Chapter Eighty Seven.Suspicious Appearances.The Indians came crowding around the corpse—both warriors and women. Their exclamations betokened no sympathy. Even the squaws looked on with unpitying aspect—though the victim was of their own race and sex. They knew she had been allied with their enemies; and had been witnesses of her savage assault uponMaranee, though ignorant of its motive. Some of them who had lost kindred in the strife, already stirred by grief and fury, were proceeding to insult the lifeless and mutilated remains—to mutilate them still more! I turned away from the loathsome scene. Neither the dead nor the living, that composed this ghastly tableau, had further interest for me.My glance, wandering in search of other forms, first fell upon that of Wingrove. He was standing near, in an attitude that betokened extreme prostration of spirit. His head hung forward over his breast; but his eyes were not directed to the ground: they were turned upward, gazing after a form that was passing away. It was that of the huntress. The girl had regained her horse; and was riding off, followed by the dog. She went slowly—as if irresolute both as to the act and the direction. In both, the horse appeared to have his will: the reins rested loosely upon his withers; while his rider seemed wrapped in a silent abstraction. I was hastening towards my Arab, with the design of joining her, when I saw that I was anticipated. Another had conceived a similar intention. It was Wa-ka-ra.The young chief, still on horseback, was seen spurring out from the midst of his men, and guiding his war-steed in the direction taken by the huntress. Before I could lay hands upon my bridle, he had galloped up to Marian, and falling into a gentler pace, rode on by her side. I did not attempt to follow them. Somewhat chagrined at having my designs interrupted, I gave up the intention of mounting my horse, and turned back towards Wingrove. As soon as I was near enough to read the expression upon his features, I saw that my chagrin was more than shared by him. An emotion of most rancorous bitterness was burning in the breast of the young backwoodsman. His glance was fixed upon the two forms—slowly receding across the plain. He was regarding every movement of both with that keen concentrated gaze, which jealousy alone can give.“Nonsense, Wingrove!” said I, reading the thoughts of his heart. “Don’t let that trouble you: there’s nothing between them, I can assure you.”Certainly the spectacle was enough to excite the suspicions of a less jealous lover—if not to justify them. Both the equestrians had halted at a distant part of the plain. They were not so distant, but that their attitudes could be observed. They still remained on horseback; but the horses were side by side, and so near each other, that the bodies of their riders appeared almost touching. The head of the chief was bent forward and downward; while his hand appeared extended outward, as if holding that of the huntress! It was a fearful tableau for a lover to contemplate—even at a distance; and the white lips, clenched teeth, and quick irregular beating of Wingrove’s heart—perfectly audible to me as I stood beside him—told with what terrible emotions the sight was inspiring him. I was myself puzzled at the attitude of the Utah chief—as well as the silent complaisance with which his attentions appeared to be received. It certainly had the seeming of gallantry—though I was loth to believe in its reality. In truth I could not give credence to such a thought. It was not human nature—not even woman’s—to play false in suchsans façon. The appearance must certainly be a deception?I was endeavouring to conjecture an explanation, when a moving object attracted my attention. It was a horseman who appeared upon the plain, beyond where the huntress and the chief had halted. To our eyes, he was nearly in a line with them—approaching down the valley from the upper cañon—out of which he had evidently issued. He was still at a considerable distance from the other two; but it could be seen that he was coming on at full gallop and straight towards them. In a few moments, he would be up to where they stood. I watched this horseman with interest. I was in hopes he would keep on his course, and interrupt the scene that was annoying myself, and torturing my companion. I was not disappointed in the hope. The hurrying horseman rode straight on; and, having arrived within a few paces of the ground occupied by the others, drew his horse to a halt. At the same instant, the Utah chief was seen to separate from his companion; and riding up to the stranger, appeared to enter into conversation with him.After some minutes had elapsed, the chief faced round to the huntress; and, apparently giving utterance to some parting speech, headed his horse toward the butte, and along with the stranger, came galloping downward. The huntress kept her place; but I saw her dismount, and stoop down towards the dog, as if caressing him. I resolved to seize the opportunity of speaking with her alone; and, bidding Wingrove wait for my return, I once more hastened to lay hold of my horse. Perhaps I should encounter the chief on the way? Perhaps he might not exactly like the proceeding? But Marian must be communicated with upon something besides matters of love; and my honest intention rendered me less timid about any idle construction the savage might please to put upon my conduct. Thus fortified, I leaped to the back of my steed, and hurried off upon my errand.
The Indians came crowding around the corpse—both warriors and women. Their exclamations betokened no sympathy. Even the squaws looked on with unpitying aspect—though the victim was of their own race and sex. They knew she had been allied with their enemies; and had been witnesses of her savage assault uponMaranee, though ignorant of its motive. Some of them who had lost kindred in the strife, already stirred by grief and fury, were proceeding to insult the lifeless and mutilated remains—to mutilate them still more! I turned away from the loathsome scene. Neither the dead nor the living, that composed this ghastly tableau, had further interest for me.
My glance, wandering in search of other forms, first fell upon that of Wingrove. He was standing near, in an attitude that betokened extreme prostration of spirit. His head hung forward over his breast; but his eyes were not directed to the ground: they were turned upward, gazing after a form that was passing away. It was that of the huntress. The girl had regained her horse; and was riding off, followed by the dog. She went slowly—as if irresolute both as to the act and the direction. In both, the horse appeared to have his will: the reins rested loosely upon his withers; while his rider seemed wrapped in a silent abstraction. I was hastening towards my Arab, with the design of joining her, when I saw that I was anticipated. Another had conceived a similar intention. It was Wa-ka-ra.
The young chief, still on horseback, was seen spurring out from the midst of his men, and guiding his war-steed in the direction taken by the huntress. Before I could lay hands upon my bridle, he had galloped up to Marian, and falling into a gentler pace, rode on by her side. I did not attempt to follow them. Somewhat chagrined at having my designs interrupted, I gave up the intention of mounting my horse, and turned back towards Wingrove. As soon as I was near enough to read the expression upon his features, I saw that my chagrin was more than shared by him. An emotion of most rancorous bitterness was burning in the breast of the young backwoodsman. His glance was fixed upon the two forms—slowly receding across the plain. He was regarding every movement of both with that keen concentrated gaze, which jealousy alone can give.
“Nonsense, Wingrove!” said I, reading the thoughts of his heart. “Don’t let that trouble you: there’s nothing between them, I can assure you.”
Certainly the spectacle was enough to excite the suspicions of a less jealous lover—if not to justify them. Both the equestrians had halted at a distant part of the plain. They were not so distant, but that their attitudes could be observed. They still remained on horseback; but the horses were side by side, and so near each other, that the bodies of their riders appeared almost touching. The head of the chief was bent forward and downward; while his hand appeared extended outward, as if holding that of the huntress! It was a fearful tableau for a lover to contemplate—even at a distance; and the white lips, clenched teeth, and quick irregular beating of Wingrove’s heart—perfectly audible to me as I stood beside him—told with what terrible emotions the sight was inspiring him. I was myself puzzled at the attitude of the Utah chief—as well as the silent complaisance with which his attentions appeared to be received. It certainly had the seeming of gallantry—though I was loth to believe in its reality. In truth I could not give credence to such a thought. It was not human nature—not even woman’s—to play false in suchsans façon. The appearance must certainly be a deception?
I was endeavouring to conjecture an explanation, when a moving object attracted my attention. It was a horseman who appeared upon the plain, beyond where the huntress and the chief had halted. To our eyes, he was nearly in a line with them—approaching down the valley from the upper cañon—out of which he had evidently issued. He was still at a considerable distance from the other two; but it could be seen that he was coming on at full gallop and straight towards them. In a few moments, he would be up to where they stood. I watched this horseman with interest. I was in hopes he would keep on his course, and interrupt the scene that was annoying myself, and torturing my companion. I was not disappointed in the hope. The hurrying horseman rode straight on; and, having arrived within a few paces of the ground occupied by the others, drew his horse to a halt. At the same instant, the Utah chief was seen to separate from his companion; and riding up to the stranger, appeared to enter into conversation with him.
After some minutes had elapsed, the chief faced round to the huntress; and, apparently giving utterance to some parting speech, headed his horse toward the butte, and along with the stranger, came galloping downward. The huntress kept her place; but I saw her dismount, and stoop down towards the dog, as if caressing him. I resolved to seize the opportunity of speaking with her alone; and, bidding Wingrove wait for my return, I once more hastened to lay hold of my horse. Perhaps I should encounter the chief on the way? Perhaps he might not exactly like the proceeding? But Marian must be communicated with upon something besides matters of love; and my honest intention rendered me less timid about any idle construction the savage might please to put upon my conduct. Thus fortified, I leaped to the back of my steed, and hurried off upon my errand.
