Chapter Forty Five.The Barrow in Debate.Our patience was not put to a severe test. O’Tigg was not the man to keep his tongue in tranquillity for any extended time. Neither was Sure-shot an admirer of the silent system. Both were talkers. On this occasion, the “infantry” was the first to make himself heard.“Be japers! comrayde, I’m afther thinkin’ fwhat purty fools us hiv bin, to tak it afut this way, loike two thramps, whin wez moight ivery bit as wil hav been stroidin’ a pair ov good pownies. We cowld a fitched a pair from the Fort wid all the aize in the wurld.”“Yees, Petrick, certing ye ain’t fer ’stray ’bout thet pertickler; we’ve been raither ungumptious.”“Besoides, wez rooight as wil hav been hung for a shape as a lamb. We’ll be flogg’d all as wan, iv the iskhort foinds us, fur taykin’ the guns, an’ the knapsacks, an’ the whaleborra—bad luck to the borra!”“No, Petrick, don’t cuss the berra—it hes served us for certing. We kedn’t a got along ’thout the machine—how ked we? We ked niver hev toted our doin’s es we’ve did; an’ but for the piece o’ bacon an’ thet eer bag o’ meal, we’d a sterved long afore this, I recking. Don’t cuss the berra.”“Och! it’s made my showlders ache, as if some skhoundrel had been batin’ them wid a sprig ov shillaylah!”“Ne’er a mind ’bout thet! yer shoulders ’ll be all right arter ye’ve got a wink o’ sleep. Spank my skin! ef thet ere wan’t a cute dodge—it’s throwd the Indyens off o’ the scent for certain; or we’d a heerd some’ut o’ them verming afore this.”“Faith, I think we’ve sucksaided in bamboozling thim, shure enough.”The meat by this time showed sufficiently done; and the two men applied themselves to eating, with an earnestness that allowed no time for talking. The conversation had revealed enough of their past actions, and future designs, to confirm the conjectures I had already formed about them.As stated, they had both belonged to the “Rangers” of immortal memory. After the disbandment of the corps, they had entered upon a fresh lease of soldier-life, by enlisting into the regular army. O’Tigg had given preference to the sky-blue of the “line;” while the Yankee had taken to the mounted rifles—as a capital marksman, like him, would naturally do. Indeed, it would have been impossible to have “licked” the latter into anything like soldierly shape; and all the drill-sergeants in creation could not have made him stand with “toes turned in,” or “eyes right.” To have “dressed” the old ranger in line would have been a physical impossibility. In the mounted rifles, personal appearance is of less importance; and considering the little inclination there is to enlist in the American army—especially in times of peace—the oddest looking article is thankfully accepted. In the dearth of recruits. Sure-shot could have had no difficulty in passing inspection.Both had evidently become tired of their respective services. The routine of a frontier post is of itself sufficient to produce the deadliestennui; and the Californian attraction had “capped the climax.” The temptation was too strong for either Yankee or Hibernian nature to resist; and these worthy types of both had taken French-leave of the fort. It was thus that I epitomised the recent history of my oldcamarados. As they were evidently aware of the caravan being in the advance, and had been following it, it was easily conjectured that Fort Smith—a military post on the Arkansas opposite Van Buren—had been the scene of their defection. Very likely, they had kept near the train all along the route—with a view to guidance and partial protection—as also for adernier ressortto which they might betake themselves in case of their stores giving out. The escort, hinted at, would be sufficient to account for their not being in closer communication with the caravan.It appeared, they had been so far fortunate in escaping an encounter with Indians; but this, as in our case, was most likely due to the passage of the caravan. We knew that the red-skinned robbers would be too much occupied with the train itself and its more immediate stragglers, to be looking out for any so far in the rear as we; and to this circumstance, no doubt, were we indebted for the uninterrupted travel we had achieved. A greater proximity to the train would have rendered our passage more perilous. Sure-shot, though a slouch in his dress, was no simpleton. The trick of taking up the barrow was, no doubt, a conception of his brain, as well as its being borne upon the shoulders of the Irishman—who, in all likelihood, had performed therôleof wheeling it from Fort Smith to the Big Timbers, and was expected to push it before him to the edge of the Pacific Ocean! It was evident that Patrick was tired of his task: for they had not made much progress in their Homeric supper, before he once more returned to the subject.“But shure now, comrayde! we moight manage widout the borra—seein’ as we’ve got into the buffalos’ counthry. Aren’t them bastes as aizy to kill as tame cows? Shure we’d niver be widout mate as long as our powder lasts?”“Jess t’other way, ye fool! We’re a goingouto’ the buffuler country, an’ into perts where theer ain’t a anymal bigger than a rat. On t’other side o’ the mountings, theer ain’t no beests o’ any kind—neery one; an’ its jess theer we’ll want that eer bag o’ meel. Ef we don’t take it along, we’ll sterve for certing.”“Be me sowl! I’d ruther carry the male on my showlders. There’s liss of it now; an’ maybe I could manage it, iv you’ld only carry the spids, an’ thim other things. We moight lave the knapsicks an’ kyarthridge-box behind. What use ud they be in Kalifornya? They’ll only lade to our detiction by the throops out there.”“Don’t ee be skeert ’bout thet, kimrade! Ef theer’s troops in Californey, they’ll hev theer hands full ’ithout troublin’ us, I reeking. We ain’t like to be the only two critters as hain’t got apassfor the diggins. Ne’er a bit o’t. We’ll find deserters out theer es thick as blue-bottles on a barkiss. Certingly we shell. Besides, Petrick, we needn’t take the knepsacks all the way out theer, nor the berra neythur, nor nuthin’ else we’ve brought from the Fort.”“Fwhat div yez mane?” interrogated the Irishman—evidently puzzled to interpret the other’s speech. “We kin leave all them fixing in Morming City.”“But will the thrain be afther thravellin’ that way? Shure ye don’t know that.”“Certing it will. A putty consid’able pert o’ it air made up o’ Mormings; an’ they’ll be boun’ to the Salt Lake. We kin foller them an’ drop t’other. In the Morming settlements, we kin swop our unyforms for suthin’ else, an’ the berra too. Es to the knepsacks an’ cartridge-box, I guess as how I inteend to make a spec on them ere two articles.”“Fwhat! a pair ov soger knapsacks, an’ an owld kyarthridge-box! They wuldn’t fitch the worth ov dhrinks apaice.”“Theer your mistaking, Mister Tigg. Preehaps they’ll swop better’n you think. How d’ye know I ain’t like to git a beest apiece for ’em—eyther a mule or a hoss? This child ain’t a going to fut it all the way to Californey. B’yont the Morming City, he rides a spell, I recking.”“Be japers! that’s an out-an’-out good oidea. But how dev ye mane to carry it through? that’s what bothers Patrick O’Tigg.”“We—ell, Petrick, I’ll tell ee my plan. I ain’t got it straightened out yet, but I hope to hev it all right by the time we’re on t’other side the mountings—leastwise before we reaches Morming City.”“Arrah! fwhat is it?” inquired the impatient Irishman.The Yankee did not vouchsafe an immediate answer; but, while polishing off the bone he held in his hand, appeared at the same time to be busy with some mental operation—perhapsstraightening outthe plan he had promised to reveal.
Our patience was not put to a severe test. O’Tigg was not the man to keep his tongue in tranquillity for any extended time. Neither was Sure-shot an admirer of the silent system. Both were talkers. On this occasion, the “infantry” was the first to make himself heard.
“Be japers! comrayde, I’m afther thinkin’ fwhat purty fools us hiv bin, to tak it afut this way, loike two thramps, whin wez moight ivery bit as wil hav been stroidin’ a pair ov good pownies. We cowld a fitched a pair from the Fort wid all the aize in the wurld.”
“Yees, Petrick, certing ye ain’t fer ’stray ’bout thet pertickler; we’ve been raither ungumptious.”
“Besoides, wez rooight as wil hav been hung for a shape as a lamb. We’ll be flogg’d all as wan, iv the iskhort foinds us, fur taykin’ the guns, an’ the knapsacks, an’ the whaleborra—bad luck to the borra!”
“No, Petrick, don’t cuss the berra—it hes served us for certing. We kedn’t a got along ’thout the machine—how ked we? We ked niver hev toted our doin’s es we’ve did; an’ but for the piece o’ bacon an’ thet eer bag o’ meal, we’d a sterved long afore this, I recking. Don’t cuss the berra.”
“Och! it’s made my showlders ache, as if some skhoundrel had been batin’ them wid a sprig ov shillaylah!”
“Ne’er a mind ’bout thet! yer shoulders ’ll be all right arter ye’ve got a wink o’ sleep. Spank my skin! ef thet ere wan’t a cute dodge—it’s throwd the Indyens off o’ the scent for certain; or we’d a heerd some’ut o’ them verming afore this.”
“Faith, I think we’ve sucksaided in bamboozling thim, shure enough.”
The meat by this time showed sufficiently done; and the two men applied themselves to eating, with an earnestness that allowed no time for talking. The conversation had revealed enough of their past actions, and future designs, to confirm the conjectures I had already formed about them.
As stated, they had both belonged to the “Rangers” of immortal memory. After the disbandment of the corps, they had entered upon a fresh lease of soldier-life, by enlisting into the regular army. O’Tigg had given preference to the sky-blue of the “line;” while the Yankee had taken to the mounted rifles—as a capital marksman, like him, would naturally do. Indeed, it would have been impossible to have “licked” the latter into anything like soldierly shape; and all the drill-sergeants in creation could not have made him stand with “toes turned in,” or “eyes right.” To have “dressed” the old ranger in line would have been a physical impossibility. In the mounted rifles, personal appearance is of less importance; and considering the little inclination there is to enlist in the American army—especially in times of peace—the oddest looking article is thankfully accepted. In the dearth of recruits. Sure-shot could have had no difficulty in passing inspection.
Both had evidently become tired of their respective services. The routine of a frontier post is of itself sufficient to produce the deadliestennui; and the Californian attraction had “capped the climax.” The temptation was too strong for either Yankee or Hibernian nature to resist; and these worthy types of both had taken French-leave of the fort. It was thus that I epitomised the recent history of my oldcamarados. As they were evidently aware of the caravan being in the advance, and had been following it, it was easily conjectured that Fort Smith—a military post on the Arkansas opposite Van Buren—had been the scene of their defection. Very likely, they had kept near the train all along the route—with a view to guidance and partial protection—as also for adernier ressortto which they might betake themselves in case of their stores giving out. The escort, hinted at, would be sufficient to account for their not being in closer communication with the caravan.
It appeared, they had been so far fortunate in escaping an encounter with Indians; but this, as in our case, was most likely due to the passage of the caravan. We knew that the red-skinned robbers would be too much occupied with the train itself and its more immediate stragglers, to be looking out for any so far in the rear as we; and to this circumstance, no doubt, were we indebted for the uninterrupted travel we had achieved. A greater proximity to the train would have rendered our passage more perilous. Sure-shot, though a slouch in his dress, was no simpleton. The trick of taking up the barrow was, no doubt, a conception of his brain, as well as its being borne upon the shoulders of the Irishman—who, in all likelihood, had performed therôleof wheeling it from Fort Smith to the Big Timbers, and was expected to push it before him to the edge of the Pacific Ocean! It was evident that Patrick was tired of his task: for they had not made much progress in their Homeric supper, before he once more returned to the subject.
“But shure now, comrayde! we moight manage widout the borra—seein’ as we’ve got into the buffalos’ counthry. Aren’t them bastes as aizy to kill as tame cows? Shure we’d niver be widout mate as long as our powder lasts?”
“Jess t’other way, ye fool! We’re a goingouto’ the buffuler country, an’ into perts where theer ain’t a anymal bigger than a rat. On t’other side o’ the mountings, theer ain’t no beests o’ any kind—neery one; an’ its jess theer we’ll want that eer bag o’ meel. Ef we don’t take it along, we’ll sterve for certing.”
