Майн Рид
Scalp Hunters

Chapter Forty One. The Barranca

We staked our horses upon the open plain, and, returning to the thicket, cut down wood and kindled fires. We felt secure. Our pursuers, even had they escaped back to the valley, could not now reach us, except by turning the mountains or waiting for the falling of the flood.

We knew that that would be as sudden as its rise, should the rain cease; but the storm still raged with unabated fury.

We could soon overtake the atajo; but we determined to remain for some time at the cañon, until men and horses had refreshed themselves by eating. Both were in need of food, as the hurried events of the preceding days had given no opportunity for a regular bivouac.

The fires were soon blazing under shelter of the overhanging rocks; and the dried meat was broiled for our suppers, and eaten with sufficient relish. Supper ended, we sat, with smoking garments, around the red embers. Several of the men had received wounds. These were rudely dressed by their comrades, the doctor having gone forward with the atajo.

We remained for several hours by the cañon. The tempest still played around us, and the water rose higher and higher. This was exactly what we wished for; and we had the satisfaction of seeing the flood increase to such a height that, as Rube assured us, it could not subside for hours. It was then resolved that we should continue our journey.

It was near midnight when we drew our pickets and rode off. The rain had partially blinded the trail made by El Sol and his party, but the men who now followed it were not much used to guide-posts, and Rube, acting as leader, lifted it at a trot. At intervals the flashes of lightning showed the mule tracks in the mud, and the white peak that beckoned us in the distance.

We travelled all night. An hour after sunrise we overtook the atajo, near the base of the snow mountain. We halted in the mountain pass; and, after a short while spent in cooking and eating breakfast, continued our journey across the sierra. The road led through a dry ravine, into an open plain that stretched east and south beyond the reach of our vision. It was a desert.

* * *

I will not detail the events that occurred to us in the passage of that terrible jornada. They were similar to those we experienced in the deserts to the west. We suffered from thirst, making one stretch of sixty miles without water. We passed over sage-covered plains, without a living object to break the death-like monotony that extended around us. We cooked our meals over the blaze of the artemisia. But our provisions gave out; and the pack mules, one by one, fell under the knives of the hungry hunters. By night we camped without fires; we dared not kindle them; for though, as yet, no pursuers had appeared, we knew they must be on our trail. We had travelled with such speed that they had not been able to come up with us.

For three days we headed towards the south-east. On the evening of the third we descried the Mimbres Mountains towering up on the eastern border of the desert. The peaks of these were well known to the hunters, and became our guides as we journeyed on.

We approached the Mimbres in a diagonal direction, as it was our purpose to pass through the sierra by the route of the old mine, once the prosperous property of our chief. To him every feature of the landscape was a familiar object. I observed that his spirits rose as we proceeded onward.

At sundown we reached the head of the Barranca del Oro, a vast cleft that traversed the plain leading down to the deserted mine. This chasm, like a fissure caused by some terrible earthquake, extended for a distance of twenty miles. On either side was a trail; for on both the table-plain ran in horizontally to the very lips of the abyss. About midway to the mine, on the left brow, the guide knew of a spring, and we proceeded towards this with the intention of camping by the water.

We dragged wearily along. It was near midnight when we arrived at the spring. Our horses were unsaddled and staked on the open plain.

Here Seguin had resolved that we should rest longer than usual. A feeling of security had come over him as he approached these well-remembered scenes.

There was a thicket of young cotton-trees and willows fringing the spring, and in the heart of this a fire was kindled. Another mule was sacrificed to the manes of hunger; and the hunters, after devouring the tough steaks, flung themselves upon the ground and slept. The horse-guard only, out by the caballada, stood leaning upon his rifle, silent and watchful.

Resting my head in the hollow of my saddle, I lay down by the fire. Seguin was near me with his daughter. The Mexican girls and the Indian captives lay clustered over the ground, wrapped in their tilmas and striped blankets. They were all asleep, or seemed so.

