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Scalp Hunters

Chapter Forty Seven. A Queer Encounter in a Cave

The place into which I had crawled was of irregular outlines. Rocks jutted along the sides, and between these, small lateral shafts had been dug, where the miners had followed the ramifications of the “quixa.” The cave was not a deep one; the vein had not proved profitable, and had been abandoned for some other.

I kept up it till I was fairly “in the dark”; and then groping against one side, I found a recess, in which I ensconced myself. By peeping round the rock, I could see out of the cave and some distance over the bottom of the barranca, where the bushes grew thin and straggling.

I had hardly seated myself when my attention was called to a scene that was passing outside. Two men on their hands and knees were crawling through the cactus plants in front of the cave. Beyond them half a dozen savages on horseback were beating the thicket, but had not yet seen the men. These I recognised easily. They were Gode and the doctor. The latter was nearer me; and as he scrambled on over the shingle something started out of the rocks within reach of his hand. I noticed that it was a small animal of the armadillo kind. I saw him stretch forward, clutch it, and with a pleased look deposit it in a bag that was by his side. All this time the Indians were whooping and yelling behind him, and not fifty yards distant.

Doubtless the animal was of some new species, but the zealous naturalist never gave it to the world. He had scarcely drawn forth his hand again when a cry from the savages announced that he and Gode were discovered, and the next moment both lay upon the ground pierced with lances, and to all appearance dead!

Their pursuers now dismounted with the intention of scalping them. Poor Reichter! his cap was pulled off; the bleeding trophy followed, and he lay with the red skull towards the cave — a hideous spectacle!

Another Indian had alighted, and stood over the Canadian with his long knife in his hand. Although pitying my poor follower, and altogether in no humour for mirth, knowing what I did, I could not help watching the proceedings with some curiosity.

The savage stood for a moment, admiring the beautiful curls that embellished the head of his victim. He was no doubt thinking what handsome fringes they would make for his leggings. He appeared to be in ecstasies of delight; and from the flourishes which he made with his knife, I could see that it was his intention to skin the whole head!

After cutting several capers around it, he stooped and grasped a fistful of curls; but, before he had touched the scalp with his blade, the hair lifted off, displaying the white and marble-like skull!

With a cry of terror, the savage dropped the wig, and, running backward, fell over the body of the doctor. The cry attracted his, comrades; and several of them, dismounting, approached the strange object with looks of astonishment. One, more courageous than the rest, picked up the wig, which they all proceeded to examine with curious minuteness.

Then, one after another went up to the shining skull and passed his fingers over its smooth surface, all the while uttering exclamations of surprise. They tried on the wig, took it off, and put it on again, turning it in various ways. At length, he who claimed it as his property pulled off his plumed head-dress and, adjusting the wig upon his own head, front backward, stalked proudly around, with the long curls dangling over his face.

It was altogether a curious scene, and, under other circumstances, might have amused me. There was something irresistibly comic in the puzzled looks of the actors; but I had been too deeply affected by the tragedy to laugh at the farce. There was too much of horror around me. Seguin perhaps dead; she gone for ever, the slave of the brutal savage. My own peril, too, at the moment; for I knew not how soon I might be discovered and dragged forth. This affected me least of all. My life was now of little value to me, and so I regarded it.

But there is an instinct, so-called, of self-preservation, even when the will ceases to act. Hopes soon began to shape themselves in my mind, and along with these the wish to live. Thoughts came. I might organise a powerful band; I might yet rescue her. Yes! even though years might intervene, I would accomplish this. She would still be true! She would never forget!

Poor Seguin! what a life of hope withered in an hour! he himself sealing the sacrifice with his blood!

But I would not despair, even with his fate for a warning. I would take up the drama where he had ended. The curtain should rise upon new scenes, and I would not abandon the stage until I had accomplished a more joyous finale; or, failing this, had reached the dénouement of death or vengeance.

Poor Seguin! No wonder he had been a scalp-hunter. I could now understand how holy was his hate for the ruthless red man. I, too, had imbibed the passion.

With such reflections passing hastily — for the scene I have described, and the sequent thoughts, did not occupy much time — I turned my eyes inwards to examine whether I was sufficiently concealed in my niche. They might take it into their heads to search the shaft.

As I endeavoured to penetrate the gloom that extended inwards, my gaze became riveted on an object that caused me to shrink back with a cold shudder. Notwithstanding the scenes I had just passed through, this was the cause of still another agony.

In the thick of the darkness I could distinguish two small spots, round and shining. They did not scintillate, but rather glistened with a steady greenish lustre. I knew that they were eyes!

I was in the cave with a panther, or with a still more terrible companion, the grizzly bear!