“Be me sowl! I’d ruther carry the male on my showlders. There’s liss of it now; an’ maybe I could manage it, iv you’ld only carry the spids, an’ thim other things. We moight lave the knapsicks an’ kyarthridge-box behind. What use ud they be in Kalifornya? They’ll only lade to our detiction by the throops out there.”
“Don’t ee be skeert ’bout thet, kimrade! Ef theer’s troops in Californey, they’ll hev theer hands full ’ithout troublin’ us, I reeking. We ain’t like to be the only two critters as hain’t got apassfor the diggins. Ne’er a bit o’t. We’ll find deserters out theer es thick as blue-bottles on a barkiss. Certingly we shell. Besides, Petrick, we needn’t take the knepsacks all the way out theer, nor the berra neythur, nor nuthin’ else we’ve brought from the Fort.”
“Fwhat div yez mane?” interrogated the Irishman—evidently puzzled to interpret the other’s speech. “We kin leave all them fixing in Morming City.”
“But will the thrain be afther thravellin’ that way? Shure ye don’t know that.”
“Certing it will. A putty consid’able pert o’ it air made up o’ Mormings; an’ they’ll be boun’ to the Salt Lake. We kin foller them an’ drop t’other. In the Morming settlements, we kin swop our unyforms for suthin’ else, an’ the berra too. Es to the knepsacks an’ cartridge-box, I guess as how I inteend to make a spec on them ere two articles.”
“Fwhat! a pair ov soger knapsacks, an’ an owld kyarthridge-box! They wuldn’t fitch the worth ov dhrinks apaice.”
“Theer your mistaking, Mister Tigg. Preehaps they’ll swop better’n you think. How d’ye know I ain’t like to git a beest apiece for ’em—eyther a mule or a hoss? This child ain’t a going to fut it all the way to Californey. B’yont the Morming City, he rides a spell, I recking.”
“Be japers! that’s an out-an’-out good oidea. But how dev ye mane to carry it through? that’s what bothers Patrick O’Tigg.”
“We—ell, Petrick, I’ll tell ee my plan. I ain’t got it straightened out yet, but I hope to hev it all right by the time we’re on t’other side the mountings—leastwise before we reaches Morming City.”
“Arrah! fwhat is it?” inquired the impatient Irishman.
The Yankee did not vouchsafe an immediate answer; but, while polishing off the bone he held in his hand, appeared at the same time to be busy with some mental operation—perhapsstraightening outthe plan he had promised to reveal.
Chapter Forty Six.A Tough Story.For some seconds the two worthies observed a mutual silence—broken only by a formidable rattle of teeth, as large “chunks” of buffalo-meat were put through their respective masticating machines. Curious to hear the promised revelation, Wingrove and I checked our impatience, and clung to our covert among the bushes. One thing—to which their speech had incidentally adverted—was not without much significance; and had produced upon me a certain impression that was unpleasant. They appeared to know, or Sure-shot did, that at least a portion of the train wasen routefor the Mormon city. It is true, I had had originally suspicions of this; but the letter of Lilian had led me to hope it might be otherwise. Any destination but that.I had commenced reflecting upon this point, when I was interrupted by the voice of Sure-shot resuming the conversation. Thus did he enter on his explanation:“Ye see, kimrade, these Mormings, es I’ve heern, air mighty taken up wi’ sogerin’, an’ thet sort o’ thing. Ye’ve heerd talk o’ theer great bettelion. They’ll be arter these eer treppings for certing, since they hain’t much chence o’ gittin’ soger fixings out theer. We-ell, what I mean to do is to put the knepsacks off on ’em for some new improvement o’ pattern. I guess it air thet—I’ve heerd say so at the Fort—then the Morming jineral, who air the prophet hisself, an’ who’s got berrls o’ dollars—he’ll buy the knepsacks at any price. Now, de ye take, Mister Tigg?”“Troth do I. But dev ye think yez can fool thim so aizy?”“Easy as eatin’ punkin-pie. Jehosophet! I hain’t been five year in the tradin’ line ’ithout lernin’ the bizness, I recking.”“Be me faith! yez must have been raal cliver at it, whin ye sowld them cypress-knees for bacon-hams to the Bawltemoreans. You remimber that story yez towld us down in Mixico?”“Yees; certingly I remember it—he, he, he! But I kim a better trick then thet on the Orleens people ’bout five yeer ago—jest ’fore I jined the Rangers.”“Fwhat was it, shure?”“We—ell, ye see, I wan’t allers es poor es I’m now. I hed a pertnership in a bit o’ a schooner, es used to trade ’tween Bosting an’ Orleens, an’ we used to load her wi’ all sorts o’ notions, to sell to the Orleens folk. Jehosophet an’ pork-pies! they air fools, an’ no mistake—them Creole French. We ked a sold ’em wooden nutmegs, an’ brick-dust for Cayenne pepper, an’ such like; an’ I ’bout guess es how we did spekoolate a leetle in thet line o’ bizness. Wall, there kim a time when they tuk a notion they ked make cheepbrogan, as they call ’em, out o’ allygator’s leather, an’ supply the hul nigger market wi’ ’em. The neels were dear, an’ so they tuk to usin’ boot-pegs; but not hevin’ a manafactry o’ the pegs down south, they hed to git ’em from the no’th. Jest then, my pertner an’ I thought o’ makin’ a spekoolashun on the pegs; so we loaded our schooner wi’ thet eer freight, chuck right up to the hetches; an’ then sot off from Bosting for Orleens. We thort we’d make our derned fortune out thet eer trip.”“Shure yez did, didn’t ye?”“No-o-o; neer a bit o’ ’t. It keemd nigh breakin’ us.”“Arrah, how?”“We-ell! ye see, when we got roun’ to Orleens, we learnt that the boot-trade hed a’most stopped. The allygator leather didn’t turn out jest the thing for brogans; an’ besides, it got sca’ce by reezun o’ the killin’ o’ them verming. In coorse, the pegs hed fell in price; they’d kim down so low, that we ked only git twenty-five cents a bushel for ’em!”“Mother ov Moses! only twenty-five cents a bushel!”“Thet was all they’d fetch—offer ’em when an’ wheer we would. In coorse, we wan’t fools enough to take thet—the dernationed pegs hed cost us more in Bosting!”“Divil a doubt ov it? But fwhat did yez do wid ’em, anyhow?”“We-ell, Mister Tigg, we weer cleer beat at fust; an’ didn’t know what to do—neyther me’r my pertner. But arter takin’ a good think over it, I seed a way o’ gitting out o’ the scrape—leestwise ’ithout sech a loss as sellin’ the pegs at twenty-five cents the bushel. I seed a chence o’ gitting rid o’ them at fifty cents.”“Arrah, now! in fwhat way, comrade?”“You’ve seed boot-pegs, I recking, Mister Tigg?”“An’ shure I hiv. Aren’t they the same that’s in these suttlers’ brogues we’ve got on—bad luck to them?”“Jess the same—only whitier when they air new.”“Be japers! I think I remimber seein’ a barrel full ov thim in New Yark.”“Very certing it were them—they air usooaly packed in berr’ls. Can you think o’ anything they looked like?”“Wil, in troth, they looked more loike oats than anything I can recollect. Shure they did look moighty like oats!”“An’ don’t ee kalkerlate they’d a looked more like oats, ef they’d been pointed at both ends instead o’ one!”“In troth, would they—all that same.”“We-ell, thet’s the very idee thet kem inter my mind at the time.”“Arrah now, is it? An’ fwhat did yez do wid the pegs then?”“Jest sharpened the other eends o’ ’em, an’ sold ’em for oats!”The puzzled, half-incredulous stare, on the countenance of the Hibernian, was ridiculous in the extreme. The allegation of the Yankee had deprived him of speech; and for some moments he sat gazing at the latter, evidently in doubt whether to give credence to the story, or reject it as a little bit of a “sell” upon the part of his comrade—with whose eccentricity of character he was well acquainted. Equally ludicrous was the look of gravity on the countenance of the other—which he continued to preserve under the continued gaze of his comrade, with all the solemnity of a judge upon the bench. It was as much as my companion and I could do to restrain our laughter; but we were desirous of witnessing the finale of the affair, and, by an effort, succeeded in holding in.“Och, now, Misther Shure-shat!” gasped the Irishman at length, “an’ it’s only jokin’ ye are?”“Truth I tell ye, Petrick—every word o’ ’t. Ye see the oats weer jest then sellin’ at fifty cents the bushel, an’ thet paid us. We made a lettle suthin’, too, by the speekolashun.”“But how did yez get the other inds pointed at all—at all?”“Oh! thet weer eezy enough. I invented a machine for thet, an’ run ’em through in less’n no time. When they kim out at t’other eend o’ the machine,I kednt meself a told ’em from oats!”“Och! now I comprehend. Arrah! an’ wasn’t it a quare thrick? Be my sowl, it bates Bannagher all to paces! Ha, ha, haw!”Wingrove and I could hold in no longer, but joining in the loud cachinnation—as if we had been its echoes—sprang forward to the front. Infantry and rifleman bounded to their feet, with a simultaneous shout of “Indians!” and dropping their spits and half-eatenappolasof meat, dashed into the bushes like a pair of frightened rabbits! In an instant, both were out of sight; and their whereabouts was alone indicated by the rattling of the branches as they passed through them. I was apprehensive of losing them altogether; and regretted not having used more caution in approaching them. At that crisis, an idea came to my aid; and giving out an old signal, well-remembered by theci-devantrangers, I had the gratification of receiving a double response. The utterance of the signal had brought them to an instantaneous halt; and I could hear them exchanging surmises and exclamations of astonishment, as they retraced their steps towards the fire. Presently, a pair of short, snub-nosed faces were seen peering through the leaves; while from the lips of their owners burst simultaneously, “The cyaptin’!” “The capting!” with various other phrases in their respectivepatois, expressive of surprise and recognition.A few words sufficed to explain all. As we had surmised, the men were deserters. Neither attempted to deny what, in time of peace, is not considered a very heinous crime; and for which, just then, the “Californian fever” was considered an ample justification. It was no affair of ours. I was only too rejoiced to join company with the runaways, of whose loyalty to myself I had proofs of old. Their guns—more especially the rifle of Sure-shot—would be a valuable addition to our strength; and, instead of crawling along under the cover of night, we might now advance with more freedom and rapidity. It was determined, therefore, to share our means of transport with our new comrades—an offer by them eagerly and readily accepted. The partial consumption of our stores had lightened the packs upon our mules; and the contents of the wheelbarrow, equally divided between them, would give to each only its ordinary load. The barrow itself was abandoned—left among the Big Timbers—to puzzle at a future period some red-skinned archaeologist—Cheyenne or Arapaho!
For some seconds the two worthies observed a mutual silence—broken only by a formidable rattle of teeth, as large “chunks” of buffalo-meat were put through their respective masticating machines. Curious to hear the promised revelation, Wingrove and I checked our impatience, and clung to our covert among the bushes. One thing—to which their speech had incidentally adverted—was not without much significance; and had produced upon me a certain impression that was unpleasant. They appeared to know, or Sure-shot did, that at least a portion of the train wasen routefor the Mormon city. It is true, I had had originally suspicions of this; but the letter of Lilian had led me to hope it might be otherwise. Any destination but that.
I had commenced reflecting upon this point, when I was interrupted by the voice of Sure-shot resuming the conversation. Thus did he enter on his explanation:
“Ye see, kimrade, these Mormings, es I’ve heern, air mighty taken up wi’ sogerin’, an’ thet sort o’ thing. Ye’ve heerd talk o’ theer great bettelion. They’ll be arter these eer treppings for certing, since they hain’t much chence o’ gittin’ soger fixings out theer. We-ell, what I mean to do is to put the knepsacks off on ’em for some new improvement o’ pattern. I guess it air thet—I’ve heerd say so at the Fort—then the Morming jineral, who air the prophet hisself, an’ who’s got berrls o’ dollars—he’ll buy the knepsacks at any price. Now, de ye take, Mister Tigg?”