I was as wearied as the rest, but my thoughts kept me awake. My mind was busy with the bright future. “Soon,” thought I, “shall I escape from these horrid scenes; soon shall I breathe a purer atmosphere in the sweet companionship of my beloved Zoe. Beautiful Zoe! before two days have passed I shall again be with you, press your impassioned lips, call you my loved: my own! Again shall we wander through the silent garden by the river groves; again shall we sit upon the moss-grown seats in the still evening hours; again shall we utter those wild words that caused our hearts to vibrate with mutual happiness! Zoe, pure and innocent as the angels.” The child-like simplicity of that question, “Enrique, what is to marry?” Ah! sweet Zoe! you shall soon learn. Ere long I shall teach you. Ere long wilt thou be mine; for ever mine!

“Zoe! Zoe! are you awake? Do you lie sleepless on your soft couch? or am I present in your dreams? Do you long for my return, as I to hasten it? Oh, that the night were past! I cannot wait for rest. I could ride on sleepless — tireless — on — on!”

My eye rested upon the features of Adèle, upturned and shining in the blaze of the fire. I traced the outlines of her sister’s face: the high, noble front, the arched eyebrow, and the curving nostril. But the brightness of complexion was not there; the smile of angelic innocence was not there. The hair was dark, the skin browned; and there was a wildness in the expression of the eye, stamped, no doubt, by the experience of many a savage scene. Still was she beautiful, but it was beauty of a far less spiritual order than that of my betrothed.

Her bosom rose and fell in short, irregular pulsations. Once or twice, while I was gazing, she half awoke, and muttered some words in the Indian tongue. Her sleep was troubled and broken.

During the journey, Seguin had waited upon her with all the tender solicitude of a father; but she had received his attentions with indifference, or at most regarded them with a cold thankfulness. It was difficult to analyse the feelings that actuated her. Most of the time she remained silent and sullen.

The father endeavoured, once or twice, to resuscitate the memories of her childhood, but without success; and with sorrow at his heart he had each time relinquished the attempt.

I thought he was asleep. I was mistaken. On looking more attentively in his face, I saw that he was regarding her with deep interest, and listening to the broken phrases that fell from her lips. There was a picture of sorrow and anxiety in his look that touched me to the heart.

As I watched him, the girl murmured some words, to me unintelligible, but among them I recognised the name “Dacoma.”

I saw that Seguin started as he heard it.

“Poor child!” said he, seeing that I was awake; “she is dreaming, and a troubled dream it is. I have half a mind to wake her out of it.”

“She needs rest,” I replied.

“Ay, if that be rest. Listen! again ‘Dacoma.’”

“It is the name of the captive chief.”

“Ay; they were to have been married according to their laws.”

“But how did you learn this?”

“From Rube: he heard it while he was a prisoner at the town.”

“And did she love him, do you think?”

“No. It appears not. She had been adopted as the daughter of the medicine chief, and Dacoma claimed her for a wife. On certain conditions she was to have been given to him; but she feared, not loved him, as her words now testify. Poor child! a wayward fate has been hers.”

“In two journeys more her sufferings will be over. She will be restored to her home, to her mother.”

“Ah! if she should remain thus it will break the heart of my poor Adèle.”

“Fear not, my friend. Time will restore her memory. I think I have heard of a parallel circumstance among the frontier settlements of the Mississippi.”

“Oh! true, there have been many. We will hope for the best.”

“Once in her home the objects that surrounded her in her younger days may strike a chord in her recollection. She may yet remember all. May she not?”

“Hope! Hope!”

“At all events, the companionship of her mother and sister will soon win her from the thoughts of savage life. Fear not! She will be your daughter again.”

I urged these ideas for the purpose of giving consolation. Seguin made no reply; but I saw that the painful and anxious expression still remained clouding his features.

My own heart was not without its heaviness. A dark foreboding began to creep into it from some undefined cause. Were his thoughts in communion with mine?

“How long,” I asked, “before we can reach your house on the Del Norte?”

I scarce knew why I was prompted to put this question. Some fear that we were still in peril from the pursuing foe?

“The day after to-morrow,” he replied, “by the evening. Heaven grant we may find them safe!”

I started as the words issued from his lips. They had brought pain in an instant. This was the true cause of my undefined forebodings.

“You have fears?” I inquired, hastily.

“I have.”

“Of what? of whom?”

“The Navajoes.”

“The Navajoes!”

