a wild human scream; the shaggy hide was flung off; and a naked savage appeared, holding out his arms in an attitude of supplication.
I could not have saved him. The rifle had cracked, the ball had sped. I saw it piercing his brown breast, as a drop of sleet strikes upon the pane of glass; the red spout gushed forth, and the victim fell forward upon the body of one of the animals.
“Wagh! Rube!” exclaimed one of the men; “why didn’t ye give him time to skin the meat? He mout as well ’a done that when he war about it;” and the man laughed at his savage jest.
“Look ’ee hyur, boyees!” said Rube, pointing to the motte; “if ’ee look sharp, yur mout scare up another calf yander away! I’m a-gwine to see arter this Injun’s har; I am.”
The hunters, at the suggestion, galloped off to surround the motte.
I felt a degree of irresolution and disgust at this cool shedding of blood. I drew my rein almost involuntarily, and moved forward to the spot where the savage had fallen. He lay back uppermost. He was naked to the breech-clout. There was the debouchure of a bullet below the left shoulder, and the black-red stream was trickling down his ribs. The limbs still quivered, but it was in the last spasms of parting life.
The hide in which he had disguised himself lay piled up where it had been flung. Beside it were a bow and several arrows. The latter were crimsoned to the notch, the feathers steeped in blood and clinging to the shafts. They had pierced the huge bodies of the animals, passing through and through. Each arrow had taken many lives! The old trapper rode up to the corpse, and leisurely dismounted from his mare.
“Fifty dollar a plew!” he muttered, unsheathing his knife and stooping over the body. “It’s more’n I got for my own. It beats beaver all hollow. Cuss beaver, say this child. Plew a plug—ain’t worth trappin’ if the varmint wur as thick as grass-jumpers in calf-time. ’Ee up, niggur,” he continued, grasping the long hair of the savage, and holding the face upward; “let’s get a squint of your phisog. Hooraw! Coyote ’Pash! Hooraw!”
And a gleam of triumph lit up the countenance of the old man as he uttered these wild exclamations.
“Apash, is he?” asked one of the hunters, who had remained near the spot.
“That he are, Coyote ’Pash, the very niggurs that bobtailed this child’s ears. I kin swar to thur ugly picters anywhur I get my peepers upon ’em. Wouwough—ole woofy! got ’ee at last, has he! Yur a beauty, an’ no mistake.”
So saying, he gathered the long crown locks in his left hand, and with two slashes of his knife, held quarte and tierce, he cut a circle around the top of the head, as perfect as if it had been traced by compasses. He then took a turn of the hair over his wrist, giving it a quick jerk outward. At the same instant, the keen blade passed under the skin, and the scalp was taken!
“Counts six,” he continued, muttering to himself while placing the scalp in his belt; “six at fifty—three hunder shiners for ’Pash har; cuss beaver trappin’! says I.”
Having secured the bleeding trophy, he wiped his knife upon the hair of one of the buffaloes, and proceeded to cut a small notch in the woodwork of his gun, alongside five others that had been carved there already. These six notches stood for Apaches only; for as my eye wandered along the outlines of the piece, I saw that there were many other columns in that terrible register!
Chapter Thirty Two.Another “Coup.”A shot ringing in my ears caused me to withdraw my attention from the proceedings of the earless trapper. As I turned I saw a blue cloud floating away over the prairie, but I could not tell at what the shot had been fired. Thirty or forty of the hunters had surrounded the motte, and, halted, were sitting in their saddles in a kind of irregular circle. They were still at some distance from the timber, as if keeping out of arrow-range. They held their guns crosswise, and were shouting to one another.It was improbable that the savage was alone; doubtless there were some of his companions in the thicket. There could not be many, however, for the underwood was not large enough to conceal more than a dozen bodies, and the keen eyes of the hunters were piercing it in every direction.They reminded me of so many huntsmen in a gorse waiting the game to be sprung; but here, the game was human.It was a terrible spectacle. I looked towards Seguin, thinking that he might interfere to prevent the barbarous battue. He noticed my inquiring glance, and turned his face from me. I fancied that he felt ashamed of the work in which his followers were engaged; but the killing, or capture, of whatever Indians might be in the motte had now become a necessary measure, and I knew that any remonstrance of mine would be disregarded. As for the men themselves, they would have laughed at it. This was their pastime, their profession, and I am certain that, at that moment, their feelings were not very different from those which would have actuated them had they been driving a bear from his den. They were, perhaps, a trifle more intense; certainly not more inclined towards mercy.I reined up my horse, and awaited with painful emotions thedénouementof this savage drama.“Vaya, Irlandes! What did you see?” inquired one of the Mexicans, appealing to Barney. I saw by this that it was the Irishman who had fired the shot.“A rid-skin, by japers!” replied the latter.“Warn’t it yer own shadder ye sighted in the water?” cried a hunter, jeeringly.