“Troth do I. But dev ye think yez can fool thim so aizy?”
“Easy as eatin’ punkin-pie. Jehosophet! I hain’t been five year in the tradin’ line ’ithout lernin’ the bizness, I recking.”
“Be me faith! yez must have been raal cliver at it, whin ye sowld them cypress-knees for bacon-hams to the Bawltemoreans. You remimber that story yez towld us down in Mixico?”
“Yees; certingly I remember it—he, he, he! But I kim a better trick then thet on the Orleens people ’bout five yeer ago—jest ’fore I jined the Rangers.”
“Fwhat was it, shure?”
“We—ell, ye see, I wan’t allers es poor es I’m now. I hed a pertnership in a bit o’ a schooner, es used to trade ’tween Bosting an’ Orleens, an’ we used to load her wi’ all sorts o’ notions, to sell to the Orleens folk. Jehosophet an’ pork-pies! they air fools, an’ no mistake—them Creole French. We ked a sold ’em wooden nutmegs, an’ brick-dust for Cayenne pepper, an’ such like; an’ I ’bout guess es how we did spekoolate a leetle in thet line o’ bizness. Wall, there kim a time when they tuk a notion they ked make cheepbrogan, as they call ’em, out o’ allygator’s leather, an’ supply the hul nigger market wi’ ’em. The neels were dear, an’ so they tuk to usin’ boot-pegs; but not hevin’ a manafactry o’ the pegs down south, they hed to git ’em from the no’th. Jest then, my pertner an’ I thought o’ makin’ a spekoolashun on the pegs; so we loaded our schooner wi’ thet eer freight, chuck right up to the hetches; an’ then sot off from Bosting for Orleens. We thort we’d make our derned fortune out thet eer trip.”
“Shure yez did, didn’t ye?”
“No-o-o; neer a bit o’ ’t. It keemd nigh breakin’ us.”
“Arrah, how?”
“We-ell! ye see, when we got roun’ to Orleens, we learnt that the boot-trade hed a’most stopped. The allygator leather didn’t turn out jest the thing for brogans; an’ besides, it got sca’ce by reezun o’ the killin’ o’ them verming. In coorse, the pegs hed fell in price; they’d kim down so low, that we ked only git twenty-five cents a bushel for ’em!”
“Mother ov Moses! only twenty-five cents a bushel!”
“Thet was all they’d fetch—offer ’em when an’ wheer we would. In coorse, we wan’t fools enough to take thet—the dernationed pegs hed cost us more in Bosting!”
“Divil a doubt ov it? But fwhat did yez do wid ’em, anyhow?”
“We-ell, Mister Tigg, we weer cleer beat at fust; an’ didn’t know what to do—neyther me’r my pertner. But arter takin’ a good think over it, I seed a way o’ gitting out o’ the scrape—leestwise ’ithout sech a loss as sellin’ the pegs at twenty-five cents the bushel. I seed a chence o’ gitting rid o’ them at fifty cents.”
“Arrah, now! in fwhat way, comrade?”
“You’ve seed boot-pegs, I recking, Mister Tigg?”
“An’ shure I hiv. Aren’t they the same that’s in these suttlers’ brogues we’ve got on—bad luck to them?”
“Jess the same—only whitier when they air new.”
“Be japers! I think I remimber seein’ a barrel full ov thim in New Yark.”
“Very certing it were them—they air usooaly packed in berr’ls. Can you think o’ anything they looked like?”
“Wil, in troth, they looked more loike oats than anything I can recollect. Shure they did look moighty like oats!”
“An’ don’t ee kalkerlate they’d a looked more like oats, ef they’d been pointed at both ends instead o’ one!”
“In troth, would they—all that same.”
“We-ell, thet’s the very idee thet kem inter my mind at the time.”
“Arrah now, is it? An’ fwhat did yez do wid the pegs then?”
“Jest sharpened the other eends o’ ’em, an’ sold ’em for oats!”
The puzzled, half-incredulous stare, on the countenance of the Hibernian, was ridiculous in the extreme. The allegation of the Yankee had deprived him of speech; and for some moments he sat gazing at the latter, evidently in doubt whether to give credence to the story, or reject it as a little bit of a “sell” upon the part of his comrade—with whose eccentricity of character he was well acquainted. Equally ludicrous was the look of gravity on the countenance of the other—which he continued to preserve under the continued gaze of his comrade, with all the solemnity of a judge upon the bench. It was as much as my companion and I could do to restrain our laughter; but we were desirous of witnessing the finale of the affair, and, by an effort, succeeded in holding in.
“Och, now, Misther Shure-shat!” gasped the Irishman at length, “an’ it’s only jokin’ ye are?”
“Truth I tell ye, Petrick—every word o’ ’t. Ye see the oats weer jest then sellin’ at fifty cents the bushel, an’ thet paid us. We made a lettle suthin’, too, by the speekolashun.”
“But how did yez get the other inds pointed at all—at all?”
“Oh! thet weer eezy enough. I invented a machine for thet, an’ run ’em through in less’n no time. When they kim out at t’other eend o’ the machine,I kednt meself a told ’em from oats!”
“Och! now I comprehend. Arrah! an’ wasn’t it a quare thrick? Be my sowl, it bates Bannagher all to paces! Ha, ha, haw!”
Wingrove and I could hold in no longer, but joining in the loud cachinnation—as if we had been its echoes—sprang forward to the front. Infantry and rifleman bounded to their feet, with a simultaneous shout of “Indians!” and dropping their spits and half-eatenappolasof meat, dashed into the bushes like a pair of frightened rabbits! In an instant, both were out of sight; and their whereabouts was alone indicated by the rattling of the branches as they passed through them. I was apprehensive of losing them altogether; and regretted not having used more caution in approaching them. At that crisis, an idea came to my aid; and giving out an old signal, well-remembered by theci-devantrangers, I had the gratification of receiving a double response. The utterance of the signal had brought them to an instantaneous halt; and I could hear them exchanging surmises and exclamations of astonishment, as they retraced their steps towards the fire. Presently, a pair of short, snub-nosed faces were seen peering through the leaves; while from the lips of their owners burst simultaneously, “The cyaptin’!” “The capting!” with various other phrases in their respectivepatois, expressive of surprise and recognition.
A few words sufficed to explain all. As we had surmised, the men were deserters. Neither attempted to deny what, in time of peace, is not considered a very heinous crime; and for which, just then, the “Californian fever” was considered an ample justification. It was no affair of ours. I was only too rejoiced to join company with the runaways, of whose loyalty to myself I had proofs of old. Their guns—more especially the rifle of Sure-shot—would be a valuable addition to our strength; and, instead of crawling along under the cover of night, we might now advance with more freedom and rapidity. It was determined, therefore, to share our means of transport with our new comrades—an offer by them eagerly and readily accepted. The partial consumption of our stores had lightened the packs upon our mules; and the contents of the wheelbarrow, equally divided between them, would give to each only its ordinary load. The barrow itself was abandoned—left among the Big Timbers—to puzzle at a future period some red-skinned archaeologist—Cheyenne or Arapaho!
Chapter Forty Seven.The Mountain Parks.We now proceeded along the route with more confidence; though still acknowledging the necessity of caution, and always reconnoitring the ground in advance. Although the four of us might have defended ourselves against four times our number of Indian enemies, we were passing through apart of the country, where, if Indians were to be met at all, it would be in large bands or “war-parties.” The Arkansas heads in that peculiar section of the Rocky Mountain chain known as the “Parks”—a region of country celebrated from the earliest times of fur-trading and trapping—the arena of a greater number of adventures—of personal encounters and hair-breadth escapes—than perhaps any other spot of equal extent upon the surface of the globe. Here the great Cordillera spread out into numerous distinct branches or “Sierras,” over which tower those noted landmarks of the prairie traveller, “Pike’s” and “Long’s” Peaks, and the “Wa-to-ya” or “Cumbres Españolas”;—projected far above their fellows, and rising thousands of feet into the region of eternal snow. Between their bases—embosomed amid the most rugged surrounding of bare rocky cliffs, or dark forest-clad declivities—lievallées, smiling in the soft verdure of perpetual spring—watered by crystal streams—sheltered from storms, and sequestered from all the world. The most noted of these are the Old and New “Parks,” and the “Bayou Salade”—because these are the largest; but there are hundreds of smaller ones, not nameless, but known only to those adventurous men—the trappers—who for half a century have dwelt in this paradise of their perilous profession: since here is the habitat of the masonic beaver—its favouritebuilding ground.Over these valley-plains roam “gangs” of the gigantic buffalo; while in the openings between their copses may be descried the elk, antelope, and black-tailed deer, browsing in countless herds. On the cliffs that overhang them, the noble form of thecarnero cimmaron (ovis montana)—or, “Bighorn” of the hunters—maybe seen, in bold outline against the sky; and crawling through the rocky ravines is encountered the grizzly bear—the most fierce and formidable of Americancarnivora. The red couguar and brown wolverene crouch along the edges of the thicket, to contest with jackal and wolf the possession of the carcass, where some stray quadruped has fallen a victim to the hungry troop; while black vultures wheeling aloft, await the issue of the conflict. Birds of fairer fame add animation to the scene. The magnificentmeleagris, shining in metallic lustre, with spread wings and tail, offers a tempting aim to the hunter’s rifle—as it promises to afford him a rich repast; and thecoq de prairie, and its gigantic congener the “sage grouse,” whirr up at intervals along the path. The waters have their denizens, in the grey Canada and white-fronted geese—ducks of numerous species—the stupid pelican and shy loon—gulls, cormorants, and the noble swan; while the groves ofalamoring with the music of numerous bright-winged songsters, scarcely known to the ornithologist.But no land of peace is this fair region of the Rocky Mountains. There are parks, but no palaces—there are fertile fields, but none to till them—for it is even dangerous to traverse them in the open light of day. The trapper skulks silently along the creek—scarcely trusting himself to whisper to his companion—and watching warily as he renews the bait ofcastoreum. The hunter glides with stealthy tread from copse to copse—dreading the echo of his own rifle. Even the red-skinned rover goes not here alone, but only with a large band of his kindred—a “hunting” or “war-party.” The ground is neutral, as it is hostile—claimed by many tribes and owned by none. All enter it to hunt or make war, but none to settle or colonise. From every quarter of the compass come the warrior and hunter; and of almost as many tribes as there are points upon the card. From the north, the Crow and Sioux; from the south, the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Jicarilla-Apache—and even at times the tame Taosa. From the east penetrate, the Cheyenne, the Pawnee, and Arapaho; while through the western gates of this hunters’ paradise, pour the warlike bands of the Utah and Shoshonee. All these tribes are in mutual enmity or amity amongst themselves, of greater or less strength; but between some of them exists a hostility of the deadliest character. Such are the vendettas between Crow and Shoshonee, Pawnee and Comanche, Utah and Arapaho. Some of the tribe have the repute of being friendly to the whites. Among these may be mentioned the Utahs and Crows; while the more dreaded names are Cheyenne, Kiowa, and Arapaho; the last in hostility to the whites equalling the noted Blackfeet farther north. In all cases, however, the amity of the prairie Indian is a friendship upon which slight faith can be placed; and the trapper—even in Crow or Utah land—is accustomed “to sleep with one eye open.” In past times, Utahs have been more partial to the pale-faces than most other tribes of North Americans; and in their territory many of the celebrated trapper-stations, or “rendezvous,” are situated. At times, mutual provocations have led to dire encounters; and then are the Utahs to be dreaded—more, perhaps, than any other Indians. In their association with their trapper allies, they have learnt how to handle—and with skill—that most formidable of weapons, for partisan warfare—the hunter’s rifle.At the time of which I write, the Utahs were reported to be on good terms with the whites. The Mormons had done everything to conciliate them; and it was said that a single white man might traverse their territory with perfect safety. It was chiefly in the passes that led to the Utahs’ country, that danger from Indians was to be apprehended—in the valleys and ravines above mentioned—where Cheyennes, Comanches, Pawnees, and Arapahoes were more likely to be met with than the Utahs themselves.We were not yet certain by which pass the caravan might cross the great Cordillera. From beyond the Big Timbers, three routes were open to it. First was the southern route through the Eaton mountains, which leads to Santa Fé, in New Mexico, and is known as the “Santa Fé trail.” I did not anticipate their taking this one. It was not their design, on leaving Fort Smith, to pass by Santa Fé—else would they have kept up the Canadian, by the head of the Llano Estacado; and thence to California by the Gila. Another route parts from the Arkansas still higher up—by one of its affluents, theFontaine que bouit. This is the “Cherokee trail,” which, after running north along