Chapter Eighty Eight.A fresh Éclaircissement.As we rode in counter-directions, I met the chief almost on the instant. I was slightly surprised that he passed, without taking notice of me! He could not fail to guess whither I was going: as I was heading straight for the huntress; and here was no other object to have drawn me in that direction. He did not even appear to see me! As he passed at a rapid pace, his eyes were bent forward upon the butte, or occasionally turned towards the horseman who galloped by his side. The strange horseman was an Indian. From the absence of the war-costume, I could tell he had not been engaged in the late conflict, but had just arrived from some distant journey—no doubt, a messenger who brought news. His jaded horse and dusky garb justified this conjecture. Equally desirous of shunning an encounter, I passed the two riders in silence, and kept on my course. As I drew near to the huntress-maiden, I was speculating on the reception I might expect, and the explanation I ought to give. How would she receive me? Not with much grace, I feared; at all events, not till she should hear what I had to say. The ambiguous and ill-timed appearance of the Chicasaw, combined with the sinister and dramatic incident which followed, must have produced on her mind eccentric and erroneous impressions. The effect would naturally be to falsify, not only the protestations of her lover, but my own testimony borne in his behalf, and indeed all else she had been told. It was not difficult to predict an ungracious reception. As I approached, she gave over caressing the dog; and once more leaped to the back of her horse. I was in fear that she would ride off, and shun me. I knew I could easily overtake her; but a chase of this nature would scarcely have been to my liking.“Marian Holt!” I said, in a tone of gentle remonstrance, “your suspicions are unjust; I have come to offer you an explanation—”“I need none,” interrupted she in a quiet voice, but without raising her eyes. A gentle wave of her hand accompanied the words. I fancied both the tone and the gesture were repellant; but soon perceived that I was mistaken. “I need none,” she repeated, “all has been explained.”“Explained! How?” I inquired, taken by surprise at the unexpected declaration. “Wa-ka-ra has told me all.”“What!—of Su-wa-nee?” A gesture of assent was the answer. “I am glad of this. But Wa-ka-ra! how knew he the circumstance?”“Partly from the Mexican to whom your people have communicated them—partly from the captive Arapahoes. Enough—I am satisfied.”“And you forgive Wingrove?”“Forgiveness now lies upon his side. I have not only wronged him by my suspicions, but I have reviled him. I deserve his contempt,Ican scarcely hope to be forgiven.”Light had broken upon me—bright light it was for Wingrove! The suspiciousduettowith the Utah chief was explained. Its innocence was made further manifest, by what came under my eyes at the moment. On the arm that was raised in gesture, I observed a strip of cotton wound round it above the wrist. A spot of blood appeared through the rag!“Ha! you are wounded?” said I, noticing the bandage. “It is nothing—merely a scratch made by the point of the knife. Wa-ka-ra has bound it up. It still bleeds a little, but it is nothing.” It was therôleof the surgeon, then, the chief had been playing when seen in that ambiguous attitude! More light for Wingrove!“What a fiend!” I said, my reflection directed towards Su-wa-nee. “She deserved death!”“Ah—the unfortunate woman! hers has been a terrible fate; and whether she deserved it or not, I cannot help feeling pity for her. I would to God it had been otherwise; but this faithful companion saw the attempt upon my life; and when any one attacks me, nothing can restrain him. It is not the first time he has protected me from an enemy. Ah me! mine has been a life of sad incidents—at least the last six months of it.”I essayed to rescue her from these gloomy reflections. I foresaw the termination of her troubles. Their end was near. Words of cheer were easily spoken. I could promise her the forgiveness of her lover: since I knew how freely and promptly that would be obtained.“Ah, Marian,” I said, “a bright future is before you. Would that I could say as much for myself—for your sister Lilian!”“Ha!” exclaimed she, suddenly excited to an extreme point of interest, “tell me of my sister! You promised to do so? Surelysheis not in danger?”I proceeded to reveal everything—my own history—my first interview with Lilian—my love for her, and the reasons I had for believing it to be returned—the departure from Tennessee with the Mormon—our pursuit of the train, and capture by the Indians—in short, everything that had occurred, up to the hour of my meeting with herself. I added my suspicions as to the sad destiny for which her sister was designed—which my own fears hindered me from concealing. After giving way to those natural emotions, which such a revelation was calculated to excite, the huntress-maiden suddenly resumed that firmness peculiar to her character; and at once entered with me into the consideration of some plan by which Lilian might be saved from a fate—which her own experience told her could be no other than infamous.“Yes!” cried she, giving way to a burst of anguish, “too well know I the design of that perjured villain. O father! lost—dishonoured! O sister! bartered—betrayed! Alas! poor Lilian!”“Nay—do not despair!—there is hope yet. But we must not lose time. We must at once depart hence, and continue the pursuit.”“True—and I shall go with you. You promised to take me to my home! Take me now where you will—anywhere that I may assist in saving my sister. Merciful heaven! She, too, in the power of that monster of wickedness!”Wingrove, wildly happy—at once forgiving and forgiven—was now called to our council. The faithful Sure-shot was also admitted to the knowledge of everything. We might stand in need of his efficient arm. We found an opportunity of conferring apart from the Indians—for thescalp-dancenow engrossed their whole attention. Withdrawing some distance from the noisy ceremony, we proceeded to discuss the possibility of rescuing Lilian Holt from the grasp of that knave into whose power the innocent girl had so unprotectedly fallen.
As we rode in counter-directions, I met the chief almost on the instant. I was slightly surprised that he passed, without taking notice of me! He could not fail to guess whither I was going: as I was heading straight for the huntress; and here was no other object to have drawn me in that direction. He did not even appear to see me! As he passed at a rapid pace, his eyes were bent forward upon the butte, or occasionally turned towards the horseman who galloped by his side. The strange horseman was an Indian. From the absence of the war-costume, I could tell he had not been engaged in the late conflict, but had just arrived from some distant journey—no doubt, a messenger who brought news. His jaded horse and dusky garb justified this conjecture. Equally desirous of shunning an encounter, I passed the two riders in silence, and kept on my course. As I drew near to the huntress-maiden, I was speculating on the reception I might expect, and the explanation I ought to give. How would she receive me? Not with much grace, I feared; at all events, not till she should hear what I had to say. The ambiguous and ill-timed appearance of the Chicasaw, combined with the sinister and dramatic incident which followed, must have produced on her mind eccentric and erroneous impressions. The effect would naturally be to falsify, not only the protestations of her lover, but my own testimony borne in his behalf, and indeed all else she had been told. It was not difficult to predict an ungracious reception. As I approached, she gave over caressing the dog; and once more leaped to the back of her horse. I was in fear that she would ride off, and shun me. I knew I could easily overtake her; but a chase of this nature would scarcely have been to my liking.
“Marian Holt!” I said, in a tone of gentle remonstrance, “your suspicions are unjust; I have come to offer you an explanation—”
“I need none,” interrupted she in a quiet voice, but without raising her eyes. A gentle wave of her hand accompanied the words. I fancied both the tone and the gesture were repellant; but soon perceived that I was mistaken. “I need none,” she repeated, “all has been explained.”
“Explained! How?” I inquired, taken by surprise at the unexpected declaration. “Wa-ka-ra has told me all.”
“What!—of Su-wa-nee?” A gesture of assent was the answer. “I am glad of this. But Wa-ka-ra! how knew he the circumstance?”
“Partly from the Mexican to whom your people have communicated them—partly from the captive Arapahoes. Enough—I am satisfied.”
“And you forgive Wingrove?”
“Forgiveness now lies upon his side. I have not only wronged him by my suspicions, but I have reviled him. I deserve his contempt,Ican scarcely hope to be forgiven.”
Light had broken upon me—bright light it was for Wingrove! The suspiciousduettowith the Utah chief was explained. Its innocence was made further manifest, by what came under my eyes at the moment. On the arm that was raised in gesture, I observed a strip of cotton wound round it above the wrist. A spot of blood appeared through the rag!
“Ha! you are wounded?” said I, noticing the bandage. “It is nothing—merely a scratch made by the point of the knife. Wa-ka-ra has bound it up. It still bleeds a little, but it is nothing.” It was therôleof the surgeon, then, the chief had been playing when seen in that ambiguous attitude! More light for Wingrove!
“What a fiend!” I said, my reflection directed towards Su-wa-nee. “She deserved death!”
“Ah—the unfortunate woman! hers has been a terrible fate; and whether she deserved it or not, I cannot help feeling pity for her. I would to God it had been otherwise; but this faithful companion saw the attempt upon my life; and when any one attacks me, nothing can restrain him. It is not the first time he has protected me from an enemy. Ah me! mine has been a life of sad incidents—at least the last six months of it.”
I essayed to rescue her from these gloomy reflections. I foresaw the termination of her troubles. Their end was near. Words of cheer were easily spoken. I could promise her the forgiveness of her lover: since I knew how freely and promptly that would be obtained.
“Ah, Marian,” I said, “a bright future is before you. Would that I could say as much for myself—for your sister Lilian!”
“Ha!” exclaimed she, suddenly excited to an extreme point of interest, “tell me of my sister! You promised to do so? Surelysheis not in danger?”
I proceeded to reveal everything—my own history—my first interview with Lilian—my love for her, and the reasons I had for believing it to be returned—the departure from Tennessee with the Mormon—our pursuit of the train, and capture by the Indians—in short, everything that had occurred, up to the hour of my meeting with herself. I added my suspicions as to the sad destiny for which her sister was designed—which my own fears hindered me from concealing. After giving way to those natural emotions, which such a revelation was calculated to excite, the huntress-maiden suddenly resumed that firmness peculiar to her character; and at once entered with me into the consideration of some plan by which Lilian might be saved from a fate—which her own experience told her could be no other than infamous.
“Yes!” cried she, giving way to a burst of anguish, “too well know I the design of that perjured villain. O father! lost—dishonoured! O sister! bartered—betrayed! Alas! poor Lilian!”
“Nay—do not despair!—there is hope yet. But we must not lose time. We must at once depart hence, and continue the pursuit.”
“True—and I shall go with you. You promised to take me to my home! Take me now where you will—anywhere that I may assist in saving my sister. Merciful heaven! She, too, in the power of that monster of wickedness!”
Wingrove, wildly happy—at once forgiving and forgiven—was now called to our council. The faithful Sure-shot was also admitted to the knowledge of everything. We might stand in need of his efficient arm. We found an opportunity of conferring apart from the Indians—for thescalp-dancenow engrossed their whole attention. Withdrawing some distance from the noisy ceremony, we proceeded to discuss the possibility of rescuing Lilian Holt from the grasp of that knave into whose power the innocent girl had so unprotectedly fallen.