“Maybe it was the divil, Barney?”“In trath, frinds, I saw a somethin’ that looked mighty like him, and I kilt it too.”“Ha! ha! Barney has killed the devil. Ha! ha!”“Wagh!” exclaimed a trapper, spurring his horse toward the thicket; “the fool saw nothin’. I’ll chance it, anyhow.”“Stop, comrade!” cried the hunter Garey; “let’s take a safer plan. Redhead’s right. Thar’s Injuns in them bushes, whether he seen it or not; that skunk warn’t by himself, I reckin; try this a way!”The young trapper dismounted, and turned his horse broadside to the bushes. Keeping on the outside, he commenced walking the animal in a spiral ring that gradually closed in upon the clump. In this way his body was screened; and his head only could be seen above the pommel of his saddle, over which he rested his rifle, cocked and ready.Several others, observing this movement on the part of Garey, dismounted, and followed his example.A deep silence prevailed as they narrowed the diameters of their circling courses.In a short time they were close in to the motte, yet still no arrow whizzed out. Was there no one there? So it seemed; and the men pushed fearlessly into the thicket.I watched all this with excited feelings. I began to hope there was no one in the bushes. I listened to every sound; I heard the snapping of the twigs and the muttering of the men. There was a moment’s silence as they pushed eagerly forward.Then I heard a sudden exclamation, and a voice calling out—“Dead red-skin! Hurrah for Barney!”“Barney’s bullet through him, by the holies!” cried another. “Hollo, old sky-blue! Come hyar and see what ye’ve done!”The rest of the hunters, along with theci-devantsoldier, now rode forward to the copse. I moved slowly after. On coming up, I saw them dragging the body of an Indian into the open ground: a naked savage, like the other. He was dead, and they were preparing to scalp him.“Come now, Barney!” cried one of the men in a joking manner, “the har’s your’n. Why don’t ye off wid it, man?”“It’s moine, dev yez say?” asked Barney, appealing to the speaker.“Sartinly; you killed him. It’s your’n by right.”“An’ it is raaly worth fifty dollars?”“Good as wheat for that.”“Would yez be so frindly, thin, as to cut it aff for me?”“Oh! sartinly, wid all the plizyer of life,” replied the hunter, imitating Barney’s accent, at the same time severing the scalp, and handing it to him.Barney took the hideous trophy, and I fancy that he did not feel very proud of it. Poor Celt! he may have been guilty of many a breach in the laws of garrison discipline, but it was evident that this was his first lesson in the letting of human blood.The hunters now dismounted, and commenced trampling the thicket through and through. The search was most minute, for there was still a mystery. An extra bow—that is to say, a third—had been found, with its quiver of arrows. Where was the owner? Could he have escaped from the thicket while the men were engaged around the fallen buffaloes? He might, though it was barely probable; but the hunters knew that these savages run more like wild animals, like hares, than human beings, and he might have escaped to the chapparal.“If that Injun has got clar,” said Garey, “we’ve no time to lose in skinnin’ them bufflers. Thar’s plenty o’ his tribe not twenty miles from hyar, I calc’late.”“Look down among the willows there!” cried the voice of the chief; “close down to the water.”There was a pool. It was turbid and trampled around the edges with buffalo tracks. On one side it was deep. Here willows dropped over and hung into the water. Several men pressed into this side, and commenced sounding the bottom with their lances and the butts of their rifles.Old Rube had come up among the rest, and was drawing the stopper of his powder-horn with his teeth, apparently with the intention of reloading. His small dark eyes were scintillating every way at once: above, around him, and into the water.A sudden thought seemed to enter his head. I saw him push back the plug, grasp the Irishman, who was nearest him, by the arm, and mutter, in a low and hurried voice, “Paddy! Barney! gi’ us yur gun; quick, man, quick!”Barney, at this earnest solicitation, immediately surrendered his piece, taking the empty rifle that was thrust into his hand by the trapper.Rube eagerly grasped the musket, and stood for a moment as if he was about to fire at some object in the pond. Suddenly he jerked his body round, and, poising the gun upward, fired into the thick foliage.A shrill scream followed; a heavy body came crashing through the branches, and struck the ground at my feet. Warm drops sparkled into my eyes, causing me to wince. It was blood! I was blinded with it; I rubbed my eyes to clear them. I heard men rushing from all parts of the thicket. When I could see again, a naked savage was just disappearing through the leaves.