the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains, crosses them by the Cheyenne Pass, and on through Bridger’s Pass into the central valley of the Great Basin. Neither did I believe that the train would travel by this trail. The season of the year was against the supposition. In all probability, the central route of the three would be the one followed—leading from the Arkansas up the Huerfano river, and through “Robideau’s Pass,” or that of the “Sangre de Cristo.” Either of these conducts into the valley of the Rio del Norte; thence by the famed “Coochetopa,” or “gate of the buffaloes,” on the head waters of the Western Colorado.This pass, though long known to the trappers andcibolerosof New Mexico, had only just come into notice as a road to the Pacific; but, being one of the most central and direct, it had already been tried both by Californian and Mormon emigrants, and found practicable for waggons. The caravan had left Van Buren with the design of taking this road; but I knew that the design might be altered by contingencies—hence our uncertainty.The Rocky Mountains could be crossed, by following up the Arkansas to its remotest sources on the southern side of the Bayou Salade; but the stupendous gorges through which that river runs leave no pass practicable for wheeled vehicles. Only by mounted men, or pack-mules, can the Cordillera be crossed at that point; and of course it did not occur to us that the caravan we were following would attempt it. At three points, then, might we expect to find its trace parting from the Arkansas—near Bent’s Old Fort, for the southern route: at theFontaine que bouitriver, for the northern; and for the central, it should diverge up the valley of the Huerfano. In any case, our risk would be unquestionably great. We should have to travel through districts of country, where white man and red man meet only as foes; where to kill each other at sight is the instinct and practice of both; and where, though it may sound strange to civilised ears, toscalp, after killing each other, is equally amutualcustom!Such was the character of the region through which we should have to travel. No wonder we were anxious to come up with the caravan, before it should have passed through the dangerous gorges of the mountains. Independent of other motives, our personal safety prompted us to hasten on. At first, our new comrades were not exactly agreeable to the design of overtaking the train. They had theescortin their thoughts, and along with it, the dread of the nine-tailed cat. But a little instruction as to the far greater danger they were in from Indians—of which up to that hour they had been in happy ignorance—reconciled them to our purpose; and thenceforward they picked up their feet with a pleasing rapidity. Both preferred risking the skin of their backs to losing that of their heads; but of the former they had now less fear: since I had promised todisguisethem, before bringing them face to face with the troopers of the escort.Notwithstanding our increased strength, we travelled with as much caution as ever: for the danger had augmented in proportion. We made most way under the friendly shadow of night—sometimes by the light of the moon—and only by day, when we could discover no Indian sign in our neighbourhood. Only two of us could ride at a time—the other two taking it afoot; but in this way a journey can be made almost as well, as when each has a horse to himself. Our pack-animals gave us little trouble: as the continued travel had long since trained them to follow in file, and without requiring to be led. We refrained from making fires, where the ground was unfavourable. Only when we could choose our camp in the midst of a timbered thicket, or down in the secluded depth of some rocky ravine, did we risk kindling fires; and them we extinguished as soon as they had served the purposes of our simplecuisine. These precautions, drawn from experience, were absolutely necessary in a passage across the prairies—at least by a party so small as ours. Perhaps had we continued them, we might have escaped a misfortune that soon after befell us; and the tale of which is now to be told.
We now proceeded along the route with more confidence; though still acknowledging the necessity of caution, and always reconnoitring the ground in advance. Although the four of us might have defended ourselves against four times our number of Indian enemies, we were passing through apart of the country, where, if Indians were to be met at all, it would be in large bands or “war-parties.” The Arkansas heads in that peculiar section of the Rocky Mountain chain known as the “Parks”—a region of country celebrated from the earliest times of fur-trading and trapping—the arena of a greater number of adventures—of personal encounters and hair-breadth escapes—than perhaps any other spot of equal extent upon the surface of the globe. Here the great Cordillera spread out into numerous distinct branches or “Sierras,” over which tower those noted landmarks of the prairie traveller, “Pike’s” and “Long’s” Peaks, and the “Wa-to-ya” or “Cumbres Españolas”;—projected far above their fellows, and rising thousands of feet into the region of eternal snow. Between their bases—embosomed amid the most rugged surrounding of bare rocky cliffs, or dark forest-clad declivities—lievallées, smiling in the soft verdure of perpetual spring—watered by crystal streams—sheltered from storms, and sequestered from all the world. The most noted of these are the Old and New “Parks,” and the “Bayou Salade”—because these are the largest; but there are hundreds of smaller ones, not nameless, but known only to those adventurous men—the trappers—who for half a century have dwelt in this paradise of their perilous profession: since here is the habitat of the masonic beaver—its favouritebuilding ground.
Over these valley-plains roam “gangs” of the gigantic buffalo; while in the openings between their copses may be descried the elk, antelope, and black-tailed deer, browsing in countless herds. On the cliffs that overhang them, the noble form of thecarnero cimmaron (ovis montana)—or, “Bighorn” of the hunters—maybe seen, in bold outline against the sky; and crawling through the rocky ravines is encountered the grizzly bear—the most fierce and formidable of Americancarnivora. The red couguar and brown wolverene crouch along the edges of the thicket, to contest with jackal and wolf the possession of the carcass, where some stray quadruped has fallen a victim to the hungry troop; while black vultures wheeling aloft, await the issue of the conflict. Birds of fairer fame add animation to the scene. The magnificentmeleagris, shining in metallic lustre, with spread wings and tail, offers a tempting aim to the hunter’s rifle—as it promises to afford him a rich repast; and thecoq de prairie, and its gigantic congener the “sage grouse,” whirr up at intervals along the path. The waters have their denizens, in the grey Canada and white-fronted geese—ducks of numerous species—the stupid pelican and shy loon—gulls, cormorants, and the noble swan; while the groves ofalamoring with the music of numerous bright-winged songsters, scarcely known to the ornithologist.
But no land of peace is this fair region of the Rocky Mountains. There are parks, but no palaces—there are fertile fields, but none to till them—for it is even dangerous to traverse them in the open light of day. The trapper skulks silently along the creek—scarcely trusting himself to whisper to his companion—and watching warily as he renews the bait ofcastoreum. The hunter glides with stealthy tread from copse to copse—dreading the echo of his own rifle. Even the red-skinned rover goes not here alone, but only with a large band of his kindred—a “hunting” or “war-party.” The ground is neutral, as it is hostile—claimed by many tribes and owned by none. All enter it to hunt or make war, but none to settle or colonise. From every quarter of the compass come the warrior and hunter; and of almost as many tribes as there are points upon the card. From the north, the Crow and Sioux; from the south, the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Jicarilla-Apache—and even at times the tame Taosa. From the east penetrate, the Cheyenne, the Pawnee, and Arapaho; while through the western gates of this hunters’ paradise, pour the warlike bands of the Utah and Shoshonee. All these tribes are in mutual enmity or amity amongst themselves, of greater or less strength; but between some of them exists a hostility of the deadliest character. Such are the vendettas between Crow and Shoshonee, Pawnee and Comanche, Utah and Arapaho. Some of the tribe have the repute of being friendly to the whites. Among these may be mentioned the Utahs and Crows; while the more dreaded names are Cheyenne, Kiowa, and Arapaho; the last in hostility to the whites equalling the noted Blackfeet farther north. In all cases, however, the amity of the prairie Indian is a friendship upon which slight faith can be placed; and the trapper—even in Crow or Utah land—is accustomed “to sleep with one eye open.” In past times, Utahs have been more partial to the pale-faces than most other tribes of North Americans; and in their territory many of the celebrated trapper-stations, or “rendezvous,” are situated. At times, mutual provocations have led to dire encounters; and then are the Utahs to be dreaded—more, perhaps, than any other Indians. In their association with their trapper allies, they have learnt how to handle—and with skill—that most formidable of weapons, for partisan warfare—the hunter’s rifle.
At the time of which I write, the Utahs were reported to be on good terms with the whites. The Mormons had done everything to conciliate them; and it was said that a single white man might traverse their territory with perfect safety. It was chiefly in the passes that led to the Utahs’ country, that danger from Indians was to be apprehended—in the valleys and ravines above mentioned—where Cheyennes, Comanches, Pawnees, and Arapahoes were more likely to be met with than the Utahs themselves.
We were not yet certain by which pass the caravan might cross the great Cordillera. From beyond the Big Timbers, three routes were open to it. First was the southern route through the Eaton mountains, which leads to Santa Fé, in New Mexico, and is known as the “Santa Fé trail.” I did not anticipate their taking this one. It was not their design, on leaving Fort Smith, to pass by Santa Fé—else would they have kept up the Canadian, by the head of the Llano Estacado; and thence to California by the Gila. Another route parts from the Arkansas still higher up—by one of its affluents, theFontaine que bouit. This is the “Cherokee trail,” which, after running north along the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains, crosses them by the Cheyenne Pass, and on through Bridger’s Pass into the central valley of the Great Basin. Neither did I believe that the train would travel by this trail. The season of the year was against the supposition. In all probability, the central route of the three would be the one followed—leading from the Arkansas up the Huerfano river, and through “Robideau’s Pass,” or that of the “Sangre de Cristo.” Either of these conducts into the valley of the Rio del Norte; thence by the famed “Coochetopa,” or “gate of the buffaloes,” on the head waters of the Western Colorado.
This pass, though long known to the trappers andcibolerosof New Mexico, had only just come into notice as a road to the Pacific; but, being one of the most central and direct, it had already been tried both by Californian and Mormon emigrants, and found practicable for waggons. The caravan had left Van Buren with the design of taking this road; but I knew that the design might be altered by contingencies—hence our uncertainty.
The Rocky Mountains could be crossed, by following up the Arkansas to its remotest sources on the southern side of the Bayou Salade; but the stupendous gorges through which that river runs leave no pass practicable for wheeled vehicles. Only by mounted men, or pack-mules, can the Cordillera be crossed at that point; and of course it did not occur to us that the caravan we were following would attempt it. At three points, then, might we expect to find its trace parting from the Arkansas—near Bent’s Old Fort, for the southern route: at theFontaine que bouitriver, for the northern; and for the central, it should diverge up the valley of the Huerfano. In any case, our risk would be unquestionably great. We should have to travel through districts of country, where white man and red man meet only as foes; where to kill each other at sight is the instinct and practice of both; and where, though it may sound strange to civilised ears, toscalp, after killing each other, is equally amutualcustom!
Such was the character of the region through which we should have to travel. No wonder we were anxious to come up with the caravan, before it should have passed through the dangerous gorges of the mountains. Independent of other motives, our personal safety prompted us to hasten on. At first, our new comrades were not exactly agreeable to the design of overtaking the train. They had theescortin their thoughts, and along with it, the dread of the nine-tailed cat. But a little instruction as to the far greater danger they were in from Indians—of which up to that hour they had been in happy ignorance—reconciled them to our purpose; and thenceforward they picked up their feet with a pleasing rapidity. Both preferred risking the skin of their backs to losing that of their heads; but of the former they had now less fear: since I had promised todisguisethem, before bringing them face to face with the troopers of the escort.