“Yes. My mind has not been easy since I saw them go eastward from the Pinon. I cannot understand why they did so, unless they meditated an attack on some settlements that lie on the old Llanos’ trail. If not that, my fears are that they have made a descent on the valley of El Paso, perhaps on the town itself. One thing may have prevented them from attacking the town: the separation of Dacoma’s party, which would leave them too weak for that; but still the more danger to the small settlements both north and south of it.”

The uneasiness I had hitherto felt arose from an expression which Seguin had dropped at the Pinon spring. My mind had dwelt upon it, from time to time, during our desert journeyings; but as he did not speak of it afterwards, I thought that he had not attached so much importance to it. I had reasoned wrongly.

“It is just probable,” continued the chief, “that the Passenos may defend themselves. They have done so heretofore with more spirit than any of the other settlements, and hence their long exemption from being plundered. Partly that, and partly because our band has protected their neighbourhood for a length of time, which the savages well know. It is to be hoped that the fear of meeting with us will prevent them from coming into the Jornada north of the town. If so, ours have escaped.”

“God grant,” I faltered, “that it may be thus!”

“Let us sleep,” added Seguin. “Perhaps our apprehensions are idle, and they can benefit nothing. To-morrow we shall march forward without halt, if our animals can bear it. Go to rest, my friend; you have not much time.”

So saying, he laid his head in his saddle, and composed himself to sleep. In a short while, as if by an act of volition, he appeared to be in a profound slumber.

With me it was different. Sleep was banished from my eyes, and I tossed about, with a throbbing pulse and a brain filled with fearful fancies. The very reaction from the bright dreams in which I had just been indulging rendered my apprehensions painfully active. I began to imagine scenes that might be enacting at that very moment: my betrothed struggling in the arms of some savage; for these southern Indians, I knew, possessed none of the chivalrous delicacy that characterise the red men of the “forest.”

I fancied her carried into a rude captivity; becoming the squaw of some brutal brave; and with the agony of the thought I rose to my feet and rushed out upon the prairie.

Half-frantic, I wandered, not heeding whither I went. I must have walked for hours, but I took no note of the time.

I strayed back upon the edge of the barranca. The moon was shining brightly, but the grim chasm, yawning away into the earth at my feet, lay buried in silence and darkness. My eye could not pierce its fathomless gloom.

I saw the camp and the caballada far above me on the bank; but my strength was exhausted, and, giving way to my weariness, I sank down upon the very brink of the abyss. The keen torture that had hitherto sustained me was followed by a feeling of utter lassitude. Sleep conquered agony, and I slept.

Chapter Forty Two. The Foe

I must have slept an hour or more. Had my dreams been realities, they would have filled the measure of an age.

At length the raw air of the morning chilled and awoke me. The moon had gone down, for I remembered that she was close to the horizon when I last saw her. Still it was far from being dark, for I could see to a considerable distance through the fog.

“Perhaps the day is breaking,” thought I, and I turned my face to the east. It was as I had guessed: the eastern sky was streaked with light; it was morning.

I knew it was the intention of Seguin to start early, and I was about summoning resolution to raise myself when voices broke on my ear. There were short, exclamatory phrases, and hoof-strokes upon the prairie turf.

“They are up, and preparing to start.” With this thought, I leaped to my feet, and commenced hurrying towards the camp.

I had not walked ten paces when I became conscious that the voices were behind me!

I stopped and listened. Yes; beyond a doubt I was going from them.

“I have mistaken the way to the camp!” and I stepped forward to the edge of the barranca for the purpose of assuring myself. What was my astonishment to find that I had been going in the right direction, and that the sounds were coming from the opposite quarter.

My first thought was that the band had passed me, and were moving on the route.

“But no; Seguin would not. Oh! he has sent of a party to search for me: it is they.”

I called out “Hollo!” to let them know where I was. There was no answer; and I shouted again, louder than before. All at once the sounds ceased. I knew the horsemen were listening, and I called once more at the top of my voice. There was a moment’s silence! Then I could hear a muttering of many voices and the trampling of horses as they galloped towards me.

I wondered that none of them had yet answered my signal; but my wonder was changed into consternation when I perceived that the approaching party were on the other side of the barranca!

Before I could recover from my surprise, they were opposite me and reining up on the bank of the chasm. They were still three hundred yards distant, the width of the gulf; but I could see them plainly through the thin and filmy fog. There appeared in all about a hundred horsemen; and their long spears, their plumed heads, and half-naked bodies, told me at a glance they were Indians!