“Missed him!” cried the trapper. “Away wi’ yur sodger gun!” he added, flinging down the musket, and rushing after the savage with his drawn knife.I followed among the rest. I heard several shots as we scrambled through the brushwood.When I had got to the outer edge I could see the Indian still on his feet, and running with the speed of an antelope. He did not keep in a direct line, but zigzag, leaping from side to side, in order to baffle the aim of his pursuers, whose rifles were all the time ringing behind him. As yet none of their bullets had taken effect, at least so as to cripple him. There was a streak of blood visible on his brown body, but the wound, wherever it was did not seem to hinder him in his flight.I thought there could be no chance of his escape, and I had no intention of emptying my gun at such a mark. I remained, therefore, among the bushes, screening myself behind the leaves and watching the chase.Some of the hunters continued to follow him on foot, while the more cunning ones rushed back for their horses. These happened to be all on the opposite side of the thicket, with one exception, and that was the mare of the trapper Rube. She was browsing where Rube had dismounted, out among the slaughtered buffaloes, and directly in the line of the chase.As the savage approached her, a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and diverging slightly from his course, he plucked up the picket-pin, coiled the lasso with the dexterity of a gaucho, and sprang upon the animal’s back.It was a well-conceived idea, but unfortunate for the Indian. He had scarcely touched the saddle when a peculiar shout was heard above all other sounds. It was a call uttered in the voice of the earless trapper. The mustang recognised it; and instead of running forward, obedient to the guidance of her rider, she wheeled suddenly and came galloping back. At this moment a shot fired at the savage scorched her hip, and, setting back her ears, she commenced squealing and kicking so violently that all her feet seemed to be in the air at the same time.The Indian now endeavoured to fling himself from the saddle; but the alternate plunging of the fore and hind quarters kept him for some moments tossing in a sort of balance. He was at length pitched outward, and fell to the ground upon his back. Before he could recover himself a Mexican had ridden up, and with his long lance pinned him to the earth.A scene followed in which Rube played the principal character; in fact, had “the stage to himself.”“Sodger guns” were sent to perdition; and as the old trapper was angry about the wound which his mare had received, “crook-eyed greenhorns” came in for a share of his anathemas. The mustang, however, had sustained no serious damage; and after this was ascertained, the emphatic ebullitions of her master’s anger subsided into a low growling, and then ceased altogether.As there appeared no sign that there were other savages in the neighbourhood, the next concern of the hunters was to satisfy their hunger. Fires were soon kindled, and a plenteous repast of buffalo meat produced the desired effect.After the meal was ended, a consultation was held. It was agreed that we should move forward to the old mission, which was known to be not over ten miles distant. We could there defend ourselves in case of an attack from the tribe of Coyoteros, to which the three savages belonged. It was feared by all that these might strike our trail, and come up with us before we could take our departure from the ruin.The buffaloes were speedily skinned and packed, and taking a westerly course, we journeyed on to the mission.
A shot ringing in my ears caused me to withdraw my attention from the proceedings of the earless trapper. As I turned I saw a blue cloud floating away over the prairie, but I could not tell at what the shot had been fired. Thirty or forty of the hunters had surrounded the motte, and, halted, were sitting in their saddles in a kind of irregular circle. They were still at some distance from the timber, as if keeping out of arrow-range. They held their guns crosswise, and were shouting to one another.
It was improbable that the savage was alone; doubtless there were some of his companions in the thicket. There could not be many, however, for the underwood was not large enough to conceal more than a dozen bodies, and the keen eyes of the hunters were piercing it in every direction.
They reminded me of so many huntsmen in a gorse waiting the game to be sprung; but here, the game was human.
It was a terrible spectacle. I looked towards Seguin, thinking that he might interfere to prevent the barbarous battue. He noticed my inquiring glance, and turned his face from me. I fancied that he felt ashamed of the work in which his followers were engaged; but the killing, or capture, of whatever Indians might be in the motte had now become a necessary measure, and I knew that any remonstrance of mine would be disregarded. As for the men themselves, they would have laughed at it. This was their pastime, their profession, and I am certain that, at that moment, their feelings were not very different from those which would have actuated them had they been driving a bear from his den. They were, perhaps, a trifle more intense; certainly not more inclined towards mercy.
I reined up my horse, and awaited with painful emotions thedénouementof this savage drama.
“Vaya, Irlandes! What did you see?” inquired one of the Mexicans, appealing to Barney. I saw by this that it was the Irishman who had fired the shot.
“A rid-skin, by japers!” replied the latter.
“Warn’t it yer own shadder ye sighted in the water?” cried a hunter, jeeringly.
“Maybe it was the divil, Barney?”
“In trath, frinds, I saw a somethin’ that looked mighty like him, and I kilt it too.”
“Ha! ha! Barney has killed the devil. Ha! ha!”
“Wagh!” exclaimed a trapper, spurring his horse toward the thicket; “the fool saw nothin’. I’ll chance it, anyhow.”