Notwithstanding our increased strength, we travelled with as much caution as ever: for the danger had augmented in proportion. We made most way under the friendly shadow of night—sometimes by the light of the moon—and only by day, when we could discover no Indian sign in our neighbourhood. Only two of us could ride at a time—the other two taking it afoot; but in this way a journey can be made almost as well, as when each has a horse to himself. Our pack-animals gave us little trouble: as the continued travel had long since trained them to follow in file, and without requiring to be led. We refrained from making fires, where the ground was unfavourable. Only when we could choose our camp in the midst of a timbered thicket, or down in the secluded depth of some rocky ravine, did we risk kindling fires; and them we extinguished as soon as they had served the purposes of our simplecuisine. These precautions, drawn from experience, were absolutely necessary in a passage across the prairies—at least by a party so small as ours. Perhaps had we continued them, we might have escaped a misfortune that soon after befell us; and the tale of which is now to be told.
Chapter Forty Eight.The abandoned Bouquet.Having passed Bent’s Fort—of wide celebrity in trapper lore—whilom the scene of many a wild revel of the “mountain-men,” but now abandoned and in ruins—we arrived at the confluence of the Huerfano. As we expected, the trace turned up the valley of this latter stream—thus deciding the route taken by the caravan.We rode on through a forest of grand cotton-woods and willows; and at about seven miles distant from the mouth of the Huerfano river, reached a point, where the caravan had crossed over to its left bank. On the other side, we could see the ground of their encampment of the night before. We could tell it by the fresh traces of animals and waggons—débris of the morning’s repast—and half-burnt faggots of the tires that had cooked it, still sending up their clouds of oozing smoke.The stream at this point was fordable; and crossing over, we stood upon the deserted camp-ground. With singular emotions, I walked amid the smouldering fires—forming conjectures as to which of them might have been graced by that fair presence. Where had she passed the night, and what had occupied her thoughts? Were those gentle words still lingering in her memory? Were they upon her lips? It was pleasant for me to repeat them. I did not need to draw the writing forth. Long since were the lines fixed in my remembrance—oft through my heart had vibrated the burden of that sweet song:“I think of thee—I think of thee!”My reflections were not altogether unmingled with pain. Love cannot live without doubts and fears. Jealousy is its infallible concomitant—ever present as the thorn with the rose. How could I hope that one hour of my presence had been sufficient to inspire in that young bosom the passion of a life? It could scarcely be other than a slight impression—a passing admiration of some speech, word, or gesture—too transient to be true? Perhaps I was already forgotten? Perhaps only remembered with a smile, instead of a sigh? Though still but a short time since our parting, many scenes had since transpired—many events had occurred in the life of that young creature to give it experience. Forms of equal—perhaps superior elegance—had come before her eye. Might not one of these have made its image upon her heart?The caravan was not a mere conglomeration of coarse rude adventurers. There were men of all classes composing it—not a few of accomplished education—not a few who, using a hackneyed phrase, were “men of the world,”—familiar with its ways and its wiles—and who perfectly understood all those intricate attentions and delicate lures, by which the virgin heart is approached and captured. There were military men too—those ever to be dreaded rivals in love—young officers of the escort, laced, booted, and spurred—bedecked, moreover, with that mysterious influence which authority ever imparts to its possessor. Could these be blind to the charms of such a travelling companion? Impossible. Or could she—her young bosom just expanding to receive the god of love—fail to acknowledge the nearest form as his image? Painfully improbable!It was therefore with feelings of no very pleasant kind that I sought around for some souvenir. The remains of a fire, a little apart from the rest, near the edge of a piece of copsewood, drew my attention. It looked as if it had been a spot on which some family group had encamped. I was led to this conjecture, by observing some flowers scattered near—for the grassy sward showed no other sign. The flowers betokened the presence of womankind. Fair faces—or one at least—had beamed in the light of that fire. I felt morally certain of it. I approached the spot. The shrubbery around was interlaced with wild roses; while blue lupins and scarlet pelargoniums sparkled over the glade, under the sheltering protection of the trees. By the edge of the shrubbery lay a bouquet, that had evidently been put together with some care! Dismounting, I took it up. My fingers trembled as I examined it: for even in this slight object I read indications of design. The flowers were of the rarest and prettiest—of many kinds that grew not near. They had been plucked elsewhere. Some one had given both time and attention to their collection and arrangement. Who? It would have been idle to shape even a conjecture, but for a circumstance, that appeared to offer a certain clue; and, not without bitter thoughts, did I try to unwind it. The thread which was warped around the flower-stalks was of yellow silk. The strands were finely twisted; and I easily recognised the bullion from the tassel of a sash. That thread must have been taken from the sash of a dragoon officer!Had the bouquet been a gift? To whom? and by whom? Here all conjecture should have ended; but not without a feeling of painful suspicion did I examine those trivial signs; and the feeling continued to annoy me, long after I had flung the flowers at my feet.A reflection came to my relief, which went far towards restoring my spirits’ equanimity. If a gift, and to Lilian Holt, she had scarcely honoured it—else how could the flowers have been there? Had they been forgotten, or left unregarded? There was consolation in either hypothesis; and, in the trust that one or the other was true, I sprang back into my saddle, and with a more cheerful heart, rode away from the spot.
Having passed Bent’s Fort—of wide celebrity in trapper lore—whilom the scene of many a wild revel of the “mountain-men,” but now abandoned and in ruins—we arrived at the confluence of the Huerfano. As we expected, the trace turned up the valley of this latter stream—thus deciding the route taken by the caravan.
We rode on through a forest of grand cotton-woods and willows; and at about seven miles distant from the mouth of the Huerfano river, reached a point, where the caravan had crossed over to its left bank. On the other side, we could see the ground of their encampment of the night before. We could tell it by the fresh traces of animals and waggons—débris of the morning’s repast—and half-burnt faggots of the tires that had cooked it, still sending up their clouds of oozing smoke.
The stream at this point was fordable; and crossing over, we stood upon the deserted camp-ground. With singular emotions, I walked amid the smouldering fires—forming conjectures as to which of them might have been graced by that fair presence. Where had she passed the night, and what had occupied her thoughts? Were those gentle words still lingering in her memory? Were they upon her lips? It was pleasant for me to repeat them. I did not need to draw the writing forth. Long since were the lines fixed in my remembrance—oft through my heart had vibrated the burden of that sweet song:
“I think of thee—I think of thee!”
My reflections were not altogether unmingled with pain. Love cannot live without doubts and fears. Jealousy is its infallible concomitant—ever present as the thorn with the rose. How could I hope that one hour of my presence had been sufficient to inspire in that young bosom the passion of a life? It could scarcely be other than a slight impression—a passing admiration of some speech, word, or gesture—too transient to be true? Perhaps I was already forgotten? Perhaps only remembered with a smile, instead of a sigh? Though still but a short time since our parting, many scenes had since transpired—many events had occurred in the life of that young creature to give it experience. Forms of equal—perhaps superior elegance—had come before her eye. Might not one of these have made its image upon her heart?
The caravan was not a mere conglomeration of coarse rude adventurers. There were men of all classes composing it—not a few of accomplished education—not a few who, using a hackneyed phrase, were “men of the world,”—familiar with its ways and its wiles—and who perfectly understood all those intricate attentions and delicate lures, by which the virgin heart is approached and captured. There were military men too—those ever to be dreaded rivals in love—young officers of the escort, laced, booted, and spurred—bedecked, moreover, with that mysterious influence which authority ever imparts to its possessor. Could these be blind to the charms of such a travelling companion? Impossible. Or could she—her young bosom just expanding to receive the god of love—fail to acknowledge the nearest form as his image? Painfully improbable!
It was therefore with feelings of no very pleasant kind that I sought around for some souvenir. The remains of a fire, a little apart from the rest, near the edge of a piece of copsewood, drew my attention. It looked as if it had been a spot on which some family group had encamped. I was led to this conjecture, by observing some flowers scattered near—for the grassy sward showed no other sign. The flowers betokened the presence of womankind. Fair faces—or one at least—had beamed in the light of that fire. I felt morally certain of it. I approached the spot. The shrubbery around was interlaced with wild roses; while blue lupins and scarlet pelargoniums sparkled over the glade, under the sheltering protection of the trees. By the edge of the shrubbery lay a bouquet, that had evidently been put together with some care! Dismounting, I took it up. My fingers trembled as I examined it: for even in this slight object I read indications of design. The flowers were of the rarest and prettiest—of many kinds that grew not near. They had been plucked elsewhere. Some one had given both time and attention to their collection and arrangement. Who? It would have been idle to shape even a conjecture, but for a circumstance, that appeared to offer a certain clue; and, not without bitter thoughts, did I try to unwind it. The thread which was warped around the flower-stalks was of yellow silk. The strands were finely twisted; and I easily recognised the bullion from the tassel of a sash. That thread must have been taken from the sash of a dragoon officer!
Had the bouquet been a gift? To whom? and by whom? Here all conjecture should have ended; but not without a feeling of painful suspicion did I examine those trivial signs; and the feeling continued to annoy me, long after I had flung the flowers at my feet.
A reflection came to my relief, which went far towards restoring my spirits’ equanimity. If a gift, and to Lilian Holt, she had scarcely honoured it—else how could the flowers have been there? Had they been forgotten, or left unregarded? There was consolation in either hypothesis; and, in the trust that one or the other was true, I sprang back into my saddle, and with a more cheerful heart, rode away from the spot.
