Майн Рид
Scalp Hunters

Chapter Forty Three. New Misery

It was a most singular rencontre. Here were two parties of men, heart-foes to one another, each returning from the country of the other, loaded with plunder and carrying a train of captives! They had met midway, and stood within musket range, gazing at each other with feelings of the most bitter hostility, and yet a conflict was as impossible as though twenty miles of the earth’s surface lay between them.

On one side were the Navajoes, with consternation in their looks, for the warriors had recognised their children. On the other stood the scalp-hunters, not a few of whom, in the captive train of their enemies, could distinguish the features of a wife, a sister, or a daughter.

Each gazed upon the other with hostile hearts and glances of revenge. Had they met thus on the open prairie they would have fought to the death. It seemed as though the hand of God had interposed to prevent the ruthless shedding of blood, which, but for the gulf that lay between these foemen, would certainly have ensued.

I cannot describe how I felt at the moment. I remember that, all at once, I was inspired with a new vigour both of mind and body. Hitherto I had been little more than a passive spectator of the events of our expedition. I had been acting without any stimulating heart-motive; now I had one that roused me to, a desperate energy.

A thought occurred to me, and I ran up to communicate it. Seguin was beginning to recover from the terrible blow. The men had learnt the cause of his strange behaviour, and stood around him, some of them endeavouring to console him. Few of them knew aught of the family affairs of their chief, but they had heard of his earlier misfortunes: the loss of his mine, the ruin of his property, the captivity of his child. Now, when it became known that among the prisoners of the enemy were his wife and daughter, even the rude hearts of the hunters were touched with pity at his more than common sufferings. Compassionate exclamations were heard from them, mingled with expressions of their determination to restore the captives or die in the attempt.

It was with the intention of exciting such a feeling that I had come forward. It was my design, out of my small stock of world’s wealth, to set a premium on devotedness and valour, but I saw that nobler motives had anticipated me, and I remained silent.

Seguin seemed pleased at the loyalty of his comrades, and began to exhibit his wonted energy. Hope again had possession of him. The men clustered round him to offer their advice and listen to his directions.

“We can fight them, capt’n, even-handed,” said the trapper Garey. “Thar ain’t over two hundred.”

“Jest a hundred and ninety-six,” interposed a hunter, “without the weemen. I’ve counted them; that’s thar number.”

“Wal,” continued Garey, “thar’s some difference atween us in point o’ pluck, I reckin; and what’s wantin’ in number we’ll make up wi’ our rifles. I never valleys two to one wi’ Injuns, an’ a trifle throw’d in, if ye like.”

“Look at the ground, Bill! It’s all plain. Whar would we be after a volley? They’d have the advantage wi’ their bows and lances. Wagh! they could spear us to pieces thar!”

“I didn’t say we could take them on the paraira. We kin foller them till they’re in the mountains, an’ git them among the rocks. That’s what I advise.”

“Ay. They can’t run away from us with that drove. That’s sartin.”

“They have no notion of running away. They will most likely attack us.”

“That’s jest what we want,” said Garey. “We kin go yonder, and fight them till they’ve had a bellyful.”

The trapper, as he spoke, pointed to the foot of the Mimbres, that lay about ten miles off to the eastward.

“Maybe they’ll wait till more comes up. There’s more of head chief’s party than these; there were nearly four hundred when they passed the Pinon.”

“Rube, where can the rest of them be?” demanded Seguin; “I can see down to the mine, and they are not upon the plain.”

“Ain’t a-gwine to be, cap. Some luck in that, I reckin. The ole fool has sent a party by t’other trail. On the wrong scent — them is.”

“Why do you think they have gone by the other trail?”

“Why, cap, it stans for raison. If they wur a-comin’ ahint, some o’ them niggurs on t’other side wud ’a gone back afore this to hurry ’em up, do ’ee see? Thur hain’t gone ne’er a one, as I seed.”

“You are right, Rube,” replied Seguin, encouraged by the probability of what the other had asserted. “What do you advise us?” continued he, appealing to the old trapper, whose counsel he was in the habit of seeking in all cases of similar difficulty.

“Wal, cap, it’s a twistified piece o’ business as it stans; an’ I hain’t figured it out to my satersfaction jest yet. If ’ee’ll gi’ me a kupple o’ minutes, I’ll answer ye to the best o’ my possibilities.”

“Very well; we will wait for you. Men! look to your arms, and see that they are all in readiness.”

During this consultation, which had occupied but a few seconds of time, we could see that the enemy was similarly employed on the other side. They had drawn around their chief, and from their gesticulations it was plain they were deliberating how they should act.