“Stop, comrade!” cried the hunter Garey; “let’s take a safer plan. Redhead’s right. Thar’s Injuns in them bushes, whether he seen it or not; that skunk warn’t by himself, I reckin; try this a way!”
The young trapper dismounted, and turned his horse broadside to the bushes. Keeping on the outside, he commenced walking the animal in a spiral ring that gradually closed in upon the clump. In this way his body was screened; and his head only could be seen above the pommel of his saddle, over which he rested his rifle, cocked and ready.
Several others, observing this movement on the part of Garey, dismounted, and followed his example.
A deep silence prevailed as they narrowed the diameters of their circling courses.
In a short time they were close in to the motte, yet still no arrow whizzed out. Was there no one there? So it seemed; and the men pushed fearlessly into the thicket.
I watched all this with excited feelings. I began to hope there was no one in the bushes. I listened to every sound; I heard the snapping of the twigs and the muttering of the men. There was a moment’s silence as they pushed eagerly forward.
Then I heard a sudden exclamation, and a voice calling out—
“Dead red-skin! Hurrah for Barney!”
“Barney’s bullet through him, by the holies!” cried another. “Hollo, old sky-blue! Come hyar and see what ye’ve done!”
The rest of the hunters, along with theci-devantsoldier, now rode forward to the copse. I moved slowly after. On coming up, I saw them dragging the body of an Indian into the open ground: a naked savage, like the other. He was dead, and they were preparing to scalp him.
“Come now, Barney!” cried one of the men in a joking manner, “the har’s your’n. Why don’t ye off wid it, man?”
“It’s moine, dev yez say?” asked Barney, appealing to the speaker.
“Sartinly; you killed him. It’s your’n by right.”
“An’ it is raaly worth fifty dollars?”
“Good as wheat for that.”
“Would yez be so frindly, thin, as to cut it aff for me?”
“Oh! sartinly, wid all the plizyer of life,” replied the hunter, imitating Barney’s accent, at the same time severing the scalp, and handing it to him.
Barney took the hideous trophy, and I fancy that he did not feel very proud of it. Poor Celt! he may have been guilty of many a breach in the laws of garrison discipline, but it was evident that this was his first lesson in the letting of human blood.
The hunters now dismounted, and commenced trampling the thicket through and through. The search was most minute, for there was still a mystery. An extra bow—that is to say, a third—had been found, with its quiver of arrows. Where was the owner? Could he have escaped from the thicket while the men were engaged around the fallen buffaloes? He might, though it was barely probable; but the hunters knew that these savages run more like wild animals, like hares, than human beings, and he might have escaped to the chapparal.
“If that Injun has got clar,” said Garey, “we’ve no time to lose in skinnin’ them bufflers. Thar’s plenty o’ his tribe not twenty miles from hyar, I calc’late.”
“Look down among the willows there!” cried the voice of the chief; “close down to the water.”
There was a pool. It was turbid and trampled around the edges with buffalo tracks. On one side it was deep. Here willows dropped over and hung into the water. Several men pressed into this side, and commenced sounding the bottom with their lances and the butts of their rifles.
Old Rube had come up among the rest, and was drawing the stopper of his powder-horn with his teeth, apparently with the intention of reloading. His small dark eyes were scintillating every way at once: above, around him, and into the water.
A sudden thought seemed to enter his head. I saw him push back the plug, grasp the Irishman, who was nearest him, by the arm, and mutter, in a low and hurried voice, “Paddy! Barney! gi’ us yur gun; quick, man, quick!”
Barney, at this earnest solicitation, immediately surrendered his piece, taking the empty rifle that was thrust into his hand by the trapper.
Rube eagerly grasped the musket, and stood for a moment as if he was about to fire at some object in the pond. Suddenly he jerked his body round, and, poising the gun upward, fired into the thick foliage.
A shrill scream followed; a heavy body came crashing through the branches, and struck the ground at my feet. Warm drops sparkled into my eyes, causing me to wince. It was blood! I was blinded with it; I rubbed my eyes to clear them. I heard men rushing from all parts of the thicket. When I could see again, a naked savage was just disappearing through the leaves.
“Missed him!” cried the trapper. “Away wi’ yur sodger gun!” he added, flinging down the musket, and rushing after the savage with his drawn knife.
I followed among the rest. I heard several shots as we scrambled through the brushwood.
When I had got to the outer edge I could see the Indian still on his feet, and running with the speed of an antelope. He did not keep in a direct line, but zigzag, leaping from side to side, in order to baffle the aim of his pursuers, whose rifles were all the time ringing behind him. As yet none of their bullets had taken effect, at least so as to cripple him. There was a streak of blood visible on his brown body, but the wound, wherever it was did not seem to hinder him in his flight.
