Майн Рид
The Scalp Hunters
Chapter Forty Six.
A Conflict with Closed Doors
The occurrence did not improve the temper of either party, particularly that of the hunters. The Indians were triumphant, but not a whit the less inclined to obstinacy and exaction. They now returned to their former offer. For those of our captives that were woman-grown they would exchange one for one, and for their chief Dacoma they offered to give two; for the rest they insisted on receiving two for one.
By this arrangement, we could ransom only about twelve of the Mexican women; but finding them determined, Seguin at length assented to these terms, provided they would allow us the privilege of choosing the twelve to be exchanged.
To our surprise and indignation this was refused!
We no longer doubted what was to be the winding up of the negotiation. The air was filled with the electricity of anger. Hate kindled hate, and vengeance was burning in every eye.
The Indians scowled on us, glancing malignantly out of their oblique eyes. There was triumph, too, in their looks, for, they believed themselves far stronger than we.
On the other side sat the hunters quivering under a double indignation. I say double. I can hardly explain what I mean. They had never before been so braved by Indians. They had, all their lives, been accustomed, partly out of bravado and partly from actual experience, to consider the red men their inferiors in subtilty and courage; and to be thus bearded by them, filled the hunters, as I have said, with a double indignation. It was like the bitter anger which the superior feels towards his resisting inferior, the lord to his rebellious serf, the master to his lashed slave who has turned and struck him. It was thus the hunters felt.
I glanced along their line. I never saw faces with such expressions as I saw there and then. Their lips were white, and drawn tightly over their teeth; their cheeks were set and colourless; and their eyes, protruding forward, seemed glued in their sockets. There was no motion to be detected in the features of any, save the twitching of angry muscles. Their right hands were buried in the bosoms of their half-open shirts, each, I knew, grasping a weapon; and they appeared not to sit, but to crouch forward, like panthers quivering upon the spring.
There was a long interval of silence on both sides.
It was broken by a cry from without – the scream of the war-eagle!
We should not have noticed this, knowing that these birds were common in the Mimbres, and one might have flown over the ravine; but we thought, or fancied, that it had made an impression upon our adversaries. They were men not apt to show any sudden emotion; but it appeared to us that, all at once, their glances grew bolder, and more triumphant. Could it have been a signal?
We listened for a minute. The scream was repeated; and although it was exactly after the manner of a bird well known to us – the white-headed eagle – we sat with unsatisfied and tearful apprehensions.
The young chief, he in the hussar dress, was upon his feet. He had been the most turbulent and exacting of our opponents. He was a man of most villainous and licentious character, so Rube had told us, but nevertheless holding great power among the braves. It was he who had spoken in refusal of Seguin’s offer, and he was now about to assign his reasons. We knew them without that.
“Why,” said he, looking at Seguin as he spoke, “why is it that the white chief is so desirous of choosing among our captives? Is it that he wishes to get back the yellow-haired maiden?”
He paused a moment, as if for a reply; but Seguin made none.
“If the white chief believes our queen to be his daughter, would not he wish that her sister should be her companion, and return with her to our land?”
Again he paused; but, as before, Seguin remained silent.
The speaker proceeded.
“Why not let the yellow-haired maiden return with us, and become my wife? Who am I that ask this? A chief of the Navajoes, the descendants of the great Montezuma; the son of their king!”
The savage looked around him with a vaunting air as he uttered these words.
“Who is she,” he continued, “that I am thus begging for a bride? The daughter of one who is not even respected among his own people: the daughter of a culatta!”
I looked at Seguin. I saw his form dilating. I saw the big veins swelling along his throat. I saw gathering in his eyes that wild expression I had once before noticed. I knew that the crisis was near.
Again the eagle screamed!
“But,” proceeded the savage, seeming to draw new boldness from the signal, “I shall beg no more. I love the white maiden. She must be mine; and this very night shall she sleep – ”
He never finished the sentence. Seguin’s bullet had sped, piercing the centre of his forehead. I caught a glimpse of the red round hole, with its circle of blue powder, as the victim tell forward on his face!
All together we sprang to our feet. As one man rose hunters and Indians. As if from one throat, pealed the double shout of defiance; and, as if by one hand, knives, pistols, and tomahawks were drawn together. The next moment we closed and battled!
Oh! it was a fearful strife, as the pistols cracked, the long knives glittered, and the tomahawks swept the air; a fearful, fearful strife!
You would suppose that the first shock would have prostrated both ranks. It was not so. The early blows of a struggle like this are wild, and well parried, and human life is hard to take. What were the lives of men like these?
A few fell. Some recoiled from the collision, wounded and bleeding, but still to battle again. Some fought hand to hand; while several pairs had clutched, and were striving to fling each other in the desperate wrestle of death!