Chapter Eighty Nine.Planning an Abduction.Our deliberations occupied but a brief time. I had already considered the subject in all its bearings; and arrived at the conviction that there was only one course to be followed, by which Lilian’s safety could be secured—that is, by carrying her off from the Mormon train. In this opinion her sister fully agreed. She knew it would be idle to expect that the wolf would willingly yield up his victim; and the painful thought was pressing upon her that even her own father, hoodwinked by the hypocrites that surrounded him, might reject the opportunity of saving his child! He would not be the only parent, who, blinded by this abominable delusion, has similarly sacrificed upon the unhallowed altar of Mormondom. Of this melancholy fact Marian was not ignorant. Her unhappy journey across the great plains had revealed to her many a strange incident—many a wicked phase of the human heart.All agreed that Lilian must be taken from the Mormons, either by force or by stealth. It must be done, too, before they could reach the Salt Lake city. Once upon the banks of the Transatlantic Jordan, these pseudo-saints would be safe from the interference of their most powerful enemies. There the deed of abduction would be no longer possible; or, if still possible,too late. Was it practicable elsewhere—upon the route? And how was it to be effected? These were the questions that occupied us. There were but three men of us: for the Irishman, now completelyhors de combat, must be left behind. True, the huntress-maiden, who had declared her determination to accompany us, might well be counted as a fourth; in all four guns. But what would four guns avail against more than ten times the number? Wingrove had learnt from the wretched Chicasaw that there were a hundred men with the Mormon train. It was idle, therefore, to think of carrying her off by force. That would have been sheer quixotism—only to end fatally for all of us.And was it not equally idle to dream of an abduction by stealth? Verily, it seemed so. How were we to approach this Mormon host? How enter their camp, guarded as it would be by the jealous vigilance of lynx-eyed villains? By day, it would be impossible; by night, hazardous, and equally impracticable would be our purpose. We could not join company with these clannish emigrants, without offering some excuse. What pretext could be put forward? Had we been strangers to them, we might have availed ourselves of some plausible story; but, unfortunately, it was not so. All of us, except Sure-shot, would be known to their leader. My presence, however unexpected, would at once proclaim my purpose to the keen-witted knave; and as for Marian Holt, hers would be a position of positive danger—even equalling that in which her sister was now placed. Stebbins couldclaimher—if not by a true husband’s right, at least by the laws of Mormon matrimony; and of course by those laws would the case be judged in a Mormon camp—the apostle himself being their interpreter!The hope which I had built upon the prospect of an alliance with Marian was, that by her intercession Lilian might be induced voluntarily to make her escape—even, if necessary,from her father! I had conceived the hope too hastily—without dwelling upon the danger to Marian herself. This was now evident to all of us. We saw that Marian could not safely enter the Mormon camp. We could not think of submitting her to a danger that might too probably conduct to a double sacrifice—two victims instead of one. Our thoughts turned upon the ex-rifleman. He was the only one of us unknown to the leader of the Mormons, and to Holt himself. To Sure-shot, then, were our hopes next transferred. He might join the train on some pretext, the rest of us remaining at a distance? By this agency, a communication might be effected with Lilian herself; the proximity of her sister made known; the perils of her own situation—of which no doubt the young creature was yet entirely ignorant. Her scruples once overcome by a knowledge of her own danger, she would herself aid in contriving a plan of escape! For such a purpose, Sure-shot was the man—adroit, crafty, courageous. Thus ran our reflections.It may be wondered why, in this emergency, we had not thought of Wa-ka-ra: surely he could have given us effective aid. With his mounted warriors, he could soon have overtaken the Mormon train, surrounded it, and dealt out the law to its leader? But we had already learnt the improbability of our appeal being acted upon. Marian had interpreted to us the views of the Utah chief in relation to the Mormons. These wily diplomatists had, from their first settlement in the Utah territory, courted the alliance of Wa-ka-ra and his band. They had made much of the warlike chief—had won his confidence and friendship—and at that hour the closest intimacy existed between him and the Mormon prophet. For this reason, Marian believed it would require a stronger motive than mere personal friendship to make him act as their enemy.In such an important enterprise, no chance should be left untried. I was determined none should be; and therefore incited Marian to make an appeal to the Utah chief. She consented. It was worth the experiment. Should the answer prove favourable, our difficulties would soon disappear, and we might hope for a speedy success. If otherwise, our prospects would still be the same—no worse: for worse they could scarcely be. Marian left us, and proceeded on her errand to the chief. We saw him withdraw from the ceremonies, and, going apart, engage with the girl in what appeared an earnest and animated conversation. With hopeful hearts we looked on. Wingrove was no longer jealous. I had cured him with a hint; and the bandaged arm of his betrothed had explained the delicate attentions, which the Indian had been seen to bestow upon her. The dialogue lasted for ten minutes, the speakers at intervals glancing towards us; but we knew the theme, and patiently awaited the issue. It was soon to be declared to us. We saw the chief wave his hand—as a signal that the conversation was ended; and the speakers parted. Wa-ka-ra walked back among his warriors, while Marian was seen returning to our council. We scrutinised her countenance as she approached, endeavouring to read in it what our wishes dictated—an affirmative to our appeal. Her step was buoyant; and her glance, if not gay, at least not one that betokened disappointment. We were unable to determine, however, until her words declared the answer of the chief. As Marian had anticipated, he could not consent to act openly against the Mormons. But the tale had enlisted his sympathy; and he had even suggested a plan by which we might carry out our design, without the necessity of his interference.It was this: the horseman that had just arrived, chanced to be a messenger from the Mormons. Unable to find the Coochetopa Pass, they were still encamped in the great valley of San Luis, on the banks of the Rio del Norte. The only one of them who had been across the plains before was their leader—Stebbins, of course—and he, having gone by the Cherokee trail and Bridger’s Pass, was entirely unacquainted with the route they were now following. They were in need of a guide; and having encountered the Indian at this crisis, and learnt that he belonged to the band of Wa-ka-ra—not far off, as the man informed them—they had despatched him to the Utah chief, with a request that the latter would furnish them with a guide, and two or three of his best hunters. Before Marian had ended her explanation, I had divined the scheme. We wereto personate the guide and hunters. That was the suggestion of the Utah chief!It was perfectly feasible. Nothing can be easier than to counterfeit the semblance of the American Indian. The colour of the skin is of no consequence. Ochre, charcoal, and vermilion made red man and white man as like as need be; and for the hair, the black tail of a horse, half-covered and confined by the great plumed bonnet, with its crest dropping backward, is a disguise not to be detected. The proud savage doffs his eagle plumes to no living man; and even the most intrusive Mormon would not dare to scrutinise too closely thecoiffureof an Indian warrior. The plan was rendered further practicable, by a new and able ally enlisting himself into our ranks. This was the trapper, Archilete, who, from a hint given him by the Utah chief, at once volunteered to act as the guide. The Mexican had already conceived an instinctive antipathy towards the Mormon “hereticos;” and we might rely upon his fidelity to our cause. The scheme exactly suited the eccentric character of this singular man; and he entered upon his dutiescon amore, and at once. By his assistance we soon procured the required costumes and pigments; but neither were to be “put on” in the presence of the Utahs. It was necessary that Wa-ka-ra should not be compromised by a too conspicuous “intervention.”The friendly chief had hinted a further promise to Marian—even an open interference in our favour—should that become necessary. He would follow close after the Mormon train; and, should our design prove a failure, mightthen use his influenceon our behalf. This would have been the best news of all. With such a prospect, we should have had little to fear for the result; but alas! before leaving the ground, an incident occurred that threatened to prevent our generous ally from fulfilling that promise, however formally he might have made it.
Our deliberations occupied but a brief time. I had already considered the subject in all its bearings; and arrived at the conviction that there was only one course to be followed, by which Lilian’s safety could be secured—that is, by carrying her off from the Mormon train. In this opinion her sister fully agreed. She knew it would be idle to expect that the wolf would willingly yield up his victim; and the painful thought was pressing upon her that even her own father, hoodwinked by the hypocrites that surrounded him, might reject the opportunity of saving his child! He would not be the only parent, who, blinded by this abominable delusion, has similarly sacrificed upon the unhallowed altar of Mormondom. Of this melancholy fact Marian was not ignorant. Her unhappy journey across the great plains had revealed to her many a strange incident—many a wicked phase of the human heart.
All agreed that Lilian must be taken from the Mormons, either by force or by stealth. It must be done, too, before they could reach the Salt Lake city. Once upon the banks of the Transatlantic Jordan, these pseudo-saints would be safe from the interference of their most powerful enemies. There the deed of abduction would be no longer possible; or, if still possible,too late. Was it practicable elsewhere—upon the route? And how was it to be effected? These were the questions that occupied us. There were but three men of us: for the Irishman, now completelyhors de combat, must be left behind. True, the huntress-maiden, who had declared her determination to accompany us, might well be counted as a fourth; in all four guns. But what would four guns avail against more than ten times the number? Wingrove had learnt from the wretched Chicasaw that there were a hundred men with the Mormon train. It was idle, therefore, to think of carrying her off by force. That would have been sheer quixotism—only to end fatally for all of us.
And was it not equally idle to dream of an abduction by stealth? Verily, it seemed so. How were we to approach this Mormon host? How enter their camp, guarded as it would be by the jealous vigilance of lynx-eyed villains? By day, it would be impossible; by night, hazardous, and equally impracticable would be our purpose. We could not join company with these clannish emigrants, without offering some excuse. What pretext could be put forward? Had we been strangers to them, we might have availed ourselves of some plausible story; but, unfortunately, it was not so. All of us, except Sure-shot, would be known to their leader. My presence, however unexpected, would at once proclaim my purpose to the keen-witted knave; and as for Marian Holt, hers would be a position of positive danger—even equalling that in which her sister was now placed. Stebbins couldclaimher—if not by a true husband’s right, at least by the laws of Mormon matrimony; and of course by those laws would the case be judged in a Mormon camp—the apostle himself being their interpreter!
The hope which I had built upon the prospect of an alliance with Marian was, that by her intercession Lilian might be induced voluntarily to make her escape—even, if necessary,from her father! I had conceived the hope too hastily—without dwelling upon the danger to Marian herself. This was now evident to all of us. We saw that Marian could not safely enter the Mormon camp. We could not think of submitting her to a danger that might too probably conduct to a double sacrifice—two victims instead of one. Our thoughts turned upon the ex-rifleman. He was the only one of us unknown to the leader of the Mormons, and to Holt himself. To Sure-shot, then, were our hopes next transferred. He might join the train on some pretext, the rest of us remaining at a distance? By this agency, a communication might be effected with Lilian herself; the proximity of her sister made known; the perils of her own situation—of which no doubt the young creature was yet entirely ignorant. Her scruples once overcome by a knowledge of her own danger, she would herself aid in contriving a plan of escape! For such a purpose, Sure-shot was the man—adroit, crafty, courageous. Thus ran our reflections.
It may be wondered why, in this emergency, we had not thought of Wa-ka-ra: surely he could have given us effective aid. With his mounted warriors, he could soon have overtaken the Mormon train, surrounded it, and dealt out the law to its leader? But we had already learnt the improbability of our appeal being acted upon. Marian had interpreted to us the views of the Utah chief in relation to the Mormons. These wily diplomatists had, from their first settlement in the Utah territory, courted the alliance of Wa-ka-ra and his band. They had made much of the warlike chief—had won his confidence and friendship—and at that hour the closest intimacy existed between him and the Mormon prophet. For this reason, Marian believed it would require a stronger motive than mere personal friendship to make him act as their enemy.
In such an important enterprise, no chance should be left untried. I was determined none should be; and therefore incited Marian to make an appeal to the Utah chief. She consented. It was worth the experiment. Should the answer prove favourable, our difficulties would soon disappear, and we might hope for a speedy success. If otherwise, our prospects would still be the same—no worse: for worse they could scarcely be. Marian left us, and proceeded on her errand to the chief. We saw him withdraw from the ceremonies, and, going apart, engage with the girl in what appeared an earnest and animated conversation. With hopeful hearts we looked on. Wingrove was no longer jealous. I had cured him with a hint; and the bandaged arm of his betrothed had explained the delicate attentions, which the Indian had been seen to bestow upon her. The dialogue lasted for ten minutes, the speakers at intervals glancing towards us; but we knew the theme, and patiently awaited the issue. It was soon to be declared to us. We saw the chief wave his hand—as a signal that the conversation was ended; and the speakers parted. Wa-ka-ra walked back among his warriors, while Marian was seen returning to our council. We scrutinised her countenance as she approached, endeavouring to read in it what our wishes dictated—an affirmative to our appeal. Her step was buoyant; and her glance, if not gay, at least not one that betokened disappointment. We were unable to determine, however, until her words declared the answer of the chief. As Marian had anticipated, he could not consent to act openly against the Mormons. But the tale had enlisted his sympathy; and he had even suggested a plan by which we might carry out our design, without the necessity of his interference.
It was this: the horseman that had just arrived, chanced to be a messenger from the Mormons. Unable to find the Coochetopa Pass, they were still encamped in the great valley of San Luis, on the banks of the Rio del Norte. The only one of them who had been across the plains before was their leader—Stebbins, of course—and he, having gone by the Cherokee trail and Bridger’s Pass, was entirely unacquainted with the route they were now following. They were in need of a guide; and having encountered the Indian at this crisis, and learnt that he belonged to the band of Wa-ka-ra—not far off, as the man informed them—they had despatched him to the Utah chief, with a request that the latter would furnish them with a guide, and two or three of his best hunters. Before Marian had ended her explanation, I had divined the scheme. We wereto personate the guide and hunters. That was the suggestion of the Utah chief!