I thought there could be no chance of his escape, and I had no intention of emptying my gun at such a mark. I remained, therefore, among the bushes, screening myself behind the leaves and watching the chase.
Some of the hunters continued to follow him on foot, while the more cunning ones rushed back for their horses. These happened to be all on the opposite side of the thicket, with one exception, and that was the mare of the trapper Rube. She was browsing where Rube had dismounted, out among the slaughtered buffaloes, and directly in the line of the chase.
As the savage approached her, a sudden thought seemed to strike him, and diverging slightly from his course, he plucked up the picket-pin, coiled the lasso with the dexterity of a gaucho, and sprang upon the animal’s back.
It was a well-conceived idea, but unfortunate for the Indian. He had scarcely touched the saddle when a peculiar shout was heard above all other sounds. It was a call uttered in the voice of the earless trapper. The mustang recognised it; and instead of running forward, obedient to the guidance of her rider, she wheeled suddenly and came galloping back. At this moment a shot fired at the savage scorched her hip, and, setting back her ears, she commenced squealing and kicking so violently that all her feet seemed to be in the air at the same time.
The Indian now endeavoured to fling himself from the saddle; but the alternate plunging of the fore and hind quarters kept him for some moments tossing in a sort of balance. He was at length pitched outward, and fell to the ground upon his back. Before he could recover himself a Mexican had ridden up, and with his long lance pinned him to the earth.
A scene followed in which Rube played the principal character; in fact, had “the stage to himself.”
“Sodger guns” were sent to perdition; and as the old trapper was angry about the wound which his mare had received, “crook-eyed greenhorns” came in for a share of his anathemas. The mustang, however, had sustained no serious damage; and after this was ascertained, the emphatic ebullitions of her master’s anger subsided into a low growling, and then ceased altogether.
As there appeared no sign that there were other savages in the neighbourhood, the next concern of the hunters was to satisfy their hunger. Fires were soon kindled, and a plenteous repast of buffalo meat produced the desired effect.
After the meal was ended, a consultation was held. It was agreed that we should move forward to the old mission, which was known to be not over ten miles distant. We could there defend ourselves in case of an attack from the tribe of Coyoteros, to which the three savages belonged. It was feared by all that these might strike our trail, and come up with us before we could take our departure from the ruin.
The buffaloes were speedily skinned and packed, and taking a westerly course, we journeyed on to the mission.
Chapter Thirty Three.A Bitter Trap.We reached the ruin a little after sunset. We frightened the owl and the wolf, and made our bivouac among the crumbling walls. Our horses were picketed upon the deserted lawns, and in the long-neglected orchards, where the ripe fruit was raining down its ungathered showers. Fires were kindled, lighting the grey pile with their cheerful blazing; and joints of meat were taken out of the hide-packs and roasted for supper.There was water in abundance. A branch of the San Pedro swept past the walls of the mission. There were yams in the spoliated gardens; there were grapes, and pomegranates, and quinces, and melons, and pears, and peaches, and apples; and with all these was our repast garnished.It was soon over, and videttes were thrown out on the tracks that led to the ruin. The men were weak and weary with their late fasting, and in a short while stretched themselves by their saddles and slept.So much for our first night at the mission of San Pedro.We were to remain for three days, or until the buffalo meat should be dried for packing.They were irksome days to me. Idleness displayed the bad qualities of my half-savage associates. The ribald jest and fearful oath rang continually in my ears, until I was fain to wander off to the woods with the old botanist, who, during these three days, revelled in the happy excitement of discovery.I found companionship also in the Maricopa. This strange man had studied science deeply, and was conversant with almost every noted author. He was reserved only when I wished him to talk of himself.Seguin during these days was taciturn and lonely. He took but little heed of what was going on around him. He seemed to be suffering from impatience, as every now and then he paid a visit to the tasajo. He passed many hours upon the adjacent heights, looking anxiously towards the east: that point whence our spies would come in from the Pinon.There was an azotea on the ruin. I was in the habit of seeking this place at evening after the sun had grown less fervid. It afforded a fine prospect of the valley; but its chief attraction to me lay in the retirement I could there obtain. The hunters rarely climbed up to it, and their wild and licenced converse was unheard for the time. I used to spread my blanket among the crumbling parapets, and stretched upon it, deliver myself up to the sweet retrospect, or to still sweeter dreams that my fancy outlined upon the future. There was one object on my memory: upon that object only did my hopes dwell.I need not make this declaration; at least to those who have truly loved.In the programme placed before me by Seguin, I had not bargained for such wanton cruelties as I was now compelled to witness. It was not the time to look back, but forward, and perhaps, over other scenes of blood and brutality, to that happier hour, when I should have redeemed my promise, and won the prize, beautiful Zoe.My reverie was interrupted. I heard voices and footsteps; they were approaching the spot where I lay. I could see that there were two men engaged in an earnest conversation. They did not notice me, as I was behind some fragments of the broken parapet, and in the shadow. As they drew nearer, I recognised the patois of my Canadian follower, and that of his companion was not to be mistaken. The brogue was Barney’s, beyond a doubt.These worthies, I had lately noticed, had become “as thick as two thieves,” and were much in each other’s company. Some act of kindness had endeared the “infantry” to his more astute and experienced associate, who had taken him under his patronage and protection.I was vexed at the intrusion; but prompted by some impulse of curiosity, I lay still and listened.Barney was speaking as they approached.