Our appearance, with the children of their principal men as captives, had filled them with consternation at what they saw, and apprehensions of a fearful kind for what they saw not. Returning from a successful foray, laden with spoil, and big with the prospect of feasting and triumph, they suddenly perceived themselves out-generalled at their own game. They knew we had been to their town. They conjectured that we had plundered and burnt their houses, and massacred their women and children. They fancied no less; for this was the very work in which they had themselves been engaged, and their judgment was drawn from their own conduct.

They saw, moreover, that we were a large party, able to defend what we had taken, at least against them; for they knew well that with their firearms the scalp-hunters were an over-match for them, when there was anything like an equality of numbers.

With these ideas, then, it required deliberation on their part, as well as with us; and we knew that it would be some time before they would act. They, too, were in a dilemma.

The hunters obeyed the injunctions of Seguin, and remained silent, waiting upon Rube to deliver his advice.

The old trapper stood apart, half-resting upon his rifle, which he clutched with both hands near the muzzle. He had taken out the “stopper,” and was looking into the barrel, as if he were consulting some oracular spirit that he kept bottled up within it. It was one of Rube’s peculiar “ways,” and those who knew this were seen to smile as they watched him.

After a few minutes spent in this silent entreaty, the oracle seemed to have sent forth its response; and Rube, returning the stopper to its place, came walking forward to the chief.

“Billee’s right, cap. If them Injuns must be fit, it’s got to be did whur thur’s rocks or timmer. They’d whip us to shucks on the paraira. That’s settled. Wal, thur’s two things: they’ll eyther come at us; if so be, yander’s our ground,” (here the speaker pointed to a spur of the Mimbres); “or we’ll be obleeged to foller them. If so be, we can do it as easy as fallin’ off a log. They ain’t over leg-free.”

“But how should we do for provisions, in that case? We could never cross the desert without them.”

“Why, cap, thur’s no diffeeculty ’bout that. Wi’ the parairas as dry as they are, I kud stampede that hul cavayard as easy as a gang o’ bufflers; and we’d come in for a share o’ them, I reckin. Thur’s a wus thing than that, this child smells.”

“What?”

“I’m afeerd we mout fall in wi’ Dacoma’s niggurs on the back track; that’s what I’m afeerd on.”

“True; it is most probable.”

“It ur, unless they got overtuk in the kenyon; an I don’t think it. They understan’ that crik too well.”

The probability of Dacoma’s band soon joining those of the head chief was apparent to all, and cast a shadow of despondency over every face. They were, no doubt, still in pursuit of us, and would soon arrive on the ground.

“Now, cap,” continued the trapper, “I’ve gi’n ye my notion o’ things, if so be we’re boun’ to fight; but I have my behopes we kin get back the weemen ’ithout wastin’ our gun-fodder.”

“How? how?” eagerly inquired the chief and others.

“Why, jest this a-way,” replied the trapper, almost irritating me with the prolixity of his style. “’Ee see them Injuns on t’other side o’ the gulley?”

“Yes, yes,” hastily replied Seguin.

“Wal; ’ee see these hyur?” and the speaker pointed to our captives.

“Yes, yes!”

“Wal; ’ee see them over yander, though thur hides be a coppery colour, has feelin’s for thur childer like white Christyuns. They eat ’em by times, that’s true; but thur’s a releegius raison for that, not many hyur understands, I reckin.”

“And what would you have us do?”

“Why, jest heist a bit o’ a white rag an’ offer to swop pris’ners. They’ll understan’ it, and come to tarms, I’ll be boun’. That putty leetle gal with the long har’s head chief’s darter, an’ the rest belongs to main men o’ the tribe: I picked ’em for that. Besides, thur’s Dacoma an’ the young queen. They’ll bite thur nails off about them. ’Ee kin give up the chief, and trade them out o’ the queen best way ye kin.”

“I will follow your advice,” cried Seguin, his eye brightening with the anticipation of a happy result.

“Thur’s no time to be wasted, then, cap; if Dacoma’s men makes thur appearance, all I’ve been a-sayin’ won’t be worth the skin o’ a sand-rat.”

“Not a moment shall be lost;” and Seguin gave orders to make ready the flag of peace.

“It ’ud be better, cap, fust to gi’ them a good sight o’ what we’ve got. They hain’t seed Dacoma yet, nor the queen. Thur in the bushes.”

“Right!” answered Seguin. “Comrades! bring forward the captives to the edge of the barranca. Bring the Navajo chief. Bring the — my daughter!”

The men hurried to obey the command; and in a few minutes the captive children, with Dacoma and the Mystery Queen, were led forward to the very brink of the chasm. The serapes that had shrouded them were removed, and they stood exposed in their usual costumes before the eyes of the Indians. Dacoma still wore his helmet, and the queen was conspicuous in the rich, plume-embroidered tunic. They were at once recognised!