My first impulse was to press back into the recess where I had hidden myself. This I did, until my back leaned against the rocks. I had no thoughts of attempting to escape out. That would have been from the frying-pan into the fire, for the Indians were still in front of the cave. Moreover, any attempt to retreat would only draw on the animal, perhaps at that moment straining to spring.

I cowered closely, groping along my belt for the handle of my knife. I clasped this at length, and drawing it forth, waited in a crouching attitude.

During all this time my eyes had remained fixed on the lustrous orbs before me.

I saw that they were fixed upon mine, and watched me without as much as winking.

Mine seemed to be possessed of abstract volition. I could not take them off. They were held by some terrible fascination; and I felt, or fancied, that the moment this should be broken, the animal would spring upon me.

I had heard of fierce brutes being conquered by the glance of the human eye, and I endeavoured to look back my vis-à-vis with interest.

We sat for some time, neither of us moving an inch. I could see nothing of the animal’s body; nothing but the green gleaming circles that seemed set in a ground of ebony.

As they had remained motionless so long, I conjectured that the owner of them was still lying in his lair, and would not make his attack until something disturbed him; perhaps until the Indians had gone away.

The thought now occurred to me that I might better arm myself. I knew that a knife would be of little avail against a grizzly bear. My pistol was still in my belt, but it was empty. Would the animal permit me to load it? I resolved to make the attempt.

Still leaving my eyes to fulfil their office, I felt for my flask and pistol, and finding both ready, I commenced loading. I proceeded with silence and caution, for I knew that these animals could see in the dark, and that in this respect my vis-à-vis had the advantage of me. I felt the powder in with my finger, and pushing the ball on top of it, rolled the cylinder to the right notch, and cocked.

As the spring “clicked,” I saw the eyes start. “It will be on me now!”

Quick as the thought, I placed my finger to the trigger but before I could level, a voice, with a well-known accent, restrained me.

“Hold on thur!” cried the voice. “Why didn’t ’ee say yur hide wur white? I thought ’twur some sneaking Injun. Who are ’ee, anyhow? ’Tain’t Bill Garey? No, Billee, ’tain’t you, ole fellur.”

“No,” said I, recovering from my surprise; “it’s not Bill.”

“I mout ’a guessed that. Bill wud ’a know’d me sooner. He wud ’a know’d the glint o’ this niggur’s eyes as I wud his’n. Ah! poor Billee! I’s afeerd that trapper’s rubbed out; an’ thur ain’t many more o’ his sort in the mountains. No, that thur ain’t.

“Rot it!” continued the voice, with a fierce emphasis; “this comes o’ layin’ one’s rifle ahint them. Ef I’d ’a had Tar-guts wi’ me, I wudn’t ’a been hidin’ hyur like a scared ’possum. But she are gone; that leetle gun are gone; an’ the mar too; an’ hyur I am ’ithout eyther beast or weepun; cuss the luck!”

And the last words were uttered with an angry hiss, that echoed through every part of the cave.

“Yur the young fellur, the capt’n’s friend, ain’t ’ee?” inquired the speaker, with a sudden change of tone.

“Yes,” I replied.

“I didn’t see yur a-comin’ in, or I mout ’a spoke sooner. I’ve got a smart lick across the arm, an’ I wur just a-tyin’ it up as ye tumbled in thur. Who did ’ee think this child wur?”

“I did not think you were anyone. I took you for a grizzly bear.”

“Ha! ha! ha! He! he! he! I thort so, when I heard the click o’ your pistol. He! he! he! If ever I sets my peepers on Bill Garey agin, I’ll make that niggur larf till his guts ache. Ole Rube tuk for a grizzly! If that ain’t — Ha! ha! ha! ha! He! he! he! Ho! ho! hoo!”

And the old trapper chuckled at the conceit, as if he had just been witnessing some scene of amusement, and there was not an enemy within a hundred miles of him.

“Did you see anything of Seguin?” I asked, wishing to learn whether there was any probability that my friend still lived.

“Did I? I did; an’ a sight that wur. Did ’ee iver see a catamount riz?”

“I believe I have,” said I.

“Wal, that wur him. He wur in the shanty when it felled. So were I m’self; but I wa’n’t there long arter. I creeped out some’rs about the door; an’ jest then I seed the cap, hand to hand wi’ an Injun in a stan’-up tussle: but it didn’t last long. The cap gi’n him a sockdolloger some’rs about the ribs, an’ the niggur went under; he did.”

“But what of Seguin? Did you see him afterwards?”

“Did I see him arterwards? No; I didn’t.”

“I fear he is killed.”