“In trath, Misther Gowdey, an’ it’s meself ’ud go far this blissed night for a dhrap o’ the crayter. I noticed the little kig afore; but divil resave me av I thought it was anythin’ barrin’ cowld water. Vistment! only think o’ the owld Dutch sinner bringin’ a whole kig wid ’im, an’ keepin’ it all to himself. Yez are sure now it’s the stuff?”“Oui! oui! C’est liqueur! aguardiente.”“Agwardenty, ye say, div ye?”“Oui! c’est vrai, Monsieur Barney. I have him smell, ver many time. It is of stink très fort: strong! good!”“But why cudn’t ye stale it yerself? Yez know exactly where the doctor keeps it, an’ ye might get at it a hape handier than I can.”“Pourquoi, Barney? pecause, mon ami, I help pack les possibles of Monsieur le docteur. Pardieu! he would me suspect.”“I don’t see the raison clear. He may suspect ye at all evints. How thin?”“Ah! then, n’importe. I sall make von grand swear. No! I sall have ver clear conscience then.”“Be the powers! we must get the licker anyhow; av you won’t, Misther Gowdey, I will; that’s said, isn’t it?”“Oui! Très bien!”“Well, thin, now or niver’s the time. The ould fellow’s just walked out, for I saw him meself. This is a nate place to drink it in. Come an’ show me where he keeps it; and, by Saint Patrick! I’m yer man to hook it.”“Très bien! allons! Monsieur Barney, allons!”Unintelligible as this conversation may appear, I understood every word of it. The naturalist had brought among his packs a small keg of aguardiente, mezcal spirits, for the purpose of preserving any new species of the lizard or snake tribe he should chance to fall in with. What I heard, then, was neither more or less than a plot to steal the keg and its contents!My first impulse was to leap up and stop them in their design, as well as administer a salutary rebuke to my voyageur and his red-haired companion; but a moment’s reflection convinced me that they could be better punished in another way. I would leave them to punish themselves.I remembered that some days previous to our reaching the Ojo de Vaca, the doctor had captured a snake of the adder kind, two or three species of lizards, and a hideous-looking animal, called, in hunter phraseology, the horned frog: theagama cornutaof Texas and Mexico. These he had immersed in the spirit for preservation. I had observed him do so, and it was evident that neither my Frenchman nor the Irishman had any idea of this. I adopted the resolution, therefore, to let them drink a full bumper of the “pickle” before I should interfere.Knowing that they would soon return, I remained where I was.I had not long to wait upon them. In a few minutes they came up, Barney carrying what I knew to be the devoted keg.They sat down close to where I lay, and prising out the bung, filled the liquor into their tin cups, and commenced imbibing.A drouthier pair of mortals could not have been found anywhere; and at the first draught, each emptied his cup to the bottom!“It has a quare taste, hasn’t it?” said Barney, after he had taken the vessel from his lips.“Oui! c’est vrai, monsieur!”“What dev ye think it is?”“Je ne sais quoi. It smells like one—one—”“Is it fish, ye mane?”“Oui! like one feesh: un bouquet très bizarre Fichtro!”“I suppose it’s something that the Mexicans have drapped in to give the agwardenty a flayver. It’s mighty strong anyhow. It’s nothing the worse av that; but it ’ud be sorry drinkin’ alongside a nate dimmyjan of Irish patyeen. Och! mother av Moses! but that’s the raal bayvaridge!”Here the Irishman shook his head to express with more emphasis his admiration of the native whisky.“Well, Misther Gowdey,” continued he, “whisky’s whisky at any rate; and if we can’t get the butther, it’s no raison we should refuse the brid; so I’ll thank ye for another small thrifle out of the kig,” and the speaker held out his tin vessel to be replenished.Gode lifted the keg, and emptied more of its contents into their cups.“Mon Dieu! what is dis in my cops?” exclaimed he, after a draught.“Fwhat is it? Let me see. That! Be me sowl! that’s a quare-looking crayter anyhow.”“Sac–r–r–ré! it is von Texan! von fr–r–og! Dat is de feesh we smell stink. Owah—ah—ah!”“Oh! holy mother! if here isn’t another in moine! By jabers! it’s a scorpion lizard! Hoach—wach—wach!”“Ow—ah—ah—ack—ack! Mon Dieu! Oach—ach—! Sac-r! O—ach—ach—o—oa—a—ach!”“Tare-an-ages! He—ach! the owld doctor has—oach—ack—ack! Blessed Vargin! Ha—he—hoh—ack! Poison! poison!”And the brace of revellers went staggering over the azotea, delivering their stomachs, and ejaculating in extreme terror as the thought struck them that there might be poison in the pickle.I had risen to my feet, and was enjoying the joke in loud laughter. This and the exclamations of the men brought a crowd of hunters up to the roof, who, as soon as they perceived what had happened, joined in, and made the ruin ring with their wild peals.The doctor, who had come up among the rest, was not so well satisfied with the occurrence. After a short search, however, the lizards were found and returned to the keg, which still contained enough of the spirit for his purposes. It was not likely to be disturbed again, even by the thirstiest hunter in the band.