Chapter Forty Nine.An Unexpected Appearance.The finding of the flowers, or rather the reflections to which they gave rise, rendered me more anxious than ever to come up with, the caravan. The little incident had made me aware of a new danger hitherto unthought of. Up to that hour, my chief anxiety with regard to Lilian Holt had been the companionship of the Mormon. This had been heightened by some information incidentally imparted by the deserters—chiefly by Sure-shot. It related to the destination of a number of the emigrants, who accompanied the caravan; and with whom the rifleman had held intercourse, previous to their departure from Van Buren. These were not prospective gold-diggers, but persons migrating westward from motives more spiritual: they wereSaintsbound for the Salt Lake—there intending to stay and settle.There was a large party of these “Latter-day” converts under the conduct of an apostolic agent. This much had Sure-shot ascertained. He had not seen their leader, nor heard his name. Joshua Stebbins might be the very man? Even as a conjecture, this was bitter enough. Up to the time of joining with the deserters, I had consoled myself with the belief, that California was the destination of this saint and his squatter protégé; though at times I was troubled with the remembrance of Su-wa-nee’s words. Their truth was almost confirmed by the report of the ex-rifleman. I could not now think otherwise, than that Stebbins was bound for the Mormon city; and that he was the fox in charge of the flock of geese that accompanied the emigrant train. It was more than probable. While waiting in Swampville for the letter of Lilian, I had learnt something of the history of theci-devantschoolmaster—not much of the period subsequent to his departure from that place—little more than the fact that he had joined the Mormons, and had risen to high office in their church—in short, that he was one of their “apostles.” This fact, however, was one of primary significance.Had the squatter also submitted to the hideous delusion? Was he also on his way to the shrine of the faith? The answer to the former question was of slight importance, so long as that to the latter might be conceived in the affirmative. If Holt was bound to the Salt Lake, then was the fate of his daughter to be dreaded. Not long there may a virgin dwell. The baptism of the New Jordan soon initiates its female neophytes into the mysteries of womanhood—absolutely compelling them to the marriage-tie—forcing them to a wedlock loveless and unholy.Suffering under such apprehensions, I scarcely needed the additional stimulus of jealousy to urge me onward; and yet, strange as it may appear, the finding of the bouquet had produced this effect. I would have ridden on, without halt, but our animals required rest. We had been travelling nearly all night, and throughout the morning—under the friendly shelter of the cotton-wood forest. We all needed an hour or two of repose; and, seeking a secure place near the ground of the deserted camp, we stopped to obtain it. The train could not be far ahead of us. While seated in silence around the fire we had kindled, we could hear at intervals the reports of guns. They came from up the valley, and from a far distance. The sounds reached us but faintly—now single shots, and then two or three together, or following in quick succession. We were at no loss to account for the reports. They were caused by the hunters of the caravan, in pursuit of game. We had now entered that charming region where elk and antelope abounded. On our morning-march we had seen herds of both trooping over the sward—almost within range of our rifles. Even as we sat, a band of beautiful antelopes appeared in the open ground near our bivouack fire; and, after satisfying their curiosity by gazing at us for a moment, they trotted off into the covert. It was a tempting sight—too tempting for the young backwoods hunter to resist. Seizing his rifle, he took after them—promising us as he went off a more savoury breakfast than the dry buffalo-meat we were broiling. Soon after, we heard the report of his piece; and, presently, he re-appeared with a dead “prong-horn” upon his shoulders.As Wingrove came up to the fire, I noticed a singular expression upon his countenance. Instead of being rejoiced at his success, his looks betrayed anxiety! I questioned him as to the cause. He did not answer directly; but, drawing me to one side, inquired in a whisper, if I had seen any one in his absence.“No. Why do you ask?”“If it wan’t altogether unpossible, I’d swar I seed that girl.”“What girl?”I trembled, as I put the question: I was thinking of Lilian.“That darnationed devil of a Chicasaw.”“What! Su-wa-nee?”“Yes—Su-wa-nee.”“Oh—that cannot be? It could not be her?”“So I’d a thort myself; but darn me, capt’n! if I kin b’lieve it wa’nt her. What I seed war as like her as two eggs.”“What did you see?”“Why, jest arter I’d killed the goat, an’ war heisting it on my shoulders, I spied a Injun glidin’ into the bushes. I seed it war a squaw; an’ jest the picter o’ the Chicasaw. She ’peared as ef she hed kim right from hyar, an’ I thort you must a seed her.”“Did you get sight of her face?”“No, her back war torst me, an’ she kep on ’ithout turnin’ or stoppin’ a minnit. ’Twar the very duds that girl used to wear, an’ her bulk to an inch. It kudn’t a been liker her. Darn me, ef ’twan’t eyther her or her ghost!”“It is very improbable that it could have been either?”I did not for a moment entertain the idea that it was the Chicasaw he had seen; and yet my comrade was fully impressed with the belief, and reiterated the assertion that he had either seen Su-wa-nee or her “shadder.” Though the thing was improbable, it was not beyond possibility. We knew that there were Indians travelling with the train: we had heard so before starting out. But what likelihood was there of Su-wa-nee being among them? Certainly not much. That there were prairie Indians around us, was probable enough. We had already observed their traces upon the ground of the deserted camp. The “squaw” seen by Wingrove might be one of these.Whether or not, her presence proved the proximity of red-skins; and the knowledge of having such dangerous neighbours, summoned us to a fresh exercise of vigilance and caution. Our fire was instantly extinguished; and, contenting ourselves with a morsel of the half-broiled buffalo-beef, we moved to some distance from the spot, before proceeding, to cook the antelope. A dark covert in the thick woods offered us a more secure kitchen. There we rekindled our fire—and roasting the ribs of the prong-horn, refreshed ourselves with an ample meal. After an hour’s repose, we resumed our journey—in confident expectation, that before sunset we should get within sight of the caravan.
The finding of the flowers, or rather the reflections to which they gave rise, rendered me more anxious than ever to come up with, the caravan. The little incident had made me aware of a new danger hitherto unthought of. Up to that hour, my chief anxiety with regard to Lilian Holt had been the companionship of the Mormon. This had been heightened by some information incidentally imparted by the deserters—chiefly by Sure-shot. It related to the destination of a number of the emigrants, who accompanied the caravan; and with whom the rifleman had held intercourse, previous to their departure from Van Buren. These were not prospective gold-diggers, but persons migrating westward from motives more spiritual: they wereSaintsbound for the Salt Lake—there intending to stay and settle.
There was a large party of these “Latter-day” converts under the conduct of an apostolic agent. This much had Sure-shot ascertained. He had not seen their leader, nor heard his name. Joshua Stebbins might be the very man? Even as a conjecture, this was bitter enough. Up to the time of joining with the deserters, I had consoled myself with the belief, that California was the destination of this saint and his squatter protégé; though at times I was troubled with the remembrance of Su-wa-nee’s words. Their truth was almost confirmed by the report of the ex-rifleman. I could not now think otherwise, than that Stebbins was bound for the Mormon city; and that he was the fox in charge of the flock of geese that accompanied the emigrant train. It was more than probable. While waiting in Swampville for the letter of Lilian, I had learnt something of the history of theci-devantschoolmaster—not much of the period subsequent to his departure from that place—little more than the fact that he had joined the Mormons, and had risen to high office in their church—in short, that he was one of their “apostles.” This fact, however, was one of primary significance.
Had the squatter also submitted to the hideous delusion? Was he also on his way to the shrine of the faith? The answer to the former question was of slight importance, so long as that to the latter might be conceived in the affirmative. If Holt was bound to the Salt Lake, then was the fate of his daughter to be dreaded. Not long there may a virgin dwell. The baptism of the New Jordan soon initiates its female neophytes into the mysteries of womanhood—absolutely compelling them to the marriage-tie—forcing them to a wedlock loveless and unholy.
Suffering under such apprehensions, I scarcely needed the additional stimulus of jealousy to urge me onward; and yet, strange as it may appear, the finding of the bouquet had produced this effect. I would have ridden on, without halt, but our animals required rest. We had been travelling nearly all night, and throughout the morning—under the friendly shelter of the cotton-wood forest. We all needed an hour or two of repose; and, seeking a secure place near the ground of the deserted camp, we stopped to obtain it. The train could not be far ahead of us. While seated in silence around the fire we had kindled, we could hear at intervals the reports of guns. They came from up the valley, and from a far distance. The sounds reached us but faintly—now single shots, and then two or three together, or following in quick succession. We were at no loss to account for the reports. They were caused by the hunters of the caravan, in pursuit of game. We had now entered that charming region where elk and antelope abounded. On our morning-march we had seen herds of both trooping over the sward—almost within range of our rifles. Even as we sat, a band of beautiful antelopes appeared in the open ground near our bivouack fire; and, after satisfying their curiosity by gazing at us for a moment, they trotted off into the covert. It was a tempting sight—too tempting for the young backwoods hunter to resist. Seizing his rifle, he took after them—promising us as he went off a more savoury breakfast than the dry buffalo-meat we were broiling. Soon after, we heard the report of his piece; and, presently, he re-appeared with a dead “prong-horn” upon his shoulders.
As Wingrove came up to the fire, I noticed a singular expression upon his countenance. Instead of being rejoiced at his success, his looks betrayed anxiety! I questioned him as to the cause. He did not answer directly; but, drawing me to one side, inquired in a whisper, if I had seen any one in his absence.
“No. Why do you ask?”
“If it wan’t altogether unpossible, I’d swar I seed that girl.”
“What girl?”
I trembled, as I put the question: I was thinking of Lilian.
“That darnationed devil of a Chicasaw.”
“What! Su-wa-nee?”
“Yes—Su-wa-nee.”
“Oh—that cannot be? It could not be her?”
“So I’d a thort myself; but darn me, capt’n! if I kin b’lieve it wa’nt her. What I seed war as like her as two eggs.”
“What did you see?”
“Why, jest arter I’d killed the goat, an’ war heisting it on my shoulders, I spied a Injun glidin’ into the bushes. I seed it war a squaw; an’ jest the picter o’ the Chicasaw. She ’peared as ef she hed kim right from hyar, an’ I thort you must a seed her.”
“Did you get sight of her face?”
“No, her back war torst me, an’ she kep on ’ithout turnin’ or stoppin’ a minnit. ’Twar the very duds that girl used to wear, an’ her bulk to an inch. It kudn’t a been liker her. Darn me, ef ’twan’t eyther her or her ghost!”
“It is very improbable that it could have been either?”
I did not for a moment entertain the idea that it was the Chicasaw he had seen; and yet my comrade was fully impressed with the belief, and reiterated the assertion that he had either seen Su-wa-nee or her “shadder.” Though the thing was improbable, it was not beyond possibility. We knew that there were Indians travelling with the train: we had heard so before starting out. But what likelihood was there of Su-wa-nee being among them? Certainly not much. That there were prairie Indians around us, was probable enough. We had already observed their traces upon the ground of the deserted camp. The “squaw” seen by Wingrove might be one of these.
Whether or not, her presence proved the proximity of red-skins; and the knowledge of having such dangerous neighbours, summoned us to a fresh exercise of vigilance and caution. Our fire was instantly extinguished; and, contenting ourselves with a morsel of the half-broiled buffalo-beef, we moved to some distance from the spot, before proceeding, to cook the antelope. A dark covert in the thick woods offered us a more secure kitchen. There we rekindled our fire—and roasting the ribs of the prong-horn, refreshed ourselves with an ample meal. After an hour’s repose, we resumed our journey—in confident expectation, that before sunset we should get within sight of the caravan.