It was perfectly feasible. Nothing can be easier than to counterfeit the semblance of the American Indian. The colour of the skin is of no consequence. Ochre, charcoal, and vermilion made red man and white man as like as need be; and for the hair, the black tail of a horse, half-covered and confined by the great plumed bonnet, with its crest dropping backward, is a disguise not to be detected. The proud savage doffs his eagle plumes to no living man; and even the most intrusive Mormon would not dare to scrutinise too closely thecoiffureof an Indian warrior. The plan was rendered further practicable, by a new and able ally enlisting himself into our ranks. This was the trapper, Archilete, who, from a hint given him by the Utah chief, at once volunteered to act as the guide. The Mexican had already conceived an instinctive antipathy towards the Mormon “hereticos;” and we might rely upon his fidelity to our cause. The scheme exactly suited the eccentric character of this singular man; and he entered upon his dutiescon amore, and at once. By his assistance we soon procured the required costumes and pigments; but neither were to be “put on” in the presence of the Utahs. It was necessary that Wa-ka-ra should not be compromised by a too conspicuous “intervention.”
The friendly chief had hinted a further promise to Marian—even an open interference in our favour—should that become necessary. He would follow close after the Mormon train; and, should our design prove a failure, mightthen use his influenceon our behalf. This would have been the best news of all. With such a prospect, we should have had little to fear for the result; but alas! before leaving the ground, an incident occurred that threatened to prevent our generous ally from fulfilling that promise, however formally he might have made it.
Chapter Ninety.Protector and Protégée.The incident referred to was the arrival of a scout, who, after the conflict, had followed upon the trail of the Arapahoes. This man brought the intelligence that the scattered enemy had again collected—that, while fleeing from therout, they had met with a large war-party of their own tribe—accompanied by another of their allies, the Cheyennes; that both together formed a band of several hundred warriors; and that they were now marching back towards the valley of the Huerfano—to take revenge for the death of Red-Hand, and the defeat which his party had sustained! This unexpected news brought the scalp-dance to an abrupt termination; and changed the whole aspect of the scene. The women, with loud cries, rushed towards their horses—with the intention of betaking themselves to a place of security; while the warriors looked to their arms—determined to make stand against the approaching foe. It was not expected that the enemy would make their attack at once. Certainly not before night, and perhaps not for days. The preparations to receive them were therefore entered upon with all the coolness and deliberation that attack or defence might require.The encounter eventually came off; but it was only afterwards that I learnt the result. The Utahs were again victorious. Wa-ka-ra in this affair had given another proof of his strategic talent. He had made stand by the butte, but with only half of his warriors—distributed in such a manner as to appear like the whole band. These, with their rifles, could easily defend the mound against the arrows of the enemy; and did so during an assault that lasted for several hours. Meanwhile the other half of his band had been posted upon the bluffs, hidden among the cedars; and, descending in the night, they had stolen unexpectedly upon the allied forces, and attacked them in the rear. A concerted sortie from the mound had produced complete confusion in the ranks of their enemies; and the Utahs not only obtained a victory, but “hair” sufficient to keep them scalp-dancing for a month. As I have said, it was afterwards that these facts came to my knowledge. I have here introduced them to show that we could no longer depend on any contingent intervention on the part of the Utah chief; and we were therefore the more keenly conscious that we should have to rely upon our own resources.The Utahs showed no wish to detain us. They felt confident in their own strength, and in the fire-weapons—which they well knew how to use—and, after thanking their friendly chief for the great service he had rendered us, and confiding our wounded comrade to his care, we parted from him without further ceremony. I witnessed not his parting with Marian. Between them there was an interview, but of what nature I could not tell. The huntress had stayed behind; and the rest having ridden forward, no one of us was present at that parting scene. There may have been a promise that they should meet again: for that was expected by all of us; but whether there was, or what may have been the feelings of the Indian at parting with his pale-facedprotégée, I was not to know. It was difficult to believe that the young chief could have looked so long on that face, so beautifully fair, without conceiving a passion for its possessor. It was equally difficult to believe, that if this passion existed, he would have thus surrendered her to the arms of another. An act so disinterested would have proved him noble indeed—the Rolla of the North! If the passion really did exist, I knew there could be no reciprocity. As Marian galloped up, and gazed in the eyes of the handsome hunter—now entirely her own—her ardent glance told that Wingrove was the proud possessor of that magnificent maiden.In volunteering to be one of our party Marian was submitting herself to a fearful risk. That of the rest of us was trifling in comparison. In reality we risked nothing, further than the failure of our plans; and a certain punishment if taken in the act of abduction. But even for this the Saints would scarcely demand our lives—unless in hot blood we should be slain upon the instant. Her position was entirely different. The Mormon apostle, whether false husband or real, could and would claim her. There was no law in that land—at all events, no power—to hinderhimfrom acting as he should please; and it was easy to foresee what would be his apostolic pleasure. The very presence of Wingrove would stimulate him to a revengeful course; and should her Indian disguise be detected, Marian might look forward to a fate already deemed by her worse than death. She was sensible of all this; but it did not turn her from her determination. Her tender affection for Lilian—her earnest desire to save her sister from the peril too plainly impending, rendered her reckless about herown; and the bold girl had formed the resolution to dare everything—trusting to chance and her own strong will for the successful accomplishment of our purpose. I no longer attempted to dissuade her against going with us. How could I? Without her aid my own efforts might prove idle and fruitless. Lilian might not listen tome? Perhaps that secret influence, on which I had so confidently calculated, might exist only in a diminished degree? Perhaps it might be gone for ever? Strange to say, though I had drawn some sweet inferences from those neglected flowers, every time thebouquetcame back to my memory, it produced a palpable feeling of pain! He who so cunningly sued, might hope for some measure of success? And she, so sweetly solicited—more dangerous than if boldly beset—had her heart withstood the sapping of such a crafty besieger!Myinfluence might indeed be gone; or, if a remnant of it still existed, it might not turn the scale against that of her father—that fearful father! What should he care for one child, who had already abetted another to her shame?Possessed by these thoughts, then, I tried not to turn Marian from her purpose. On the contrary, I rather encouraged it. On her influence with Lilian I had now placed my chief reliance. Without that, I should have been almost deprived of hope. It might turn out that Lilian no longer loved me. Time, or absence, might have inverted thestylusupon the tender page of her young heart; and some other image may have become impressed upon its yielding tablet? If so, my own would sorely grieve; but, even if so, I would not that hers should be corrupted. She must not be the victim of a villain, if my hand could hinder it! “No, Lilian! though loved and lost, I shall not add to the bitterness of your betrayal. My cup of grief will possess sufficient acerbity without mingling with it the gall of revenge.”
The incident referred to was the arrival of a scout, who, after the conflict, had followed upon the trail of the Arapahoes. This man brought the intelligence that the scattered enemy had again collected—that, while fleeing from therout, they had met with a large war-party of their own tribe—accompanied by another of their allies, the Cheyennes; that both together formed a band of several hundred warriors; and that they were now marching back towards the valley of the Huerfano—to take revenge for the death of Red-Hand, and the defeat which his party had sustained! This unexpected news brought the scalp-dance to an abrupt termination; and changed the whole aspect of the scene. The women, with loud cries, rushed towards their horses—with the intention of betaking themselves to a place of security; while the warriors looked to their arms—determined to make stand against the approaching foe. It was not expected that the enemy would make their attack at once. Certainly not before night, and perhaps not for days. The preparations to receive them were therefore entered upon with all the coolness and deliberation that attack or defence might require.
The encounter eventually came off; but it was only afterwards that I learnt the result. The Utahs were again victorious. Wa-ka-ra in this affair had given another proof of his strategic talent. He had made stand by the butte, but with only half of his warriors—distributed in such a manner as to appear like the whole band. These, with their rifles, could easily defend the mound against the arrows of the enemy; and did so during an assault that lasted for several hours. Meanwhile the other half of his band had been posted upon the bluffs, hidden among the cedars; and, descending in the night, they had stolen unexpectedly upon the allied forces, and attacked them in the rear. A concerted sortie from the mound had produced complete confusion in the ranks of their enemies; and the Utahs not only obtained a victory, but “hair” sufficient to keep them scalp-dancing for a month. As I have said, it was afterwards that these facts came to my knowledge. I have here introduced them to show that we could no longer depend on any contingent intervention on the part of the Utah chief; and we were therefore the more keenly conscious that we should have to rely upon our own resources.
The Utahs showed no wish to detain us. They felt confident in their own strength, and in the fire-weapons—which they well knew how to use—and, after thanking their friendly chief for the great service he had rendered us, and confiding our wounded comrade to his care, we parted from him without further ceremony. I witnessed not his parting with Marian. Between them there was an interview, but of what nature I could not tell. The huntress had stayed behind; and the rest having ridden forward, no one of us was present at that parting scene. There may have been a promise that they should meet again: for that was expected by all of us; but whether there was, or what may have been the feelings of the Indian at parting with his pale-facedprotégée, I was not to know. It was difficult to believe that the young chief could have looked so long on that face, so beautifully fair, without conceiving a passion for its possessor. It was equally difficult to believe, that if this passion existed, he would have thus surrendered her to the arms of another. An act so disinterested would have proved him noble indeed—the Rolla of the North! If the passion really did exist, I knew there could be no reciprocity. As Marian galloped up, and gazed in the eyes of the handsome hunter—now entirely her own—her ardent glance told that Wingrove was the proud possessor of that magnificent maiden.
In volunteering to be one of our party Marian was submitting herself to a fearful risk. That of the rest of us was trifling in comparison. In reality we risked nothing, further than the failure of our plans; and a certain punishment if taken in the act of abduction. But even for this the Saints would scarcely demand our lives—unless in hot blood we should be slain upon the instant. Her position was entirely different. The Mormon apostle, whether false husband or real, could and would claim her. There was no law in that land—at all events, no power—to hinderhimfrom acting as he should please; and it was easy to foresee what would be his apostolic pleasure. The very presence of Wingrove would stimulate him to a revengeful course; and should her Indian disguise be detected, Marian might look forward to a fate already deemed by her worse than death. She was sensible of all this; but it did not turn her from her determination. Her tender affection for Lilian—her earnest desire to save her sister from the peril too plainly impending, rendered her reckless about herown; and the bold girl had formed the resolution to dare everything—trusting to chance and her own strong will for the successful accomplishment of our purpose. I no longer attempted to dissuade her against going with us. How could I? Without her aid my own efforts might prove idle and fruitless. Lilian might not listen tome? Perhaps that secret influence, on which I had so confidently calculated, might exist only in a diminished degree? Perhaps it might be gone for ever? Strange to say, though I had drawn some sweet inferences from those neglected flowers, every time thebouquetcame back to my memory, it produced a palpable feeling of pain! He who so cunningly sued, might hope for some measure of success? And she, so sweetly solicited—more dangerous than if boldly beset—had her heart withstood the sapping of such a crafty besieger!Myinfluence might indeed be gone; or, if a remnant of it still existed, it might not turn the scale against that of her father—that fearful father! What should he care for one child, who had already abetted another to her shame?