We reached the ruin a little after sunset. We frightened the owl and the wolf, and made our bivouac among the crumbling walls. Our horses were picketed upon the deserted lawns, and in the long-neglected orchards, where the ripe fruit was raining down its ungathered showers. Fires were kindled, lighting the grey pile with their cheerful blazing; and joints of meat were taken out of the hide-packs and roasted for supper.
There was water in abundance. A branch of the San Pedro swept past the walls of the mission. There were yams in the spoliated gardens; there were grapes, and pomegranates, and quinces, and melons, and pears, and peaches, and apples; and with all these was our repast garnished.
It was soon over, and videttes were thrown out on the tracks that led to the ruin. The men were weak and weary with their late fasting, and in a short while stretched themselves by their saddles and slept.
So much for our first night at the mission of San Pedro.
We were to remain for three days, or until the buffalo meat should be dried for packing.
They were irksome days to me. Idleness displayed the bad qualities of my half-savage associates. The ribald jest and fearful oath rang continually in my ears, until I was fain to wander off to the woods with the old botanist, who, during these three days, revelled in the happy excitement of discovery.
I found companionship also in the Maricopa. This strange man had studied science deeply, and was conversant with almost every noted author. He was reserved only when I wished him to talk of himself.
Seguin during these days was taciturn and lonely. He took but little heed of what was going on around him. He seemed to be suffering from impatience, as every now and then he paid a visit to the tasajo. He passed many hours upon the adjacent heights, looking anxiously towards the east: that point whence our spies would come in from the Pinon.
There was an azotea on the ruin. I was in the habit of seeking this place at evening after the sun had grown less fervid. It afforded a fine prospect of the valley; but its chief attraction to me lay in the retirement I could there obtain. The hunters rarely climbed up to it, and their wild and licenced converse was unheard for the time. I used to spread my blanket among the crumbling parapets, and stretched upon it, deliver myself up to the sweet retrospect, or to still sweeter dreams that my fancy outlined upon the future. There was one object on my memory: upon that object only did my hopes dwell.
I need not make this declaration; at least to those who have truly loved.
In the programme placed before me by Seguin, I had not bargained for such wanton cruelties as I was now compelled to witness. It was not the time to look back, but forward, and perhaps, over other scenes of blood and brutality, to that happier hour, when I should have redeemed my promise, and won the prize, beautiful Zoe.
My reverie was interrupted. I heard voices and footsteps; they were approaching the spot where I lay. I could see that there were two men engaged in an earnest conversation. They did not notice me, as I was behind some fragments of the broken parapet, and in the shadow. As they drew nearer, I recognised the patois of my Canadian follower, and that of his companion was not to be mistaken. The brogue was Barney’s, beyond a doubt.
These worthies, I had lately noticed, had become “as thick as two thieves,” and were much in each other’s company. Some act of kindness had endeared the “infantry” to his more astute and experienced associate, who had taken him under his patronage and protection.
I was vexed at the intrusion; but prompted by some impulse of curiosity, I lay still and listened.
Barney was speaking as they approached.
“In trath, Misther Gowdey, an’ it’s meself ’ud go far this blissed night for a dhrap o’ the crayter. I noticed the little kig afore; but divil resave me av I thought it was anythin’ barrin’ cowld water. Vistment! only think o’ the owld Dutch sinner bringin’ a whole kig wid ’im, an’ keepin’ it all to himself. Yez are sure now it’s the stuff?”
“Oui! oui! C’est liqueur! aguardiente.”
“Agwardenty, ye say, div ye?”
