Майн Рид
The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

Chapter Sixty Five
A Sharp Shot

Slender as appeared the prospect of my being freed from my fastenings, by the method proposed, I was not without some faith in Sure-shot being able to cut the thong. His skill in the use of the rifle was notorious even among good marksmen – and his aim believed to be unerring. I had known him to bring down with his bullet a bird upon the wing; and had heard him declare that it was not by the eye but by the mind that he did it. In other words: he meant, that his skill was not mechanical; but that he was guided in the act by some mental operation – which he himself but imperfectly understood. I could believe this the more readily – since Sure-shot was not the only marksman I had known possessed of this peculiar power. A something inexplicable, which may be classed with the mysterious phenomena of clairvoyance and “horse-whispering.”

With such belief in his skill, therefore, I was not without some hope that he might succeed in his design; and, to give him the chance he desired, I made a violent effort, and wrenched my arm downward. It was, to all appearance, a demonstration of my wrath, at what the pseudo-renegade had been saying to me; and it seemed to be thus interpreted by most of the savages who stood around him. The words of Sure-shot, spoken in English, were of course unintelligible to them; but, notwithstanding the inappropriate gestures which he had made use of, the suspicions of one were aroused. This was Red-Hand himself.

“What says he of the yellow scalp-lock to the captive?” inquired the chief in Spanish. “Let him take heed, or he too shall become a shooting-mark for the Arapaho warriors!”

Sure-shot’s reply was characteristic. It was also in broken Spanish, which the ranger had picked up during our campaign, on the Rio Grande. Translated, it ran thus: “I’m only telling him how I’m about to get square with him. Carrambo! great chief! when I was a soldier in the army, yon fellow was my capitano, and gave me a flogging. Believe me, chief, I’m right glad of this opportunity to have revenge on him. That’s what I have been saying to him.”

“Ugh!” grunted the savage, apparently satisfied with the explanation.

“Neow, capting!” angrily shouted the rifleman, once more raising his piece to the level, “look e’ out! Don’t be skeert abeout my hittin’ o’ ye! The whang lies well ageen the bit o’ timber. The ball’s a big un. I recking I kin bark it anyheow. Heer’s to try!”

A tall yellow-haired man standing with a rifle to his shoulder – his sallow cheek resting against the stock – the barrel apparently aligned upon my body – the quick detonation of a percussion-cap – a stream of red fire and smoke from the muzzle – a shock, followed by the quivering of the timbers to which I was tied, were perceptions and sensations of almost simultaneous occurrence. Twisting my head, and turning my eyes almost out of their sockets, I was able to note the effect of the shot. The thong had been hit, just at the point where it doubled over the edge of the wood. It was cut more than half through! By raising my elbow to its original position, and using it as a lever, I could tear apart the crushed fibres. I saw this; but in the anticipation of a visit from the marker, I prudently preserved my attitude of immobility. In a moment after, the grinning savage came gliding in front of me; and, perceiving the track of the bullet, pointed it out to those upon the plain. I was in a feverish state of suspense lest he might suspect design; but was relieved on seeing him step aside – while the shuffling grating noise from behind admonished me, that he was once more letting himself down over the edge of the platform.

The crowd had already closed around Sure-shot, who appeared to be expostulating with the chief – as if offering some explanation of his failure. I did not wait to witness the dénouement. Raising my elbow, and giving my arm a quick jerk, I heard the thong snapping asunder; and saw the broken ends spring out from their folds. Another wrench set my right arm free; and then, clutching the loosened coils, I unwound them with as much rapidity, as if I had been freeing myself from the embrace of a serpent! Not one of the Indians saw what I was about, till after I had undone my fastenings. Their eyes had been turned upon Sure-shot – with whom they appeared to be engaged in some angry altercation. It was only after I had sprung to one side, and stood clear of the crucifix, that I heard their ejaculations of astonishment, followed by a wild continuous yelling.

I stayed not to note what they were doing. I merely glanced towards them, as I turned away; and perceived that they were still fixed to their places, as if petrified by surprise! The moments were precious; and, bounding across the platform, I leaped down upon the opposite side.

There was a little shelf about six feet below the summit. I found it occupied by the indigenous artist. He was seated upon the edge, with his legs hanging over. His back was towards me; and he was only apprised of what had transpired by seeing me as I sprang to his side. He had already heard the yells from the other side; and was about to get to his feet, at the moment I dropped down behind him. He was too late for the accomplishment of his purpose. I saw that he was unarmed; but was apprehensive that by flinging himself upon me, he might hold or delay me. I hesitated not as to what I should do. Bushing forward, I planted my foot against his shoulder, and giving his body a violent impulsion, projected it clear over the edge. I saw it striking upon the angular prisms, and bounding from block to block – till it sunk out of sight amidst the tortuous branches of the cedars. I ran down the sloping path – taking many yards at a step.