Possessed by these thoughts, then, I tried not to turn Marian from her purpose. On the contrary, I rather encouraged it. On her influence with Lilian I had now placed my chief reliance. Without that, I should have been almost deprived of hope. It might turn out that Lilian no longer loved me. Time, or absence, might have inverted thestylusupon the tender page of her young heart; and some other image may have become impressed upon its yielding tablet? If so, my own would sorely grieve; but, even if so, I would not that hers should be corrupted. She must not be the victim of a villain, if my hand could hinder it! “No, Lilian! though loved and lost, I shall not add to the bitterness of your betrayal. My cup of grief will possess sufficient acerbity without mingling with it the gall of revenge.”
Chapter Ninety One.The Night-Camp.We again rode through the upper cañon of the Huerfano, keeping along the bank of the stream. Farther on we came to the forking of two trails—the more southern one leading up to the Cuchada, to the pass of Sangre de Cristo. By it had the gold-seekers gone in company with the dragoons—the latteren routefor the new military post of Port Massachusetts—the former, no doubt, intending to take the line of the Gila or Mohave to their still distant destination—the gold-bearing placers of California?Above its upper cañon the Huerfano bends suddenly to the north; and up its bank lies the route to Robideau’s Pass—the same taken by the Mormon train. We had no difficulty in following their trail. The wheel and hoof-tracks had cut out a conspicuous road; and the numbers of both showed that the party was a large one—much larger than our previous information had led us to anticipate. This was of little consequence—since in any case, we could not have used force in the accomplishment of our design. I regarded it rather as a favourable circumstance. The greater the multitude, the less likelihood of an individual being closely observed, or speedily missed. We reached Robideau’s Pass as the sun was sinking over the great plain of San Luis. Within the pass we lighted upon the ground of the Mormon encampment. It had been their halting-place of the night before. The wolves were prowling among the smouldering fires—whose half-burnt faggots still sent up their wreaths of filmy smoke.We now knew the history of the captured waggon and slain teamsters. Our guide had learnt it from the Utah messenger. The vehicle had belonged to the Mormons; who, at the time the Arapahoes made their attack, were only a short distance in the advance. Instead of returning to the rescue of their unfortunate comrades, their dread of the Indians had caused them to yield ready obedience to the Napoleonic motto,sauve qui peut: and they had hurried onward without making stop, till night overtook them in the Robideau Pass. This version enabled me to explain what had appeared very strange conduct on the part of the escort. The character of the victims to the Arapaho attack would in some measure have accounted for the indifference of the dragoons. With the safety of the Mormons they had no concern; and would be likely enough to leave them to their fate. But the guide had ascertained that both gold-diggers and dragoons—disgusted with their saintlycompagnons du voyage—had separated from them; and, having gone far ahead, in all probability knew nothing of the sanguinary scene that had been enacted in the valley of the Huerfano!We resolved to pass the night on the ground of the deserted encampment. By our guide’s information—received from the runner—the Mormons were about thirty miles in advance of us. They were encamped on the banks of the Rio del Norte, there awaiting the answer of the Utah chief. That answer we should ourselves deliver on the following day. Having given thecoyotestheircongé, we proceeded to pitch our buffalo-tents. A brace of these, borrowed from the friendly Utahs, formed part of the packing of our mules. One was intended for the use of the huntress-maiden—the other to give lodgment to the rest of our party. Not but that all of us—even Marian herself—could have dispensed with such a shelter. We had another object in thus providing ourselves. It might be necessary to travel some days in the company of the Saints. In that case, the tents would serve not only for shelter, but as a place ofconcealment. The opaque covering of skins would protect us from the too scrutinising gaze of our fellow-travellers; and in all likelihood we—the hunters of the party—should stand in need of such privacy to readjust our disguises—disarranged in the chase. Under cover of the tents, we could renew our toilet without the danger of being intruded upon. Chiefly for this reason, then, had we encumbered ourselves with the skin lodges.Thus far had we come without interruption. Though the trail was a route frequently travelled, both by Indians and whites, no one of either race had been encountered upon the way. We had seen neither man nor horse, excepting our own. For all that, we had not advanced without a certain circumspection. There was still a possibility of peril, of which we were aware; and we omitted no precautions that might enable us to avoid it. The danger I allude to was a probable encounter with some of our late enemies—the Arapahoes. Not those who had just been discomfited; but a party of my own pursuers of the preceding night. Some of these had returned to the butte as already stated, but hadallgone back? Might not others—stimulated by a more eager spirit of vengeance, or the ambition of striking a gloriouscoupby my capture—have continued the pursuit? If so we might expect to encounter them on their return; or, if first perceived, we might fall into an ambuscade. In either case should they chance to outnumber us—to any great extent—a collision would be inevitable and dangerous.If such a party was ahead of us—and it was still a question—we knew that they could not possibly be aware of the defeat sustained by their comrades under Red-Hand; and, having no knowledge of their own predicament, would fight without that dread, which such a circumstance might otherwise have inspired. It was scarcely probable either, that their party would be a very small one—by no means as small as our own. It was not likely that less than a dozen of their warriors would venture over ground, where, at every moment, they would risk meeting with a more powerful band of their Utah enemies—to say nothing of an encounter with a retaliating party from the Mormon train? Weighing the probabilities that Arapahoes were ahead of us, we had taken due precaution to avoid the contingency of meeting them. We had looked for “sign” to contradict our suspicions, or confirm them. We had not found any—either tracks of their horses, or any other trace of their passage along the trail. In the cañon, yes. There we had seen the hoof-prints of their horses: but not beyond it, nor at the entrance of Robideau’s Pass. If they had gone forward, it must have been by some parallel route, and not upon the trail of the emigrant waggons? Nor yet upon the area of the encampment had we been able to meet with any indications of their presence: though we had spent the last minutes of daylight in a careful scrutiny of the ground.As for myself I looked for indications of a very different kind; but equally without success. The absence of all Lilian sign satisfied us that we had no enemy to fear. Even the wary trapper saw no imprudence in our making a fire, and one was made—a large pile, for which the half-burnt faggots scattered over the camp afforded the ready material. The fire was not called for by the cold—for the night was a mild one—but simply to serve the purposes of ourcuisine; and, hungered by the long ride, we all did full justice to our supper of dried deer-meat, eatenalfresco.After the meal the men of us sat around the fire, indulging in that luxury—esteemed sweet by the prairie traveller—the fumes of the Nicotian weed. Marian had retired to her tent; and, for a few minutes, was lost to our sight. After a short time she came forth again; but, instead of joining us by the cheerfulhearth, she was seen sauntering down in the direction of the stream. This caused a defection in our party. The young backwoodsman rose to his feet; and silently, but with rather an awkward grace, walked towards the tent—not Marian’s. He might as well have spared himself the trouble of taking up some of his accoutrements, and pretending to examine them. The feint was perfectly transparent to the rest of us—especially when the action ended, by his strolling off almost on the identical track taken by the huntress-maiden!“Amantes?” (lovers), whispered Archilete, half-interrogatively, as with a smile of quiet significance he followed the receding form of the hunter. “Yes; lovers who have been long separated.”“Carrambo! Do you say so? This then should be the rival of the false husband?” I nodded assent. “Por Dios, Señor; it is not to be wondered at that the cantinghereticostood no chance in that game—had it been played fairly. Yourcamaradois a magnificent fellow. I can understand now why the wild huntress had no eyes for ourmountain-menhere. No wonder she sighed for her far forest-home.Ay de mi, cavallero! Love is a powerful thought, even the desert will not drive it out of one’s heart. No, no;valga me dios! no!”The tone in which the Mexican repeated the last words had a tinge of sadness in it—while his eyes turned upon the fire with an expression that betrayed melancholy. It was easy to tell that he too—odd, and even ludicrous as was his personal appearance—either was, or had been, one of love’s victims. I fancied he might have a story to tell—a love story? and at that moment my mind was attuned to listen to such a tale. Sure-shot had also left us—our animals picketed a few paces off requiring his attention—and the two of us were left alone by the fire. If the trapper’s tale should prove a sentimental romance—and such are not uncommon in the Mexican border land—the moment was opportune. Seeing that my new acquaintance was in the communicative mood, I essayed to draw him forth.“You speak truly,” I said. “Loveisa powerful passion, and defies even the desert to destroy it. You yourself have proved it so, I presume? You have souvenirs?”“Ay, señor, that have I; and painful ones.”“Painful?”“As poison—Carrai-i-i!”“Your sweetheart has been unfaithful?”“No.”“Her parents have interfered, I suppose, as is often the case? She has been forced against her will to marry another?”“Ah!señor, no. She was never married.”“Not married? what then?”“She wasmurdered!”Regret at having initiated a conversation—that had stirred up such a melancholy memory—hindered me from making rejoinder; and I remained silent. My silence, however, did not stay the tale. Perhaps my companion longed to unburden himself; or, with some vague hope of sympathy, felt relief in having a listener. After a pause he proceeded to narrate the story of his love, and the sad incidents that led to its fatal termination.
We again rode through the upper cañon of the Huerfano, keeping along the bank of the stream. Farther on we came to the forking of two trails—the more southern one leading up to the Cuchada, to the pass of Sangre de Cristo. By it had the gold-seekers gone in company with the dragoons—the latteren routefor the new military post of Port Massachusetts—the former, no doubt, intending to take the line of the Gila or Mohave to their still distant destination—the gold-bearing placers of California?
Above its upper cañon the Huerfano bends suddenly to the north; and up its bank lies the route to Robideau’s Pass—the same taken by the Mormon train. We had no difficulty in following their trail. The wheel and hoof-tracks had cut out a conspicuous road; and the numbers of both showed that the party was a large one—much larger than our previous information had led us to anticipate. This was of little consequence—since in any case, we could not have used force in the accomplishment of our design. I regarded it rather as a favourable circumstance. The greater the multitude, the less likelihood of an individual being closely observed, or speedily missed. We reached Robideau’s Pass as the sun was sinking over the great plain of San Luis. Within the pass we lighted upon the ground of the Mormon encampment. It had been their halting-place of the night before. The wolves were prowling among the smouldering fires—whose half-burnt faggots still sent up their wreaths of filmy smoke.