A cry of singular import burst from the Navajoes as they beheld these new proofs of their discomfiture. The warriors unslung their lances, and thrust them into the earth with impotent indignation. Some of them drew scalps from their belts, stuck them on the points of their spears, and shook them at us over the brow of the abyss. They believed that Dacoma’s band had been destroyed, as well as their women and children; and they threatened us with shouts and gestures.

In the midst of all this, we noticed a movement among the more staid warriors. A consultation was going on.

It ended. A party were seen to gallop toward the captive women, who had been left far back upon the plain.

“Great heavens!” cried I, struck with a horrid idea, “they are going to butcher them! Quick with the flag!”

But before the banner could be attached to its staff, the Mexican women were dismounted, their rebozos pulled off, and they were led forward to the precipice.

It was only meant for a counter-vaunt, the retaliation of a pang for it was evident the savages knew that among their captives were the wife and daughter of our chief. These were placed conspicuously in front, upon the very brow of the barranca.

Chapter Forty Four. The Flag of Truce

They might have spared themselves the pains. That agony was already felt; but, indeed, a scene followed — that caused us to suffer afresh.

Up to this moment we had not been recognised by those near and dear to us. The distance had been too great for the naked eye, and our browned faces and travel-stained habiliments were of themselves a disguise.

But the instincts of love are quick and keen, and the eyes of my betrothed were upon me. I saw her start forward; I heard the agonised scream; a pair of snow-white arms were extended, and she sank, fainting, upon the cliff.

At the same instant Madame Seguin had recognised the chief, and had called him by name. Seguin shouted to her in reply, and cautioned her in tones of intreaty to remain patient and silent.

Several of the other females, all young and handsome, had recognised their lovers and brothers, and a scene followed that was painful to witness.

But my eyes were fixed upon her I saw that she recovered from her swoon. I saw the savage in hussar trappings dismount, and, lifting her in his arms, carry her back upon the prairie.

I followed them with impotent gaze. I saw that he was paying her kind attentions; and I almost thanked him, though I knew it was but the selfish gallantry of the lover.

In a short while she rose to her feet again, and rushed back toward the barranca. I heard my name uttered across the ravine. Hers was echoed back; but at the moment both mother and daughter were surrounded by their guards, and carried back.

Meanwhile, the white flag had been got ready, and Seguin, holding it aloft, stood out in front. We remained silent, watching with eager glances for the answer.

There was a movement among the clustered Indians. We heard their voices in earnest talk, and saw that something was going on in their midst.

Presently, a tall, fine-looking man came out from the crowd, holding an object in his left hand of a white colour. It was a bleached fawn-skin. In his right hand he carried a lance.

We saw him place the fawn-skin on the blade of the lance, and stand forward holding it aloft. Our signal of peace was answered.

“Silence, men!” cried Seguin, speaking to the hunters; and then, raising his voice, he called aloud in the Indian language —

“Navajoes! you know whom we are. We have passed through your country, and visited your head town. Our object was to search for our dear relatives, who we knew were captives in your land. Some we have recovered, but there are many others we could not find. That these might be restored to us in time, we have taken hostages, as you see. We might have brought away many more, but these we considered enough. We have not burned your town; we have not harmed your wives, your daughters, nor your children. With the exception of these, our prisoners, you will find all as you left them.”

A murmur ran through the ranks of the Indians. It was a murmur of satisfaction. They had been under the full belief that their town was destroyed and their women massacred; and the words of Seguin, therefore produced a singular effect. We could hear joyful exclamations and phrases interchanged among the warriors. Silence was again restored, and Seguin continued —

“We see that you have been in our country. You have made captives as well as we. You are red men. Red men can feel for their kindred as well as white men. We know this; and for that reason have I raised the banner of peace, that each may restore to the other his own. It will please the Great Spirit, and will give satisfaction to both of us; for that which you hold is of most value to us, and that which we have is dear only to you. Navajoes! I have spoken. I await your answer.”

When Seguin had ended, the warriors gathered around the head chief, and we could see that an earnest debate was going on amongst them. It was plain there were dissenting voices; but the debate was soon over, and the head chief, stepping forward, gave some instructions to the man who held the flag. The latter in a loud voice replied to Seguin’s speech as follows —

“White chief! you have spoken well, and your words have been weighed by our warriors. You ask nothing more than what is just and fair. It would please the Great Spirit and satisfy us to exchange our captives; but how can we tell that your words are true? You say that you have not burned our town nor harmed our women and children. How can we know that this is true? Our town is far off; so are our women, if they be still alive. We cannot ask them. We have only your word. It is not enough.”

Seguin had already anticipated this difficulty, and had ordered one of our captives, an intelligent lad, to be brought forward.

The boy at this moment appeared by his side.

“Question him!” shouted he, pointing to the captive lad.