Some rushed for the door, intending to fight outside. A few got out; but the crowd pressed against it, the door closed, dead bodies fell behind it; we fought in darkness.
We had light enough for our purpose. The pistols flashed at quick intervals, displaying the horrid picture. The light gleamed upon fiend-like faces, upon red and waving weapons, upon prostrate forms of men, upon others struggling in every attitude of deadly conflict!
The yells of the Indians, and the not less savage shouts of their white foemen, had continued from the first; but the voices grew hoarser, and the shouts were changed to groans, and oaths, and short, earnest exclamations. At intervals were heard the quick percussions of blows, and the dull, sodden sound of falling bodies.
The room became filled with smoke and dust, and choking sulphur; and the combatants were half-stifled as they fought.
At the first break of the battle I had drawn my revolver, and fired it in the face of the closing foemen. I had fired shot after shot, some at random, others directed upon a victim. I had not counted the reports, until the cock “checking” on the steel nipple told me I had gone the round of the six chambers.
This had occupied but as many seconds of time. Mechanically I stuck the empty weapon behind my belt, and, guided by an impulse, made for the door. Before I could reach it, it was closed, and I saw that to get out was impossible.
I turned to search for an antagonist; I was not long in finding one. By the flash of a pistol I saw one of the Indians rushing upon me with upraised hatchet. Up to this time something had hindered me from drawing my knife. I was now too late; and, holding out my arms to catch the blow, I ducked my head towards the savage.
I felt the keen blade cutting the flesh as it glanced along my shoulder. I was but slightly wounded. He had missed his aim from my stooping so suddenly; but the impetus brought our bodies together, and the next moment we grappled.
We stumbled over a heap of rock, and for some moments struggled together upon the ground, neither able to use his weapon. Again we rose, still locked in the angry embrace; again we were falling with terrible force. Something caught us in our descent. It shook; it gave way with a crashing sound, and we fell headlong into the broad and brilliant light!
I was dazzled and blinded. I heard behind me a strange rumbling like the noise made by falling timbers; but I heeded not that: I was too busy to speculate upon causes.
The sudden shock had separated us, and both rose at the same instant, again to grapple, and again to come together to the earth. We twisted and wriggled over the ground, among weeds and thorny cacti. I was every moment growing weaker, while the sinewy savage, used to such combats, seemed to be gaining fresh nerve and breath. Thrice he had thrown me under; but each time I had clutched his right arm, and prevented the descending blow. I had succeeded in drawing my knife as we fell through the wall; but my arm was also held fast, and I was unable to use it.
As we came to the ground for the fourth time, my antagonist fell under me. A cry of agony passed from his lips; his head “coggled” over among the weeds; and he lay in my arms without struggling.
I felt his grasp gradually relaxing. I looked in his face. His eyes were glassy and upturned. Blood was gurgling through his teeth. I saw that he was dead.
To my astonishment I saw this, for I knew I had not struck him as yet. I was drawing my arm from under him to do so, when I noticed that he ceased to resist. But the knife now caught my eye. It was red, blade and haft, and so was the hand that clasped it.
As we fell I had accidentally held it point upward. My antagonist had fallen upon the blade!
I now thought of my betrothed, and, untwining myself from the lithe and nerveless limbs of the savage, I rose to my feet. The ranche was in flames!
The roof had fallen in upon the brazero, and the dry shingles had caught the blaze. Men were crawling out from the burning ruin, but not to run away. No! Under its lurking flames, amidst the hot smoke, they still battled fierce, and foaming, and frenzied.
I did not stay to recognise whom they were, these tireless combatants. I ran forward, looking on all sides for the objects of my solicitude. The wave of female dresses caught my eye, far up the cliff, on the road leading to the Navajo captives. It was they! The three were climbing the steep path, each urged onward by a savage.
My first impulse was to rush after; but at that moment fifty horsemen made their appearance upon the hill, and came galloping downward.
I saw the madness of attempting to follow them, and turned to retreat towards the other side, where we had left our captives and horses. As I ran across the bottom, shots rang in my ear, proceeding from our side of the barranca. Looking up, I descried the mounted hunters coming down at a gallop, pursued by a cloud of savage horsemen. It was the band of Dacoma!
Uncertain what to do, I stood for a moment where I was, and watched the pursuit.
The hunters, on reaching the ranches, did not halt, but galloped on down the valley, firing as they went. A body of Indians swept on after them, while another body pulled up, clustered around the blazing ruin, and commenced searching among the walls.
I was yet screened in the thicket of cacti; but I saw that my hiding-place would soon be pierced by the eyes of the subtle savages; and dropping upon my hands and knees, I crept into the cliff. On reaching it, I found myself close to the mouth of a cave, a small shaft of the mine, and into this I at once betook myself.
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.”