We now knew the history of the captured waggon and slain teamsters. Our guide had learnt it from the Utah messenger. The vehicle had belonged to the Mormons; who, at the time the Arapahoes made their attack, were only a short distance in the advance. Instead of returning to the rescue of their unfortunate comrades, their dread of the Indians had caused them to yield ready obedience to the Napoleonic motto,sauve qui peut: and they had hurried onward without making stop, till night overtook them in the Robideau Pass. This version enabled me to explain what had appeared very strange conduct on the part of the escort. The character of the victims to the Arapaho attack would in some measure have accounted for the indifference of the dragoons. With the safety of the Mormons they had no concern; and would be likely enough to leave them to their fate. But the guide had ascertained that both gold-diggers and dragoons—disgusted with their saintlycompagnons du voyage—had separated from them; and, having gone far ahead, in all probability knew nothing of the sanguinary scene that had been enacted in the valley of the Huerfano!
We resolved to pass the night on the ground of the deserted encampment. By our guide’s information—received from the runner—the Mormons were about thirty miles in advance of us. They were encamped on the banks of the Rio del Norte, there awaiting the answer of the Utah chief. That answer we should ourselves deliver on the following day. Having given thecoyotestheircongé, we proceeded to pitch our buffalo-tents. A brace of these, borrowed from the friendly Utahs, formed part of the packing of our mules. One was intended for the use of the huntress-maiden—the other to give lodgment to the rest of our party. Not but that all of us—even Marian herself—could have dispensed with such a shelter. We had another object in thus providing ourselves. It might be necessary to travel some days in the company of the Saints. In that case, the tents would serve not only for shelter, but as a place ofconcealment. The opaque covering of skins would protect us from the too scrutinising gaze of our fellow-travellers; and in all likelihood we—the hunters of the party—should stand in need of such privacy to readjust our disguises—disarranged in the chase. Under cover of the tents, we could renew our toilet without the danger of being intruded upon. Chiefly for this reason, then, had we encumbered ourselves with the skin lodges.
Thus far had we come without interruption. Though the trail was a route frequently travelled, both by Indians and whites, no one of either race had been encountered upon the way. We had seen neither man nor horse, excepting our own. For all that, we had not advanced without a certain circumspection. There was still a possibility of peril, of which we were aware; and we omitted no precautions that might enable us to avoid it. The danger I allude to was a probable encounter with some of our late enemies—the Arapahoes. Not those who had just been discomfited; but a party of my own pursuers of the preceding night. Some of these had returned to the butte as already stated, but hadallgone back? Might not others—stimulated by a more eager spirit of vengeance, or the ambition of striking a gloriouscoupby my capture—have continued the pursuit? If so we might expect to encounter them on their return; or, if first perceived, we might fall into an ambuscade. In either case should they chance to outnumber us—to any great extent—a collision would be inevitable and dangerous.
If such a party was ahead of us—and it was still a question—we knew that they could not possibly be aware of the defeat sustained by their comrades under Red-Hand; and, having no knowledge of their own predicament, would fight without that dread, which such a circumstance might otherwise have inspired. It was scarcely probable either, that their party would be a very small one—by no means as small as our own. It was not likely that less than a dozen of their warriors would venture over ground, where, at every moment, they would risk meeting with a more powerful band of their Utah enemies—to say nothing of an encounter with a retaliating party from the Mormon train? Weighing the probabilities that Arapahoes were ahead of us, we had taken due precaution to avoid the contingency of meeting them. We had looked for “sign” to contradict our suspicions, or confirm them. We had not found any—either tracks of their horses, or any other trace of their passage along the trail. In the cañon, yes. There we had seen the hoof-prints of their horses: but not beyond it, nor at the entrance of Robideau’s Pass. If they had gone forward, it must have been by some parallel route, and not upon the trail of the emigrant waggons? Nor yet upon the area of the encampment had we been able to meet with any indications of their presence: though we had spent the last minutes of daylight in a careful scrutiny of the ground.
As for myself I looked for indications of a very different kind; but equally without success. The absence of all Lilian sign satisfied us that we had no enemy to fear. Even the wary trapper saw no imprudence in our making a fire, and one was made—a large pile, for which the half-burnt faggots scattered over the camp afforded the ready material. The fire was not called for by the cold—for the night was a mild one—but simply to serve the purposes of ourcuisine; and, hungered by the long ride, we all did full justice to our supper of dried deer-meat, eatenalfresco.
After the meal the men of us sat around the fire, indulging in that luxury—esteemed sweet by the prairie traveller—the fumes of the Nicotian weed. Marian had retired to her tent; and, for a few minutes, was lost to our sight. After a short time she came forth again; but, instead of joining us by the cheerfulhearth, she was seen sauntering down in the direction of the stream. This caused a defection in our party. The young backwoodsman rose to his feet; and silently, but with rather an awkward grace, walked towards the tent—not Marian’s. He might as well have spared himself the trouble of taking up some of his accoutrements, and pretending to examine them. The feint was perfectly transparent to the rest of us—especially when the action ended, by his strolling off almost on the identical track taken by the huntress-maiden!
“Amantes?” (lovers), whispered Archilete, half-interrogatively, as with a smile of quiet significance he followed the receding form of the hunter. “Yes; lovers who have been long separated.”
“Carrambo! Do you say so? This then should be the rival of the false husband?” I nodded assent. “Por Dios, Señor; it is not to be wondered at that the cantinghereticostood no chance in that game—had it been played fairly. Yourcamaradois a magnificent fellow. I can understand now why the wild huntress had no eyes for ourmountain-menhere. No wonder she sighed for her far forest-home.Ay de mi, cavallero! Love is a powerful thought, even the desert will not drive it out of one’s heart. No, no;valga me dios! no!”
The tone in which the Mexican repeated the last words had a tinge of sadness in it—while his eyes turned upon the fire with an expression that betrayed melancholy. It was easy to tell that he too—odd, and even ludicrous as was his personal appearance—either was, or had been, one of love’s victims. I fancied he might have a story to tell—a love story? and at that moment my mind was attuned to listen to such a tale. Sure-shot had also left us—our animals picketed a few paces off requiring his attention—and the two of us were left alone by the fire. If the trapper’s tale should prove a sentimental romance—and such are not uncommon in the Mexican border land—the moment was opportune. Seeing that my new acquaintance was in the communicative mood, I essayed to draw him forth.
“You speak truly,” I said. “Loveisa powerful passion, and defies even the desert to destroy it. You yourself have proved it so, I presume? You have souvenirs?”
“Ay, señor, that have I; and painful ones.”
“Painful?”
“As poison—Carrai-i-i!”
“Your sweetheart has been unfaithful?”
“No.”
“Her parents have interfered, I suppose, as is often the case? She has been forced against her will to marry another?”
“Ah!señor, no. She was never married.”
“Not married? what then?”
“She wasmurdered!”
Regret at having initiated a conversation—that had stirred up such a melancholy memory—hindered me from making rejoinder; and I remained silent. My silence, however, did not stay the tale. Perhaps my companion longed to unburden himself; or, with some vague hope of sympathy, felt relief in having a listener. After a pause he proceeded to narrate the story of his love, and the sad incidents that led to its fatal termination.
Chapter Ninety Two.Gabriella Gonzales.“Puez, Señor!” commenced the Mexican, “your comrades tell me, you have been campaigning down below on the Rio Grande.”“Quite true—I have.”“Then you know something of our Mexican frontier life—how for the last half century we have been harassed by theIndios bravos—ourranchosgiven to the flames—our grandhaciendasplundered and laid waste—our very towns attacked—many of them pillaged, destroyed, and now lying in ruins.”“I have heard of these devastations. Down in Texas, I have myself been an eye-witness to a similar condition of things.”“Ah! true,señor. Down there—in Tejas and Tamaulipas—things, I have heard, are bad enough.Carrai! here in New Mexico they are ten times worse. There they have the Comanches and Lipanos. Here we have an enemy on every side. On the east Caygüa and Comanche, on the west the Apache and Navajo. On the south our country is harassed by the Wolf and Mezcalero Apachés, on the north by their kindred, the Jicarillas; while, now and then, it pleases our present allies the Utahs, to ornament their shields with the scalps of our people, and their wigwams with the fairest of our women.Carrambo! señor! a happy country ours, is it not?”The ironically bitter speech was intended for a reflection, rather than an interrogation, and therefore needed no reply. I made none. “Puez, amigo!” continued the Mexican, “I need hardly tell you that there is scarce a family on the Rio del Norte—from Taos to El Paso—that has not good cause to lament this unhappy condition of things; scarce one that has not personally suffered, from the inroads of the savages. I might speak of houses pillaged and burnt; of maize-fields laid waste to feed the horses of the roving marauder; of sheep and cattle driven off to desert fastnesses; bah! what are all these? What signify such trifling misfortunes, compared with that other calamity, which almost every family in the land may lament—the loss of one or more of its members—wife, daughter, sister, child—borne off into hopeless bandage, to satisfy the will, or gratify the lust, of a merciless barbarian?”“A fearful state of affairs!”“Ay señor! Even the bride has been snatched off, from before the altar—from the arms of the bridegroom fondly clasping, and before he has had time to caress her!Ay de mi, cavallero! Truly can I say that: it has been my own story.”“Yours?”“Yes—mine. You askmefor souvenirs. There is one that will cling to me for life!” The Mexican pointed to his mutilated limb. “Carrambo!” continued he, “that is nothing. There is another wound here—here in my heart. It was received at the same time; and will last equally as long—only a thousand times more painful.”These words were accompanied by a gesture. The speaker placed his hand over his heart, and held it there to the end of his speech—as if to still the sad sigh, that I could see swelling within his bosom. His countenance, habitually cheerful—almost comic in its expression—had assumed an air of concentrated anguish. It was easy to divine that he had been the victim of some cruel outrage. My curiosity had become fully aroused; and I felt an eager desire to hear a tale, which, though beyond doubt painful, could not be otherwise than one of romantic interest.“Your lameness, then, had something to do with the story of your blighted love? You say that both misfortunes happened to you at the same time!” My interrogatives were intended to arouse him from the reverie into which he had fallen. I was successful; and the recital was continued.“True,señor—both came together; but you shall hear all. It is not often I speak of the affair, though it is seldom out of my thoughts, I have tried to forget it.Carrambo! how could I, with a thing like that constantly recalling it to my memory?” The speaker again pointed to his deformed foot with a smile of bitter significance. “Por Dios, cavallero! I think of it often enough; but just now more than common. Their presence—” he nodded towards the lovers, whose forms were just visible in the grey twilight, “the happiness I see reminds me of my own misery. More especially doessherecall the misfortune to my memory—this wild huntress who has had misfortunes of her own. But beyond that,señor, though you may think it strange, yourconpaisanais wonderfully like what she was.”“Like whom?”“Ah!señor, I have not told you? She that I loved with all the love in my heart—the beautiful Gabriella Gonzales.”Men of the Spanish race—however humble their social rank—are gifted with a certain eloquence; and in this case passion was lending poetry to the speech. No wonder I became deeply interested in the tale, and longed to hear more of Gabriella Gonzales.“En verdad,” continued the Mexican, after a pause, “there are many things in the character of your countrywoman to remind me of my lost love—even in her looks. Gabriella, like her, was beautiful. Perhaps your comrade yonder might not think her so beautiful as the huntress; but that is natural. In my mind Gabriella was everything. She had Indian blood in her veins: we all have in these parts, though we boast of our pure Spanish descent. No matter; Gabriella was white enough—to my eyes white as the lily that sparkles upon the surface of the lagoon. Like yonder maiden, she inherited from her ancestors a free daring spirit. She feared neither our Indian enemies, nor danger of any kind—Por Dios! Not she.”“Of course she loved you?”“Ah! that truly did she—else why should she have consented to marry me? What was I? A poorcibolero—at times a hunter and trapper of beavers, just as I am now? I was possessed of nothing but my horse and traps; whiles he—Carrambo! señor, proudricospretended to her hand!”It is possible that my countenance may have expressed incredulity. It was difficult to conceive how the diminutive Mexican—as he appeared just then in my eyes—could have won the love of such a grand belle as he was describing Gabriella to be. Still was he not altogether unhandsome; and in earlier life—before his great misfortune had befallen him—he might have been gifted with some personal graces. High qualities, I had heard of his possessing—among others courage beyond question or suspicion; and in those frontier regions—accursed by the continual encroachment of Indian warfare, and where human life is every day in danger—that is a quality of the first class—esteemed by all, but by none more than those who stand most in need of protection—the women. Often there as elsewhere—more often than elsewhere—does courage take precedence of mere personal appearance, and boldness wins the smile of beauty. It was possible that the possession of this quality on the part of Pedro Archilete had influenced the heart of the fair Gabriella. This might explain her preference.The Mexican must have partially divined my thoughts, as was proved by the speech that followed. “Yes,amigo! more than one richhaciendadowould have been only too happy to have married Gabriella; and yet she consented to become my wife, though I was just as I am now. May be a little better looking than at this time; though I can’t say that I ever passed for an Apollo. No—no—señor. It was not my good looks that won the heart of the girl.”“Your good qualities?”“Not much to boast of,cavallero. True, in my youth, I had the name of being the best horseman in our village—the bestrastreador—the most skilful trapper. I could ‘tail the bull,’ ‘run the cock,’ and pick up a girl’s ribbon at full gallop—perhaps a little more adroitly than my competitors; but I think it was something else that first gained me the young girl’s esteem. I had the good fortune once to save her life—when, by her own imprudence, she had gone out too far from the village, and was attacked by a grizzly bear.Ay de mi! It mattered not. Poor niña! She might as well have perished then, by the monster’s claws. She met her death from worse monsters—a death far more horrible; but you shall hear.”“Go on! From what you have disclosed, I am painfully interested in your tale.”