“And why may we not question our brother, the chief Dacoma? The lad is young. He may not understand us. The chief could assure us better.”

“Dacoma was not with us at the town. He knows not what was done there.”

“Let Dacoma answer that.”

“Brother!” replied Seguin, “you are wrongly suspicious, but you shall have his answer,” and he addressed some words to the Navajo chief, who sat near him upon the ground.

The question was then put directly to Dacoma by the speaker on the other side. The proud Indian, who seemed exasperated with the humiliating situation in which he was placed, with an angry wave of his hand and a short ejaculation, answered in the negative.

“Now, brother,” proceeded Seguin, “you see I have spoken truly. Ask the lad what you first proposed.”

The boy was then interrogated as to whether we had burnt the town or harmed the women and children. To these two questions he also returned a negative answer.

“Well, brother,” said Seguin, “are you satisfied?”

For a long time there was no reply. The warriors were again gathered in council, and gesticulating with earnestness and energy. We could see that there was a party opposed to pacific measures, who were evidently counselling, the others to try the fortunes of a battle. These were the younger braves; and I observed that he in the hussar costume, who, as Rube informed us, was the son of the head chief, appeared to be the leader of this party.

Had not the head chief been so deeply interested in the result, the counsels of these might have carried; for the warriors well knew the scorn that would await them among neighbouring tribes should they return without captives. Besides, there were numbers who felt another sort of interest in detaining them. They had looked upon the daughters of the Del Norte, and “saw that they were fair.”

But the counsels of the older men at length prevailed, and the spokesman replied —

“The Navajo warriors have considered what they have heard. They believe that the white chief has spoken the truth, and they agree to exchange their prisoners. That this may be done in a proper and becoming manner, they propose that twenty warriors be chosen on each side; that these warriors shall lay down their arms on the prairie in presence of all; that they shall then conduct their captives to the crossing of the barranca by the mine, and there settle the terms of their exchange; that all the others on both sides shall remain where they now are, until the unarmed warriors have got back with the exchanged prisoners; that the white banners shall then be struck, and both sides be freed from the treaty. These are the words of the Navajo warriors.”

It was some time before Seguin could reply to this proposal. It seemed fair enough; but yet there was a manner about it that led us to suspect some design, and we paused a moment to consider it. The concluding terms intimated an intention on the part of the enemy of making an attempt to retake their captives; but we cared little for this, provided we could once get them on our side of the barranca.

It was very proper that the prisoners should be conducted to the place of exchange by unarmed men, and twenty was a proper number; but Seguin well knew how the Navajoes would interpret the word “unarmed”; and several of the hunters were cautioned in an undertone to “stray” into the bushes, and conceal their knives and pistols under the flaps of their hunting-shirts. We thought that we observed a similar manoeuvre going on upon the opposite bank with the tomahawks of our adversaries.

We could make but little objection to the terms proposed; and as Seguin knew that time saved was an important object, he hastened to accept them.

As soon as this was announced to the Navajoes, twenty men — already chosen, no doubt — stepped out into the open prairie, and striking their lances into the ground, rested against them their bows, quivers, and shields. We saw no tomahawks, and we knew that every Navajo carries this weapon. They all had the means of concealing them about their persons; for most of them were dressed in the garb of civilised life, in the plundered habiliments of the rancho and hacienda. We cared little, as we, too, were sufficiently armed. We saw that the party selected were men of powerful strength; in fact, they were the picked warriors of the tribe.

Ours were similarly chosen. Among them were El Sol and Garey, Rube, and the bull-fighter Sanchez. Seguin and I were of the number. Most of the trappers, with a few Delaware Indians, completed the complement.

The twenty were soon selected; and, stepping out on the open ground, as the Navajoes had done, we piled our rifles in the presence of the enemy.

Our captives were then mounted and made ready for starting. The queen and the Mexican girls were brought forward among the rest.

This last was a piece of strategy on the part of Seguin. He knew that we had captives enough to exchange one for one, without these; but he saw, as we all did, that to leave the queen behind would interrupt the negotiation, and perhaps put an end to it altogether. He had resolved, therefore, on taking her along, trusting that he could better negotiate for her on the ground. Failing this, there would be but one appeal — to arms; and he knew that our party was well prepared for that alternative.

Both sides were at length ready, and, at a signal, commenced riding down the barranca, in the direction of the mine. The rest of the two bands remained eyeing each other across the gulf, with glances of mistrust and hatred. Neither party could move without the other seeing it; for the plains in which they were, though on opposite sides of the barranca, were but segments of the same horizontal plateau. A horseman proceeding from either party could have been seen by the others to a distance of many miles.

The flags of truce were still waving, their spears stuck into the ground; but each of the hostile bands held their horses saddled and bridled, ready to mount at the first movement of the other.