“Oui! c’est vrai, Monsieur Barney. I have him smell, ver many time. It is of stink très fort: strong! good!”
“But why cudn’t ye stale it yerself? Yez know exactly where the doctor keeps it, an’ ye might get at it a hape handier than I can.”
“Pourquoi, Barney? pecause, mon ami, I help pack les possibles of Monsieur le docteur. Pardieu! he would me suspect.”
“I don’t see the raison clear. He may suspect ye at all evints. How thin?”
“Ah! then, n’importe. I sall make von grand swear. No! I sall have ver clear conscience then.”
“Be the powers! we must get the licker anyhow; av you won’t, Misther Gowdey, I will; that’s said, isn’t it?”
“Oui! Très bien!”
“Well, thin, now or niver’s the time. The ould fellow’s just walked out, for I saw him meself. This is a nate place to drink it in. Come an’ show me where he keeps it; and, by Saint Patrick! I’m yer man to hook it.”
“Très bien! allons! Monsieur Barney, allons!”
Unintelligible as this conversation may appear, I understood every word of it. The naturalist had brought among his packs a small keg of aguardiente, mezcal spirits, for the purpose of preserving any new species of the lizard or snake tribe he should chance to fall in with. What I heard, then, was neither more or less than a plot to steal the keg and its contents!
My first impulse was to leap up and stop them in their design, as well as administer a salutary rebuke to my voyageur and his red-haired companion; but a moment’s reflection convinced me that they could be better punished in another way. I would leave them to punish themselves.
I remembered that some days previous to our reaching the Ojo de Vaca, the doctor had captured a snake of the adder kind, two or three species of lizards, and a hideous-looking animal, called, in hunter phraseology, the horned frog: theagama cornutaof Texas and Mexico. These he had immersed in the spirit for preservation. I had observed him do so, and it was evident that neither my Frenchman nor the Irishman had any idea of this. I adopted the resolution, therefore, to let them drink a full bumper of the “pickle” before I should interfere.
Knowing that they would soon return, I remained where I was.
I had not long to wait upon them. In a few minutes they came up, Barney carrying what I knew to be the devoted keg.
They sat down close to where I lay, and prising out the bung, filled the liquor into their tin cups, and commenced imbibing.
A drouthier pair of mortals could not have been found anywhere; and at the first draught, each emptied his cup to the bottom!
“It has a quare taste, hasn’t it?” said Barney, after he had taken the vessel from his lips.
“Oui! c’est vrai, monsieur!”
“What dev ye think it is?”
“Je ne sais quoi. It smells like one—one—”
“Is it fish, ye mane?”
“Oui! like one feesh: un bouquet très bizarre Fichtro!”
“I suppose it’s something that the Mexicans have drapped in to give the agwardenty a flayver. It’s mighty strong anyhow. It’s nothing the worse av that; but it ’ud be sorry drinkin’ alongside a nate dimmyjan of Irish patyeen. Och! mother av Moses! but that’s the raal bayvaridge!”
Here the Irishman shook his head to express with more emphasis his admiration of the native whisky.
“Well, Misther Gowdey,” continued he, “whisky’s whisky at any rate; and if we can’t get the butther, it’s no raison we should refuse the brid; so I’ll thank ye for another small thrifle out of the kig,” and the speaker held out his tin vessel to be replenished.
Gode lifted the keg, and emptied more of its contents into their cups.
“Mon Dieu! what is dis in my cops?” exclaimed he, after a draught.
“Fwhat is it? Let me see. That! Be me sowl! that’s a quare-looking crayter anyhow.”
“Sac–r–r–ré! it is von Texan! von fr–r–og! Dat is de feesh we smell stink. Owah—ah—ah!”
“Oh! holy mother! if here isn’t another in moine! By jabers! it’s a scorpion lizard! Hoach—wach—wach!”
“Ow—ah—ah—ack—ack! Mon Dieu! Oach—ach—! Sac-r! O—ach—ach—o—oa—a—ach!”
“Tare-an-ages! He—ach! the owld doctor has—oach—ack—ack! Blessed Vargin! Ha—he—hoh—ack! Poison! poison!”
And the brace of revellers went staggering over the azotea, delivering their stomachs, and ejaculating in extreme terror as the thought struck them that there might be poison in the pickle.
I had risen to my feet, and was enjoying the joke in loud laughter. This and the exclamations of the men brought a crowd of hunters up to the roof, who, as soon as they perceived what had happened, joined in, and made the ruin ring with their wild peals.
The doctor, who had come up among the rest, was not so well satisfied with the occurrence. After a short search, however, the lizards were found and returned to the keg, which still contained enough of the spirit for his purposes. It was not likely to be disturbed again, even by the thirstiest hunter in the band.