“Puez, Señor!” commenced the Mexican, “your comrades tell me, you have been campaigning down below on the Rio Grande.”
“Quite true—I have.”
“Then you know something of our Mexican frontier life—how for the last half century we have been harassed by theIndios bravos—ourranchosgiven to the flames—our grandhaciendasplundered and laid waste—our very towns attacked—many of them pillaged, destroyed, and now lying in ruins.”
“I have heard of these devastations. Down in Texas, I have myself been an eye-witness to a similar condition of things.”
“Ah! true,señor. Down there—in Tejas and Tamaulipas—things, I have heard, are bad enough.Carrai! here in New Mexico they are ten times worse. There they have the Comanches and Lipanos. Here we have an enemy on every side. On the east Caygüa and Comanche, on the west the Apache and Navajo. On the south our country is harassed by the Wolf and Mezcalero Apachés, on the north by their kindred, the Jicarillas; while, now and then, it pleases our present allies the Utahs, to ornament their shields with the scalps of our people, and their wigwams with the fairest of our women.Carrambo! señor! a happy country ours, is it not?”
The ironically bitter speech was intended for a reflection, rather than an interrogation, and therefore needed no reply. I made none. “Puez, amigo!” continued the Mexican, “I need hardly tell you that there is scarce a family on the Rio del Norte—from Taos to El Paso—that has not good cause to lament this unhappy condition of things; scarce one that has not personally suffered, from the inroads of the savages. I might speak of houses pillaged and burnt; of maize-fields laid waste to feed the horses of the roving marauder; of sheep and cattle driven off to desert fastnesses; bah! what are all these? What signify such trifling misfortunes, compared with that other calamity, which almost every family in the land may lament—the loss of one or more of its members—wife, daughter, sister, child—borne off into hopeless bandage, to satisfy the will, or gratify the lust, of a merciless barbarian?”
“A fearful state of affairs!”
“Ay señor! Even the bride has been snatched off, from before the altar—from the arms of the bridegroom fondly clasping, and before he has had time to caress her!Ay de mi, cavallero! Truly can I say that: it has been my own story.”
“Yours?”
“Yes—mine. You askmefor souvenirs. There is one that will cling to me for life!” The Mexican pointed to his mutilated limb. “Carrambo!” continued he, “that is nothing. There is another wound here—here in my heart. It was received at the same time; and will last equally as long—only a thousand times more painful.”
These words were accompanied by a gesture. The speaker placed his hand over his heart, and held it there to the end of his speech—as if to still the sad sigh, that I could see swelling within his bosom. His countenance, habitually cheerful—almost comic in its expression—had assumed an air of concentrated anguish. It was easy to divine that he had been the victim of some cruel outrage. My curiosity had become fully aroused; and I felt an eager desire to hear a tale, which, though beyond doubt painful, could not be otherwise than one of romantic interest.
“Your lameness, then, had something to do with the story of your blighted love? You say that both misfortunes happened to you at the same time!” My interrogatives were intended to arouse him from the reverie into which he had fallen. I was successful; and the recital was continued.
“True,señor—both came together; but you shall hear all. It is not often I speak of the affair, though it is seldom out of my thoughts, I have tried to forget it.Carrambo! how could I, with a thing like that constantly recalling it to my memory?” The speaker again pointed to his deformed foot with a smile of bitter significance. “Por Dios, cavallero! I think of it often enough; but just now more than common. Their presence—” he nodded towards the lovers, whose forms were just visible in the grey twilight, “the happiness I see reminds me of my own misery. More especially doessherecall the misfortune to my memory—this wild huntress who has had misfortunes of her own. But beyond that,señor, though you may think it strange, yourconpaisanais wonderfully like what she was.”
“Like whom?”
“Ah!señor, I have not told you? She that I loved with all the love in my heart—the beautiful Gabriella Gonzales.”
Men of the Spanish race—however humble their social rank—are gifted with a certain eloquence; and in this case passion was lending poetry to the speech. No wonder I became deeply interested in the tale, and longed to hear more of Gabriella Gonzales.
“En verdad,” continued the Mexican, after a pause, “there are many things in the character of your countrywoman to remind me of my lost love—even in her looks. Gabriella, like her, was beautiful. Perhaps your comrade yonder might not think her so beautiful as the huntress; but that is natural. In my mind Gabriella was everything. She had Indian blood in her veins: we all have in these parts, though we boast of our pure Spanish descent. No matter; Gabriella was white enough—to my eyes white as the lily that sparkles upon the surface of the lagoon. Like yonder maiden, she inherited from her ancestors a free daring spirit. She feared neither our Indian enemies, nor danger of any kind—Por Dios! Not she.”
“Of course she loved you?”
“Ah! that truly did she—else why should she have consented to marry me? What was I? A poorcibolero—at times a hunter and trapper of beavers, just as I am now? I was possessed of nothing but my horse and traps; whiles he—Carrambo! señor, proudricospretended to her hand!”
It is possible that my countenance may have expressed incredulity. It was difficult to conceive how the diminutive Mexican—as he appeared just then in my eyes—could have won the love of such a grand belle as he was describing Gabriella to be. Still was he not altogether unhandsome; and in earlier life—before his great misfortune had befallen him—he might have been gifted with some personal graces. High qualities, I had heard of his possessing—among others courage beyond question or suspicion; and in those frontier regions—accursed by the continual encroachment of Indian warfare, and where human life is every day in danger—that is a quality of the first class—esteemed by all, but by none more than those who stand most in need of protection—the women. Often there as elsewhere—more often than elsewhere—does courage take precedence of mere personal appearance, and boldness wins the smile of beauty. It was possible that the possession of this quality on the part of Pedro Archilete had influenced the heart of the fair Gabriella. This might explain her preference.
The Mexican must have partially divined my thoughts, as was proved by the speech that followed. “Yes,amigo! more than one richhaciendadowould have been only too happy to have married Gabriella; and yet she consented to become my wife, though I was just as I am now. May be a little better looking than at this time; though I can’t say that I ever passed for an Apollo. No—no—señor. It was not my good looks that won the heart of the girl.”
“Your good qualities?”
“Not much to boast of,cavallero. True, in my youth, I had the name of being the best horseman in our village—the bestrastreador—the most skilful trapper. I could ‘tail the bull,’ ‘run the cock,’ and pick up a girl’s ribbon at full gallop—perhaps a little more adroitly than my competitors; but I think it was something else that first gained me the young girl’s esteem. I had the good fortune once to save her life—when, by her own imprudence, she had gone out too far from the village, and was attacked by a grizzly bear.Ay de mi! It mattered not. Poor niña! She might as well have perished then, by the monster’s claws. She met her death from worse monsters—a death far more horrible; but you shall hear.”
“Go on! From what you have disclosed, I am painfully interested in your tale.”