I stayed to inquire no further, but ran with all my speed for the camp. I could see the horsemen on the opposite cliff keeping pace with me at a slow gallop.

On reaching the spring I found the hunters in surprise, and vaulting into their saddles. Seguin and a few others had gone out on the extreme edge, and were looking over. They had not thought of an immediate retreat, as the enemy, having the advantage of the light, had already discovered the strength of our party.

Though only a distance of three hundred yards separated the hostile bands, twenty miles would have to be passed before they could meet in battle. On this account Seguin and the hunters felt secure for the time; and it was hastily resolved to remain where we were, until we had examined who and what were our opponents.

They had halted on the opposite bank, and sat in their saddles, gazing across. They seemed puzzled at our appearance. It was still too dark for them to distinguish our complexions. Soon, however, it grew clearer; our peculiar dress and equipments were recognised; and a wild yell, the Navajo war-cry, came pealing over the abyss!

“It’s Dacoma’s party!” cried a voice, “they have taken the wrong side o’ the gully.”

“No,” exclaimed another, “thar’s too few o’ them for Dacoma’s men. Thar ain’t over a hundred.”

“Maybe the flood tuk the rest,” suggested the first speaker.

“Wagh! how could they ’a missed our trail, that’s as plain as a waggon track? ’Tain’t them nohow.”

“Who then? It’s Navagh. I kud tell thar yelp if I wur sleepin’.”

“Them’s head chief’s niggurs,” said Rube, at this moment riding forward. “Looke! yonder’s the old skunk hisself, on the spotted hoss!”

“You think it is they, Rube?” inquired Seguin.

“Sure as shootin’, cap.”

“But where are the rest of his band? These are not all.”

“They ain’t far off, I’ll be boun’. Hish-sh! I hear them a-comin’.”

“Yonder’s a crowd! Look, boys! look!”

Through the fog, now floating away, a dark body of mounted men were seen coming up the opposite side. They advanced with shouts and ejaculations, as though they were driving cattle. It was so. As the fog rose up, we could see a drove of horses, horned cattle, and sheep, covering the plain to a great distance. Behind these rode mounted Indians, who galloped to and fro, goading the animals with their spears, and pushing them forward.

“Lord, what a plunder!” exclaimed one of the hunters.

“Ay, them’s the fellows have made something by thar expedition. We are comin’ back empty as we went. Wagh!”

I had been engaged in saddling my horse, and at this moment came forward. It was not upon the Indians that my eye rested, nor upon the plundered cattle. Another object attracted my gaze, and sent the blood curdling to my heart.

Away in the rear of the advancing drove I saw a small party, distinct from the rest. Their light dresses fluttering in the wind told me that they were not Indians. They were women; they were captives!

There appeared to be about twenty in all; but my feelings were such that I took little heed of their number. I saw that they were mounted, and that each was guarded by an Indian, who rode by her side.

With a palpitating heart I passed my eye over the group from one to the other; but the distance was too great to distinguish the features of any of them. I turned towards the chief. He was standing with the glass to his eye. I saw him start; his cheek suddenly blanched; his lips quivered convulsively, and the instrument fell from his fingers to the ground! With a wild look he staggered back, crying out —

“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Oh, God! Thou hast stricken me now!”

I snatched up the telescope to assure myself. But it needed not that. As I was raising it, an object running along the opposite side caught my eye. It was the dog Alp! I levelled the glass, and the next moment was gazing through it on the face of my betrothed!

So close did she seem that I could hardly restrain myself from calling to her. I could distinguish her pale, beautiful features. Her cheek was wan with weeping, and her rich golden hair hung dishevelled from her shoulders, reaching to the withers of her horse. She was covered with a serape, and a young Indian rode beside her, mounted upon a showy horse, and dressed in the habiliments of a Mexican hussar!

I looked at none of the others, though a glance showed me her mother in the string of captives that came after.

The drove of horses and cattle soon passed up, and the females with their guards arrived opposite us. The captives were left back on the prairie, while the warriors rode forward to where their comrades had halted by the brow of the barranca.

It was now bright day; the fog had cleared away, and across the impassable gulf the hostile bands stood gazing at each other!