Chapter Fifty.Up the Cañon.We had not ridden far from our halting-place, when we arrived at the end of the great cotton-wood forest. Beyond that, the trace led over open ground—here and there dotted by groves and “islands” of timber. Through these we threaded our way—keeping as much as possible among the trees. Further on, we came upon a gorge—one of the notedcañonsthrough which the Huerfano runs. Here the river sweeps down a narrow channel, with rocky banks that rise on each side into precipitous cliffs of stupendous height.To avoid this gorge—impassable for wheeled vehicles—the waggon-trace, below its entrance, turns off to the right; and we perceived that the caravan had taken that direction. To get round the heads of the transverse ravines, that run into thecañon, a détour must be made of not less than ten miles in length. Beyond the cañon—the trace once more returns to the stream.The notes of a military reconnoissance had forewarned me of this deviation; and, furthermore, that the trace passes over a ridge altogether destitute of timber. To follow it, therefore, in the broad light of day, would expose our little party to view. If hostile Indians should be hanging after the caravan, they would be sure to see us, and equally certain to make an attack upon us; and from the traces we had noticed at the night-camp—to say nothing of what Wingrove had seen—we knew there were Indians in the valley. They might not be hostile; but the chances were ten to one that they were; and, under this supposition, it would be imprudent in us to risk crossing the ridge before nightfall. There were two alternatives: to remain under the timber till after sunset, and then proceed by night; or to push on into the cañon, and endeavour to make our way along the bed of the stream. So far as we knew, the path was an untried one; but it might be practicable for horses. We were now on the most dangerous ground we had yet trodden—the highway of several hostile tribes, and their favouritetenting-place, when going to, or returning from, their forays against the half-civilised settlements of New Mexico.The proximity of the caravan—which we calculated to be about ten miles ahead of us—only increased our risk. There was but little danger of the Indians attacking that: the train was too strong, even without the escort. But the probability was, that a band of Indian horse-thieves would be skulking on its skirts—not to make an attack upon the caravan itself but as wolves after a gang of buffalo, to sacrifice the stragglers. Unless when irritated by some hostile demonstration, these robbers confine themselves to plundering: but in the case of some, murder is the usual concomitant of plunder.The delay of another night was disheartening to all of us—but especially so to myself, for reasons already known. If we should succeed in passing through the cañon, perhaps on the other side we might come in sight of the caravan? Cheered on by this prospect, we hesitated no longer; but hastening forward, entered between the jaws of the defile. A fearful chasm it was—the rocky walls rising perpendicularly to the height of many hundreds of feet—presenting a grimfaçadeon each side of us. The sky above appeared a mere strip of blue; and we were surrounded by a gloom deeper than that of twilight. The torrent roared and foamed at our feet; and the trail at times traversed through the water.Therewasa trail, as we soon perceived; and, what was more significant, one that had recently been travelled! Horses had been over it; and in several places the rocky pebbles, that should otherwise have been dry, were wet by the water that had dripped from their fetlocks. A large troop of horses must have passed just before us. Had the dragoon escort gone that way? More likely a party of mounted travellers belonging to the train? And yet this did not strike us as being likely. We were soon convinced that such was not the case. On riding forward, we came upon a mud-deposit—at the mouth of one of the transverse ravines—over which led the trail. The mud exhibited thetracksdistinctly and in a more significant light—they werehoof-tracks! We saw that more than a hundred horses had passed up the defile; and not oneshodanimal among them! This fact was very significant. They could not have been troop-horses? Nor yet those of white men? If ridden, they must have been ridden by Indians? It did not follow that they were ridden. We were travelling through a region frequented by themustang. Droves had been seen upon our route, at great distances off: for these are the shyest and wildest of all animals. Acaballadamay have passed through the gorge, on their way to the upper valley? There was nothing improbable in this. Although the plains are the favourite habitat of the horse, themustangof Spanish America is half a mountain animal; and often penetrates the most difficult passes—climbing the declivities with hoof as sure as that of a chamois.Had these horses been ridden? That was the point to be determined, and how? The sign was not very intelligible, but sufficiently so for our purpose. The little belt of mud-deposit was only disturbed by a single line of tracts—crossing it directly from side to side. The animals had traversed it in single file. Wild horses would havecrowded over it—some of them at least kicking out to one side or the other? This I myself knew. The reasoning appeared conclusive. We had no longer a doubt that a large party of Indians had gone up the gorge before us, and not very long before us.It now became a question of advance or retreat. To halt within the defile—even had a halting-place offered—would have been perilous above all things. There was no spot, where we could conceal either ourselves or our animals. The mounted Indians might be returning down again; and, finding us in such a snug trap, would have us at their mercy? We did not think, therefore, of staying where we were. To go back was too discouraging. We were already half through the cañon, and had ridden over a most difficult path—often fording the stream at great risk, and climbing over boulders of rock, that imperilled the necks, both of ourselves and our animals. We determined to keep on.We were in hopes that the Indians had by this time passed clear through the gorge, and ridden out into the valley above. In that case there would be no great risk in our proceeding to the upper end. Our expectations did not deceive us. We reached the mouth of the chasm—without having seen other signs of those who had proceeded us, than the tracks of their horses.We had heard sounds, however, that had given us some apprehension—the reports of guns—not as during the early part of the day, in single shots, but in half-dozens at a time, and once or twice in large volleys—as if of a scatteringfusillade! The sounds came from the direction of the upper valley; and were but faintly heard—so faintly that we were in doubt, as to whether they were the reports of fire-arms. The grumbling and rushing of the river hindered us from hearing them more distinctly. But for the presence of Indians in the valley—about which we were quite certain—we should perhaps not have noticed the sounds, or else have taken them for something else. Perhaps we might have conjectured, that a gang of buffaloes had passed near the train—leading to a brisk emptying of rifles. But the presence of the Indians rendered this hypothesis less probable.We still continued to observe caution. Before emerging from the defile, we halted near its entrance—Wingrove and myself stealing forward to reconnoitre. An elevated post—which we obtained upon a shelf of the rock—gave us a commanding prospect of the upper valley. The sight restored our confidence:the caravan was in view!
We had not ridden far from our halting-place, when we arrived at the end of the great cotton-wood forest. Beyond that, the trace led over open ground—here and there dotted by groves and “islands” of timber. Through these we threaded our way—keeping as much as possible among the trees. Further on, we came upon a gorge—one of the notedcañonsthrough which the Huerfano runs. Here the river sweeps down a narrow channel, with rocky banks that rise on each side into precipitous cliffs of stupendous height.
To avoid this gorge—impassable for wheeled vehicles—the waggon-trace, below its entrance, turns off to the right; and we perceived that the caravan had taken that direction. To get round the heads of the transverse ravines, that run into thecañon, a détour must be made of not less than ten miles in length. Beyond the cañon—the trace once more returns to the stream.
The notes of a military reconnoissance had forewarned me of this deviation; and, furthermore, that the trace passes over a ridge altogether destitute of timber. To follow it, therefore, in the broad light of day, would expose our little party to view. If hostile Indians should be hanging after the caravan, they would be sure to see us, and equally certain to make an attack upon us; and from the traces we had noticed at the night-camp—to say nothing of what Wingrove had seen—we knew there were Indians in the valley. They might not be hostile; but the chances were ten to one that they were; and, under this supposition, it would be imprudent in us to risk crossing the ridge before nightfall. There were two alternatives: to remain under the timber till after sunset, and then proceed by night; or to push on into the cañon, and endeavour to make our way along the bed of the stream. So far as we knew, the path was an untried one; but it might be practicable for horses. We were now on the most dangerous ground we had yet trodden—the highway of several hostile tribes, and their favouritetenting-place, when going to, or returning from, their forays against the half-civilised settlements of New Mexico.
The proximity of the caravan—which we calculated to be about ten miles ahead of us—only increased our risk. There was but little danger of the Indians attacking that: the train was too strong, even without the escort. But the probability was, that a band of Indian horse-thieves would be skulking on its skirts—not to make an attack upon the caravan itself but as wolves after a gang of buffalo, to sacrifice the stragglers. Unless when irritated by some hostile demonstration, these robbers confine themselves to plundering: but in the case of some, murder is the usual concomitant of plunder.
The delay of another night was disheartening to all of us—but especially so to myself, for reasons already known. If we should succeed in passing through the cañon, perhaps on the other side we might come in sight of the caravan? Cheered on by this prospect, we hesitated no longer; but hastening forward, entered between the jaws of the defile. A fearful chasm it was—the rocky walls rising perpendicularly to the height of many hundreds of feet—presenting a grimfaçadeon each side of us. The sky above appeared a mere strip of blue; and we were surrounded by a gloom deeper than that of twilight. The torrent roared and foamed at our feet; and the trail at times traversed through the water.
Therewasa trail, as we soon perceived; and, what was more significant, one that had recently been travelled! Horses had been over it; and in several places the rocky pebbles, that should otherwise have been dry, were wet by the water that had dripped from their fetlocks. A large troop of horses must have passed just before us. Had the dragoon escort gone that way? More likely a party of mounted travellers belonging to the train? And yet this did not strike us as being likely. We were soon convinced that such was not the case. On riding forward, we came upon a mud-deposit—at the mouth of one of the transverse ravines—over which led the trail. The mud exhibited thetracksdistinctly and in a more significant light—they werehoof-tracks! We saw that more than a hundred horses had passed up the defile; and not oneshodanimal among them! This fact was very significant. They could not have been troop-horses? Nor yet those of white men? If ridden, they must have been ridden by Indians? It did not follow that they were ridden. We were travelling through a region frequented by themustang. Droves had been seen upon our route, at great distances off: for these are the shyest and wildest of all animals. Acaballadamay have passed through the gorge, on their way to the upper valley? There was nothing improbable in this. Although the plains are the favourite habitat of the horse, themustangof Spanish America is half a mountain animal; and often penetrates the most difficult passes—climbing the declivities with hoof as sure as that of a chamois.
Had these horses been ridden? That was the point to be determined, and how? The sign was not very intelligible, but sufficiently so for our purpose. The little belt of mud-deposit was only disturbed by a single line of tracts—crossing it directly from side to side. The animals had traversed it in single file. Wild horses would havecrowded over it—some of them at least kicking out to one side or the other? This I myself knew. The reasoning appeared conclusive. We had no longer a doubt that a large party of Indians had gone up the gorge before us, and not very long before us.
It now became a question of advance or retreat. To halt within the defile—even had a halting-place offered—would have been perilous above all things. There was no spot, where we could conceal either ourselves or our animals. The mounted Indians might be returning down again; and, finding us in such a snug trap, would have us at their mercy? We did not think, therefore, of staying where we were. To go back was too discouraging. We were already half through the cañon, and had ridden over a most difficult path—often fording the stream at great risk, and climbing over boulders of rock, that imperilled the necks, both of ourselves and our animals. We determined to keep on.
We were in hopes that the Indians had by this time passed clear through the gorge, and ridden out into the valley above. In that case there would be no great risk in our proceeding to the upper end. Our expectations did not deceive us. We reached the mouth of the chasm—without having seen other signs of those who had proceeded us, than the tracks of their horses.
We had heard sounds, however, that had given us some apprehension—the reports of guns—not as during the early part of the day, in single shots, but in half-dozens at a time, and once or twice in large volleys—as if of a scatteringfusillade! The sounds came from the direction of the upper valley; and were but faintly heard—so faintly that we were in doubt, as to whether they were the reports of fire-arms. The grumbling and rushing of the river hindered us from hearing them more distinctly. But for the presence of Indians in the valley—about which we were quite certain—we should perhaps not have noticed the sounds, or else have taken them for something else. Perhaps we might have conjectured, that a gang of buffaloes had passed near the train—leading to a brisk emptying of rifles. But the presence of the Indians rendered this hypothesis less probable.
We still continued to observe caution. Before emerging from the defile, we halted near its entrance—Wingrove and myself stealing forward to reconnoitre. An elevated post—which we obtained upon a shelf of the rock—gave us a commanding prospect of the upper valley. The sight restored our confidence:the caravan was in view!