Chapter Ninety Three.A Bloody Bridal.“Puez señor! what I am about to tell you happened full ten years ago, though it’s as fresh in my mind as if it was yesterday. You may have heard of the village of Valverde? It is about fifty leagues south of Santa Fé, on the Rio del Norte—that portion of the valley we call theRio Abajo. It was at one time a settlement of some importance—rich and prospering as any in New Mexico—but, in consequence of the incursions of the Apachés, it fell into decay. Is now a complete ruin without a single inhabitant.”“Well, amigo; it was there I was born: and there lived I, till I was twenty-five years of age—up to the time when that calamity befell me, and mine—the same I am about to speak of. I may say two years after that time; for I did not leave the neighbourhood till I had taken revenge upon those who were the cause of my misfortunes. I have spoken of Gabriella Gonzales. I have told you that I loved her; but I could not find words to tell you how much I loved her. You, who have come all this way in pursuit of a sweetheart,—you,cavallero, can understand all that. Like you with yours, I too could have followed Gabriella to the end of the world!Puez amigo! Like you, I had the good fortune to be loved in return.”I could not divine the object of the Mexican in proclaiming this similitude. Perhaps it was done with the view of cheering me—for the quick-witted fellow had not failed to notice my despondency. It could only be a conjecture on his part: for how could he know ought of Lilian, beyond the fact of my preference for her, and that she was the object of our expedition? Of course he was aware, like all the others, of the purpose of our pursuit. From Sure-shot, or Wingrove, he might have learnt a little more; but neither he nor they could possibly have been acquainted with a sentiment of which, alas! I was myself in doubt—the very doubt which was producing my despondency. His incidental allusion could have been only conjecture. I would have joyed to believe it just; but whether just or not it had the effect of soothing me; and, silently accepting it, I permitted him to continue his narration.“I need not enter into the particulars of my wooing. Gabriella lived upon ahatosome distance below Valverde, and nearer to the desert of the Dead Man’s Journey (Jornada del muerto)—of which no doubt you have heard mention. Her father was ahatero, and owned large flocks of sheep. He pastured them upon the great plains on the eastern side of the Sierra Blanca—where I was in the habit of going in my capacity ofciboleroto hunt the buffaloes. Thehateroand I became acquainted—became friends. He invited me to visit his house, and I went. I saw Gabriella for the first time; and ever afterwards was her beautiful face before my eyes. I went often, as you may believe,cavallero; but for a long time I was uncertain whether I was welcome—I mean to Gabriella: for her father still continued my friend. It was only after the incident I have mentioned—my saving her from the bear—that I felt certain my love was returned.“She had ventured too far into the mountains, where I had chanced to be at the time. I heard her voice calling for help. I ran through the rocks, and came up, just as a huge bear was springing upon her. I was a good shot, and my bullet brought down the monster—stretching him lifeless at her feet. Gabriella thanked me with sweet words—with smiles that were far sweeter, and told me still more. From that hour I knew that she was mine. Shortly after she consented to marry me.”“You were married, then?”“Married—but only for an hour.”“Only for an hour!”“Ah!señor; just so. One hour of wedded life, and then we were parted for ever. Death parted us. Death to her—to me worse than death; despair that has never left me—no—never will.”The voice of the speaker trembled in sorrowful tone. It was manifestly a sorrow that defied any efforts I might have made at consolation. I made none; but in silence and with eager attention awaited to hear the dénouement of a drama, whose prologue promised such a tragical ending.“Puez, señor,” proceeded the narrator, after a short silence, “Gabriella, as I have said, consented to marry me, and we were married. It was the day of our wedding. We had parted from the church; and with our friends had gone out into the country for adia de campo. There were about twenty of us in all, young men and girls—about, an equal number of each—all in their holiday dresses, just as they had been to the church. Most of the girls were Gabriella’s bridesmaids, and still wore the flowers and jewels they had used at the ceremony. The place chosen for ourdia de campowas a pretty spot, about a mile distant from the town. It was a glade in the midst of thechapparal, surrounded by beautiful trees, and sweet-smelling flowers. We went afoot: for the distance did not make it worth while for us to ride. Besides, we preferred enjoying the ramble, without being encumbered with horses. Well,señor; we had arrived on the ground, spread out the repast we had brought with us, uncorked the wine-bottles, and were in the full tide of enjoyment—talking and laughing gaily—when all of a sudden—we heard the trampling of horses. Not of one or two; but the hoof-strokes of a whole troop. At first we thought it might be thecavalladaof some rich proprietor, galloping past the place. We knew that horses were pastured in that neighbourhood; and it was like enough to be one of the half-wild droves straying through thechapparal. Still we were not without apprehension: for it might also be a troop of Apachés—who in those times made frequent forays upon the defenceless settlements. Alas,cavallero! our apprehensions proved but too just. We had been seated on the grass, around our festive preparations. We had scarce time to spring to our feet, ere the yell of the savages sounded in our ears; and almost on the instant the glade was filled with dusky warriors. They were all upon horseback, brandishing their long lances, and winding theirlazosaround their heads. Fearfully painted, and whooping their wild cries, they resembled the verydemonios! We could neither retreat nor defend ourselves. Against such odds it would have been idle to have attempted the latter: besides, we were all without weapons. On an occasion like that which had called us forth, one does not think of preparing for such an event. I own it was imprudent of us to go out unarmed—more especially when the country was filled with Indiannovedades—but who could have dreamt that such was to be the fatal termination to our joyousdia de campo? Ay de mi! I may well call it fatal. Very few of our men survived that dreadful day. Two or three of the young fellows managed to retreat into the bushes; and afterwards got off. The others were killed upon the spot—most of them impaled upon the spears of the Apachés! The women were left untouched: for the Indians rarely kill our women. Them they reserve for a different destiny. Ah!cavallero! a destiny worse than death! Not one of them escaped. The poorniñaswere all made captives; and each, borne off in the arms of a swarthy savage, was mounted upon his horse. Gabriella, the queen of all,—because by far the most beautiful—was chosen by the chief. I saw her struggling in his grasp, I saw him dragging her over the ground, and raising her to the withers of his steed. I saw him leap up behind her, and prepare to ride off—Gabriella, my beloved—my bride!”Here the speaker paused—as if overcome by the very remembrance of the incidents he was relating; and it was some time before he became sufficiently composed to resume his narrative.
“Puez señor! what I am about to tell you happened full ten years ago, though it’s as fresh in my mind as if it was yesterday. You may have heard of the village of Valverde? It is about fifty leagues south of Santa Fé, on the Rio del Norte—that portion of the valley we call theRio Abajo. It was at one time a settlement of some importance—rich and prospering as any in New Mexico—but, in consequence of the incursions of the Apachés, it fell into decay. Is now a complete ruin without a single inhabitant.”
“Well, amigo; it was there I was born: and there lived I, till I was twenty-five years of age—up to the time when that calamity befell me, and mine—the same I am about to speak of. I may say two years after that time; for I did not leave the neighbourhood till I had taken revenge upon those who were the cause of my misfortunes. I have spoken of Gabriella Gonzales. I have told you that I loved her; but I could not find words to tell you how much I loved her. You, who have come all this way in pursuit of a sweetheart,—you,cavallero, can understand all that. Like you with yours, I too could have followed Gabriella to the end of the world!Puez amigo! Like you, I had the good fortune to be loved in return.”
I could not divine the object of the Mexican in proclaiming this similitude. Perhaps it was done with the view of cheering me—for the quick-witted fellow had not failed to notice my despondency. It could only be a conjecture on his part: for how could he know ought of Lilian, beyond the fact of my preference for her, and that she was the object of our expedition? Of course he was aware, like all the others, of the purpose of our pursuit. From Sure-shot, or Wingrove, he might have learnt a little more; but neither he nor they could possibly have been acquainted with a sentiment of which, alas! I was myself in doubt—the very doubt which was producing my despondency. His incidental allusion could have been only conjecture. I would have joyed to believe it just; but whether just or not it had the effect of soothing me; and, silently accepting it, I permitted him to continue his narration.
“I need not enter into the particulars of my wooing. Gabriella lived upon ahatosome distance below Valverde, and nearer to the desert of the Dead Man’s Journey (Jornada del muerto)—of which no doubt you have heard mention. Her father was ahatero, and owned large flocks of sheep. He pastured them upon the great plains on the eastern side of the Sierra Blanca—where I was in the habit of going in my capacity ofciboleroto hunt the buffaloes. Thehateroand I became acquainted—became friends. He invited me to visit his house, and I went. I saw Gabriella for the first time; and ever afterwards was her beautiful face before my eyes. I went often, as you may believe,cavallero; but for a long time I was uncertain whether I was welcome—I mean to Gabriella: for her father still continued my friend. It was only after the incident I have mentioned—my saving her from the bear—that I felt certain my love was returned.
“She had ventured too far into the mountains, where I had chanced to be at the time. I heard her voice calling for help. I ran through the rocks, and came up, just as a huge bear was springing upon her. I was a good shot, and my bullet brought down the monster—stretching him lifeless at her feet. Gabriella thanked me with sweet words—with smiles that were far sweeter, and told me still more. From that hour I knew that she was mine. Shortly after she consented to marry me.”
“You were married, then?”
“Married—but only for an hour.”
“Only for an hour!”
“Ah!señor; just so. One hour of wedded life, and then we were parted for ever. Death parted us. Death to her—to me worse than death; despair that has never left me—no—never will.”
The voice of the speaker trembled in sorrowful tone. It was manifestly a sorrow that defied any efforts I might have made at consolation. I made none; but in silence and with eager attention awaited to hear the dénouement of a drama, whose prologue promised such a tragical ending.
“Puez, señor,” proceeded the narrator, after a short silence, “Gabriella, as I have said, consented to marry me, and we were married. It was the day of our wedding. We had parted from the church; and with our friends had gone out into the country for adia de campo. There were about twenty of us in all, young men and girls—about, an equal number of each—all in their holiday dresses, just as they had been to the church. Most of the girls were Gabriella’s bridesmaids, and still wore the flowers and jewels they had used at the ceremony. The place chosen for ourdia de campowas a pretty spot, about a mile distant from the town. It was a glade in the midst of thechapparal, surrounded by beautiful trees, and sweet-smelling flowers. We went afoot: for the distance did not make it worth while for us to ride. Besides, we preferred enjoying the ramble, without being encumbered with horses. Well,señor; we had arrived on the ground, spread out the repast we had brought with us, uncorked the wine-bottles, and were in the full tide of enjoyment—talking and laughing gaily—when all of a sudden—we heard the trampling of horses. Not of one or two; but the hoof-strokes of a whole troop. At first we thought it might be thecavalladaof some rich proprietor, galloping past the place. We knew that horses were pastured in that neighbourhood; and it was like enough to be one of the half-wild droves straying through thechapparal. Still we were not without apprehension: for it might also be a troop of Apachés—who in those times made frequent forays upon the defenceless settlements. Alas,cavallero! our apprehensions proved but too just. We had been seated on the grass, around our festive preparations. We had scarce time to spring to our feet, ere the yell of the savages sounded in our ears; and almost on the instant the glade was filled with dusky warriors. They were all upon horseback, brandishing their long lances, and winding theirlazosaround their heads. Fearfully painted, and whooping their wild cries, they resembled the verydemonios! We could neither retreat nor defend ourselves. Against such odds it would have been idle to have attempted the latter: besides, we were all without weapons. On an occasion like that which had called us forth, one does not think of preparing for such an event. I own it was imprudent of us to go out unarmed—more especially when the country was filled with Indiannovedades—but who could have dreamt that such was to be the fatal termination to our joyousdia de campo? Ay de mi! I may well call it fatal. Very few of our men survived that dreadful day. Two or three of the young fellows managed to retreat into the bushes; and afterwards got off. The others were killed upon the spot—most of them impaled upon the spears of the Apachés! The women were left untouched: for the Indians rarely kill our women. Them they reserve for a different destiny. Ah!cavallero! a destiny worse than death! Not one of them escaped. The poorniñaswere all made captives; and each, borne off in the arms of a swarthy savage, was mounted upon his horse. Gabriella, the queen of all,—because by far the most beautiful—was chosen by the chief. I saw her struggling in his grasp, I saw him dragging her over the ground, and raising her to the withers of his steed. I saw him leap up behind her, and prepare to ride off—Gabriella, my beloved—my bride!”
Here the speaker paused—as if overcome by the very remembrance of the incidents he was relating; and it was some time before he became sufficiently composed to resume his narrative.