“That ain’t likely, young fellur. He knows these diggin’s better’n any o’ us; an’ he oughter know whur to cacher, I reckin. He’s did that, I’ll be boun’.”

“Ay, if he would,” said I, thinking that Seguin might have followed the captives, and thrown away his life recklessly.

“Don’t be skeert about him, young fellur. The cap ain’t a-gwine to put his fingers into a bee’s nest whur thur’s no honey; he ain’t.”

“But where could he have gone, when you did not see him afterwards?”

“Whur could he ’a gone? Fifty ways he kud ’a gone through the brush. I didn’t think o’ lookin’ arter him. He left the Injun whur he had throw’d him, ’ithout raisin’ the har; so I stooped down to git it; an’ when I riz agin, he wa’n’t thur no how. But that Injun wur. Lor’! that Injun are some punkins; he are.”

“What Indian do you mean?”

“Him as jined us on the Del Norte — the Coco.”

“El Sol! What of him? is he killed?”

“Wal, he ain’t, I reckin; nor can’t a-be: that’s this child’s opeenyun o’ it. He kim from under the ranche, arter it tumbled; an’ his fine dress looked as spick as ef it had been jest tuk out o’ a bandy-box. Thur wur two at him, an’, Lor’! how he fit them! I tackled on to one o’ them ahint, an’ gin him a settler in the hump ribs; but the way he finished the other wur a caution to Crockett. ’Twur the puttiest lick I ever seed in these hyur mountains, an’ I’ve seed a good few, I reckin.”

“How was it?”

“’Ee know, the Injun — that are, the Coco — fit wi’ a hatchet?”

“Yes.”

“Wal, then; that ur’s a desprit weepun, for them as knows how to use it; an’ he diz; that Injun diz. T’other had a hatchet, too, but he didn’t keep it long. ’Twur clinked out o’ his hands in a minnit, an’ then the Coco got a down blow at him. Wagh! it wur a down blow, an’ it wa’n’t nuthin’ else. It split the niggur’s head clur down to the thrapple. ’Twus sep’rated into two halves as ef ’t had been clove wi’ a broad-axe! Ef ’ee had ’a seed the varmint when he kim to the ground, ’ee’d ’a thort he wur double-headed. Jest then I spied the Injuns a-comin’ down both sides o’ the bluff; an’ havin’ neyther beast nor weepun, exceptin’ a knife, this child tuk a notion ’twa’n’t safe to be thur any longer, an’ cached; he did.”

Chapter Forty Eight. Smoked Out

Our conversation had been carried on in a low tone, for the Indians still remained in front of the cave. Many others had arrived, and were examining the skull of the Canadian with the same looks of curiosity and wonderment that had been exhibited by their comrades.

Rube and I sat for some time in silence, watching them. The trapper had flitted near me, so that he could see out and talk in whispers.

I was still apprehensive that the savages might search the cave.

“’Tain’t likely,” said my companion. “They mout ef thur hadn’t ’a been so many o’ these diggins, do ’ee see? Thur’s a grist o’ ’em — more’n a hundred — on t’other side; an’ most o’ the men who got clur tuk furrer down. It’s my notion the Injuns seed that, an’ won’t disturb — Ef thur ain’t that dog!”

I well understood the meaning of the emphasis with which these last words were repeated. My eyes, simultaneously with those of the speaker, had fallen upon the dog Alp. He was running about in front of the cave. I saw at a glance he was searching for me.

The next moment he had struck the trail where I had crawled through the cacti, and came running down in the direction of the cave.

On reaching the body of the Canadian, which lay directly in his track, he stopped for a moment and appeared to examine it. Then, uttering a short yelp, he passed on to that of the doctor, where he made a similar demonstration. He ran several times from one to the other, but at length left them; and, with his nose once more to the ground, disappeared out of our view.

His strange actions had attracted the attention of the savages, who, one and all, stood watching him.

My companion and I were beginning to hope that he had lost me, when, to our dismay, he appeared a second time, coming down the trail as before. This time he leaped over the bodies, and the next moment sprang into the mouth of the cave.

A yell from without told us that we were lost.

We endeavoured to drive the dog out again, and succeeded, Rube having wounded him with his knife; but the wound itself, and the behaviour of the animal outside, convinced our enemies that someone was within the shaft.

In a few seconds the entrance was darkened by a crowd of savages, shouting and yelling.

“Now show yur shootin’, young fellur!” said my companion. “It’s the new kind o’ pistol ’ee hev got. Load every ber’l o’ it.”

“Shall I have time to load them?”

“Plenty o’ time. They ain’t a-gwine to come in ’ithout a light. Thur gone for a torch to the shanty. Quick wi’ yur! Slap in the fodder!”