Chapter Fifty One.The Orphan Butte.The landscape over which we were looking was one that has long been celebrated, in the legends of trapper andcibolero, and certainly no lovelier is to be met with in the midland regions of America. Though new to my eyes, I recognised it from the descriptions I had read and heard of it. There was an idiosyncrasy in its features—especially in that lone mound rising conspicuously in its midst—which at once proclaimed it the valley of theHuerfano. There stood the “Orphan Butte.” There was no mistaking its identity.This valley, or, more properly,vallé—a word of very different signification—is in reality a level plain, flanked on each side by a continuous line of bluffs or “benches”—themselves forming the abutments of a still higher plain, which constitutes the general level of the country. The width between the bluffs is five or six miles; but, at the distance of some ten miles from our point of view, the cliffs converge—apparently closing in the valley in that direction. This, however, is only apparent. Above the butte is another deep cañon, through which the river has cleft its way. The intervening space is a picture fair to behold. The surface, level as a billiard-table, is covered withgrammagrass, of a bright, almost emerald verdure. The uniformity of this colour is relieved by cotton-wood copses, whose foliage is but one shade darker. Commingling with these, and again slightly darkening the hue of the frondage, are other trees, with a variety of shrubs or climbing-plants—as clematis, wild roses, and willows. Here and there, a noble poplar stands apart—as if disdaining to associate with the more lowly growth of the groves.These “topes” are of varied forms: some rounded, some oval, and others of more irregular shape. Many of them appear as if planted by the hands of the landscape-gardener; while the Huerfano, winding through their midst, could not have been more gracefully guided, had it been specially designed for an “ornamental water.”The butte itself, rising in the centre of the plain, and towering nearly two hundred feet above the general level, has all the semblance of an artificial work—not of human hands, but a cairn constructed by giants. Just such does it appear—a vast pyramidal cone, composed of huge prismatic blocks of granite, black almost as a coal—the dark colour being occasioned by an iron admixture in the rock. For two-thirds of its slope, a thick growth of cedar covers the mound with a skirting of darkest green. Above this appear the dark naked prisms—piled one upon the other, in a sort of irregular crystallisation, and ending in a summit slightly truncated. Detached boulders lie around its base, huge pieces that having yielded to the disintegrating influences of rain and wind, had lost their balance, and rolled down the declivity of its sides. No other similar elevation is near—the distant bluffs alone equalling it in height. But there the resemblance ends; for the latter are a formation of stratified sandstone, while the rocks composing the butte are purely granitic! Even in a geological point of view, is the Orphan Butte isolated from all the world. In a double sense, does it merit its distinctive title.Singular is the picture formed by this lone mound, and the park-like scene that surrounds it—a picture rare as fair. Its very framing is peculiar. The bench of light-reddish sandstone sharply outlined on each edge—the bright green of the sward along its base—and the dark belt of cedars cresting its summit, form, as it were, a double moulding to the frame. Over this can be distinguished the severer outlines of the great Cordilleras; above them, again, the twin cones of the Wa-to-yah; and grandly towering over all, the sharp sky-piercing summit of Pike’s Peak. All these forms gleaming in the full light of a noonday sun, with a heaven above them of deep ethereal blue, present a picture that for grandeur and sublimity is not surpassed upon the earth.A long while could we have gazed upon it; but an object, that came at once under our eyes, turned our thoughts into a far different channel. Away up the valley, at its furthest end, appeared a small white spot—little bigger to our view than the disc of an archer’s target. It was of an irregular roundish form; and on both sides of it were other, shapes—smaller and of darker hue. We had no difficulty in making out what these appearances were: the white object was the tilt of a waggon: the dark forms around it were those of men—mounted and afoot! It must have been the last waggon of the train: since no other could be seen; and as it appeared at the very end of the valley—in the angle formed by the convergence of the cliffs—we concluded that there the cañon opened into which the rest had entered. Whether the waggon seen was moving onward, we did not stay to determine. The caravan was in sight; and this, acting upon us like an electric influence, impelled us to hasten forward.Calling to our companions to advance, we remounted our horses, rode out of the gorge, and kept on up the valley. We no longer observed the slightest caution. The caravan was before our eyes; and there could be no doubt that, in a couple of hours, we should be able to come up with it. As to danger, we no longer thought of such a thing. Indians would scarcely be so daring as to assail us within sight of the train? Had it been night, we might have reasoned differently; but, under the broad light of day, we could not imagine there was the slightest prospect of danger. We resolved, therefore, to ride direct for the waggons, without making halt.Yes—one halt was to be made. I had promised theci-devantsoldiers to makeciviliansof them before bringing them face to face with the escort; and this was to be accomplished by means of some spare wardrobe which Wingrove and I chanced to have among our packs. The place fixed upon as the scene of the metamorphosis was the butte—which lay directly on our route. As we rode forward, I was gratified at perceiving that the waggon still remained in sight. If it was moving on, it had not yet reached the head of the valley. Perhaps it had stopped to receive some repairs? So much the better: we should the sooner overtake it.On arriving at the butte, the white canvas was still visible; though from our low position on the plain, only the top of the tilt could be seen. While Wingrove was unpacking our spare garments, I dismounted, and climbed to the summit of the mound—in order to obtain a better view. I had no difficulty in getting up—for, strange to say, a trail runs over the Orphan Butte, from south-east to north-west, regularly aligned with Pike’s Peak in the latter direction, and withSpanish Peaksin the former! But this alignment was not the circumstance that struck me as singular. A far more curious phenomenon came under my observation. The path leading to the summit was entirely clear of the granite blocks that everywhere else covered the declivities of the mound. Between these it passed like a narrow lane, the huge prisms rising on each side of it, piled up in a regular trap-like formation, as if placed there by the hand of man! The latter hypothesis was out of the question. Many of the blocks were a dozen feet in diameter, and tons in weight. Titans alone could have lifted them! The summit itself was a table of some twenty by forty feet in superficial extent, and seamed by several fissures. Only by following the path could the summit be reached without great difficulty. The loose boulders rested upon one another, in such fashion, that even the most expert climber would have found difficulty in scaling them; and the stunted spreading cedars that grew between their clefts, combined in forming achevaux de frisealmost impenetrable.I was not permitted to dwell long on the contemplation of this geological phenomenon. On reaching the summit, and directing my telescope up the valley, I obtained a tableau in its field of vision that almost caused me to drop the glass out of my fingers! The whole waggon was in view down to its wheel-tracks; and the dark forms were still around it. Some were afoot, others on horseback—while a few appeared to be lying flat along the sward. Whoever these last may have been, I saw at the first glance what the others were. The bronzed skins of naked bodies—the masses of long sweeping hair—the plumed crests and floating drapery—were perfectly apparent in the glass—and all indicating a truth of terrible significance that the forms thus seen were those of savage men! Yes: both they on horseback and afoot were Indians beyond a doubt. And those horizontally extended? They werewhitemen—the owners of the waggons? This truth flashed on me, as I beheld a fearful object—a body lying head towards me, with its crown of mottled red and white, gleaming significantly through the glass. I had no doubt as to the nature of the object: it was a scalpless skull!
The landscape over which we were looking was one that has long been celebrated, in the legends of trapper andcibolero, and certainly no lovelier is to be met with in the midland regions of America. Though new to my eyes, I recognised it from the descriptions I had read and heard of it. There was an idiosyncrasy in its features—especially in that lone mound rising conspicuously in its midst—which at once proclaimed it the valley of theHuerfano. There stood the “Orphan Butte.” There was no mistaking its identity.
This valley, or, more properly,vallé—a word of very different signification—is in reality a level plain, flanked on each side by a continuous line of bluffs or “benches”—themselves forming the abutments of a still higher plain, which constitutes the general level of the country. The width between the bluffs is five or six miles; but, at the distance of some ten miles from our point of view, the cliffs converge—apparently closing in the valley in that direction. This, however, is only apparent. Above the butte is another deep cañon, through which the river has cleft its way. The intervening space is a picture fair to behold. The surface, level as a billiard-table, is covered withgrammagrass, of a bright, almost emerald verdure. The uniformity of this colour is relieved by cotton-wood copses, whose foliage is but one shade darker. Commingling with these, and again slightly darkening the hue of the frondage, are other trees, with a variety of shrubs or climbing-plants—as clematis, wild roses, and willows. Here and there, a noble poplar stands apart—as if disdaining to associate with the more lowly growth of the groves.
These “topes” are of varied forms: some rounded, some oval, and others of more irregular shape. Many of them appear as if planted by the hands of the landscape-gardener; while the Huerfano, winding through their midst, could not have been more gracefully guided, had it been specially designed for an “ornamental water.”
The butte itself, rising in the centre of the plain, and towering nearly two hundred feet above the general level, has all the semblance of an artificial work—not of human hands, but a cairn constructed by giants. Just such does it appear—a vast pyramidal cone, composed of huge prismatic blocks of granite, black almost as a coal—the dark colour being occasioned by an iron admixture in the rock. For two-thirds of its slope, a thick growth of cedar covers the mound with a skirting of darkest green. Above this appear the dark naked prisms—piled one upon the other, in a sort of irregular crystallisation, and ending in a summit slightly truncated. Detached boulders lie around its base, huge pieces that having yielded to the disintegrating influences of rain and wind, had lost their balance, and rolled down the declivity of its sides. No other similar elevation is near—the distant bluffs alone equalling it in height. But there the resemblance ends; for the latter are a formation of stratified sandstone, while the rocks composing the butte are purely granitic! Even in a geological point of view, is the Orphan Butte isolated from all the world. In a double sense, does it merit its distinctive title.
Singular is the picture formed by this lone mound, and the park-like scene that surrounds it—a picture rare as fair. Its very framing is peculiar. The bench of light-reddish sandstone sharply outlined on each edge—the bright green of the sward along its base—and the dark belt of cedars cresting its summit, form, as it were, a double moulding to the frame. Over this can be distinguished the severer outlines of the great Cordilleras; above them, again, the twin cones of the Wa-to-yah; and grandly towering over all, the sharp sky-piercing summit of Pike’s Peak. All these forms gleaming in the full light of a noonday sun, with a heaven above them of deep ethereal blue, present a picture that for grandeur and sublimity is not surpassed upon the earth.
A long while could we have gazed upon it; but an object, that came at once under our eyes, turned our thoughts into a far different channel. Away up the valley, at its furthest end, appeared a small white spot—little bigger to our view than the disc of an archer’s target. It was of an irregular roundish form; and on both sides of it were other, shapes—smaller and of darker hue. We had no difficulty in making out what these appearances were: the white object was the tilt of a waggon: the dark forms around it were those of men—mounted and afoot! It must have been the last waggon of the train: since no other could be seen; and as it appeared at the very end of the valley—in the angle formed by the convergence of the cliffs—we concluded that there the cañon opened into which the rest had entered. Whether the waggon seen was moving onward, we did not stay to determine. The caravan was in sight; and this, acting upon us like an electric influence, impelled us to hasten forward.
Calling to our companions to advance, we remounted our horses, rode out of the gorge, and kept on up the valley. We no longer observed the slightest caution. The caravan was before our eyes; and there could be no doubt that, in a couple of hours, we should be able to come up with it. As to danger, we no longer thought of such a thing. Indians would scarcely be so daring as to assail us within sight of the train? Had it been night, we might have reasoned differently; but, under the broad light of day, we could not imagine there was the slightest prospect of danger. We resolved, therefore, to ride direct for the waggons, without making halt.
Yes—one halt was to be made. I had promised theci-devantsoldiers to makeciviliansof them before bringing them face to face with the escort; and this was to be accomplished by means of some spare wardrobe which Wingrove and I chanced to have among our packs. The place fixed upon as the scene of the metamorphosis was the butte—which lay directly on our route. As we rode forward, I was gratified at perceiving that the waggon still remained in sight. If it was moving on, it had not yet reached the head of the valley. Perhaps it had stopped to receive some repairs? So much the better: we should the sooner overtake it.
On arriving at the butte, the white canvas was still visible; though from our low position on the plain, only the top of the tilt could be seen. While Wingrove was unpacking our spare garments, I dismounted, and climbed to the summit of the mound—in order to obtain a better view. I had no difficulty in getting up—for, strange to say, a trail runs over the Orphan Butte, from south-east to north-west, regularly aligned with Pike’s Peak in the latter direction, and withSpanish Peaksin the former! But this alignment was not the circumstance that struck me as singular. A far more curious phenomenon came under my observation. The path leading to the summit was entirely clear of the granite blocks that everywhere else covered the declivities of the mound. Between these it passed like a narrow lane, the huge prisms rising on each side of it, piled up in a regular trap-like formation, as if placed there by the hand of man! The latter hypothesis was out of the question. Many of the blocks were a dozen feet in diameter, and tons in weight. Titans alone could have lifted them! The summit itself was a table of some twenty by forty feet in superficial extent, and seamed by several fissures. Only by following the path could the summit be reached without great difficulty. The loose boulders rested upon one another, in such fashion, that even the most expert climber would have found difficulty in scaling them; and the stunted spreading cedars that grew between their clefts, combined in forming achevaux de frisealmost impenetrable.
I was not permitted to dwell long on the contemplation of this geological phenomenon. On reaching the summit, and directing my telescope up the valley, I obtained a tableau in its field of vision that almost caused me to drop the glass out of my fingers! The whole waggon was in view down to its wheel-tracks; and the dark forms were still around it. Some were afoot, others on horseback—while a few appeared to be lying flat along the sward. Whoever these last may have been, I saw at the first glance what the others were. The bronzed skins of naked bodies—the masses of long sweeping hair—the plumed crests and floating drapery—were perfectly apparent in the glass—and all indicating a truth of terrible significance that the forms thus seen were those of savage men! Yes: both they on horseback and afoot were Indians beyond a doubt. And those horizontally extended? They werewhitemen—the owners of the waggons? This truth flashed on me, as I beheld a fearful object—a body lying head towards me, with its crown of mottled red and white, gleaming significantly through the glass. I had no doubt as to the nature of the object: it was a scalpless skull!