Without waiting to reply, I caught hold of my flask, and loaded the remaining five chambers of the revolver. I had scarcely finished when one of the Indians appeared in front with a flaming brand, and was about stooping into the mouth of the cavern.

“Now’s yur time,” cried Rube. “Fetch the niggur out o’ his boots! Fetch him!”

I fired, and the savage, dropping the torch, fell dead upon the top of it!

An angry yell from without followed the report, and the Indians disappeared from the front. Shortly after, an arm was seen reaching in, and the dead body was drawn back out of the entrance.

“What will they do next, think you?” I inquired of my companion.

“I can’t tell adzactly yit; but thur sick o’ that game, I reckin. Load that ber’l agin. I guess we’ll git a lot o’ ’m afore we gins in. Cuss the luck! that gun, Tar-guts! Ef I only had that leetle piece hyur! ’Ee’ve got six shots, have ’ee? Good! ’Ee mout chock up the cave wi’ their karkidges afore they kin reach us. It ur a great weepun, an’ no mistakes. I seed the cap use it. Lor’! how he made it tell on them niggers i’ the shanty! Thur ain’t many o’ them about, I reckin. Load sure, young fellur! Thur’s plenty o’ time. They knows what you’ve got thur.”

During all this dialogue none of the Indians made their appearance, but we could hear them on both sides of the shaft without. We knew they were deliberating on what plan they would take to get at us.

As Rube suggested, they seemed to be aware that the shot had come from a revolver. Doubtless some of the survivors of the late fight had informed them of the fearful havoc that had been made among them with our pistols, and they dreaded to face them. What other plan would they adopt? Starve us out?

“They mout,” said Rube, in answer to my question, “an’ kin if they try. Thur ain’t a big show o’ vittlin’ hyur, ’ceptin’ we chaw donnicks. But thur’s another way, ef they only hev the gumshin to go about it, that’ll git us sooner than starvin’. Ha!” ejaculated the speaker, with emphasis. “I thort so. Thur a-gwine to smoke us. Look ’ee yander!”

I looked forth. At a distance I saw several Indians coming in the direction of the cave, carrying large bundles of brushwood. Their intention was evident.

“But can they do this?” I inquired, doubting the possibility of our enemies being able to effect their purpose in that way; “can we not bear the smoke?”

“Bar it! Yur green, young fellur. Do ’ee know what sort o’ brush thur a-toatin’ yander?”

“No,” said I; “what is it?”

“It ur the stink-plant, then; an’ the stinkinest plant ’ee ever smelt, I reckin. The smoke o’ it ud choke a skunk out o’ a persimmon log. I tell ’ee, young ’un, we’ll eyther be smoked out or smothered whur we are; an’ this child hain’t fit Injun for thirty yeern or better, to go under that a way. When it gets to its wurst I’m a-gwine to make a rush. That’s what I’m a-gwine ter do, young fellur.”

“But how?” I asked, hurriedly; “how shall we act then?”

“How? Yur game to the toes, ain’t ’ee?”

“I am willing to fight to the last.”

“Wal, than, hyur’s how, an’ the only how: when they’ve raised the smoke so that they can’t see us a-comin’, we’ll streak it out among ’em. You hev the pistol, an’ kin go fo’most. Shoot every niggur that clutches at ye, an’ run like blazes! I’ll foller clost on yur heels. If we kin oncest git through the thick o’ ’em, we mout make the brush, an’ creep under it to the big caves on t’other side. Them caves jines one another, an’ we mout dodge them thur. I seed the time this ’coon kud ’a run a bit, but these hyur jeints ain’t as soople as they wur oncest. We kin try neverthemless; an’ mind, young fellur, it’s our only chance: do ’ee hear?”

I promised to follow the directions that my never-despairing companion had given me.

“They won’t get old Rube’s scalp yit, they won’t. He! he! he!”

I turned towards him. The man was actually laughing at this wild and strangely-timed jest. It was awful to hear him.

Several armfuls of brush were now thrown into the mouth of the cave. I saw that it was the creosote plant, the ideodondo.

It was thrown upon the still blazing torch, and soon caught, sending up a thick, black smoke. More was piled on; and the fetid vapour, impelled by some influence from without, began to reach our nostrils and lungs, causing an almost instantaneous feeling of sickness and suffocation. I could not have borne it long. I did not stay to try how long, for at that moment I heard Rube crying out —

“Now’s your time, young fellur! Out, and gi’ them fits!”

With a feeling of desperate resolve, I clutched my pistol and dashed through the smoking brushwood. I heard a wild and deafening shout. I saw a crowd of men — of fiends. I saw spears, and tomahawks, and red knives raised, and —