Not far off, was my horse – with that of Wingrove, and the mules. They formed a little group – but no longer under charge of a guard: for the latter had just left them, and was running forward to intercept me. I saw that he had a weapon in his hand. It was a gun. He was pointing it upon me as he ran – endeavouring to take aim before firing. I heeded not the threatening attitude, but rushed straight towards him. I could not go round him: since he was between me and the horses. We both ran, as if to meet one another. When less than five paces separated us, the Indian stopped, sighted me and pulled trigger. His gun snapped! Before he could lower the piece, I had clutched the barrel: and, with a desperate effort, wrenched the weapon from his grasp. I made a feint to strike him over the head. He threw up his arms to ward off the blow. Instead of using the gun as a club, I thrust him with the butt right under the ribs; and stretched him gasping upon the grass. He fell, as if shot through the head! Still holding on to the gun – which, by a strange accident, proved to be my own rifle – I ran up to my horse. The creature welcomed me with a neigh of joy! It was but the work of a moment to draw the picket-pin, gather up the laryette, and spring to his back. Once there, I felt that I was free!

The Indians came screaming around the butte – most of them afoot, and with no other weapons than the empty muskets. A few, more prudent than their fellows, had made towards their arms and horses; but, both being at a distance, they had not yet reached them; and the advantage was mine. I was no longer hurried in my actions – not even afraid. I had no apprehension of being retaken. On the back of my brave steed, I felt like an ocean cast-away, who has climbed up the sides of a strong ship, and once more stands safely upon deck! I felt confident that from my pursuers, I could gallop away at will; and, after taking time to adjust my laryette as a halter, I gave the head to my horse, and rode off. My Arab needed no urging. Up the valley went he, like a bird upon the wing. I could laugh to scorn the savage pack that came hallooing behind me.

Chapter Sixty Six
The Chase and the Syncope

I made direct for the cañon whence issued the stream. Its gap grew wider as I approached it – though still appearing only a dark cleft between the rocks, like the entrance to some subterranean passage. I looked forward to it with satisfaction. Its shadowy chasm promised shelter and concealment. When near the entrance of the gorge, I passed the ground where the waggon had been captured. Part of its load – barrels and heavy boxes – were lying upon the sward. They were all broken, and rifled of their contents. The plunder had been carried to the butte. The dead bodies were still there – only those of the white men. I even halted to examine them. They were all stripped of their clothing – all scalped, and otherwise mutilated. The faces of all were blood-bedaubed. Under the red mask I could not have recognised them – even had they been the faces of old friends! There were six of them. Divested of their garments, I could form no conjecture as to who or what they had been – whether teamsters or emigrants, gold-seekers or soldiers. The Mormon could not have been among them: the bodies were all too stout for his; while, on the other hand, there was none of them that could have been mistaken for that of the squatter, Holt. I turned away from the sickening sight, and continued my gallop.

My pursuers were a good mile behind me. The sun had already sunk over the crest of the cliffs, and I could just see the mounted savages through the darkling gloom – still fallowing as fast as their horses could gallop. In five minutes after, I had entered the gorge. The twilight continued no longer: in the cañon it was night. I followed the stream upwards, keeping along near the bank. Thick darkness was over and around me; but the gleam of the water and its rippling sound served to guide me on the path. I could not see any track – either of horses or waggons – but I knew they had passed over the ground. There was a narrow strip of bottom land thickly timbered; and an opening through the trees indicated the road that the waggons must have taken. I trusted the trail to my horse. In addition to his keen instinct, he had been trained to tracking; and with his muzzle projected forward and downward – so that his lips almost touched the earth – he lifted the scent like a hound. We could only make progress at a quick walk; but I consoled myself with the thought that my pursuers could go no faster. Seeing how easily I had ridden away from them, they might determine to abandon the pursuit – returning to revenge themselves upon my fellow-captives.

About these my mind was filled with, bitter reflections; and strange enough, my strongest sympathies were with. Sure-shot! I could not help thinking that he had sacrificed himself to save me. There could be no doubt of his having done so. He had been offered life, on some traitorous condition, and could have lived. The Indian whom I had hurled over the rocks, if still alive, would explain my escape. The cunning savages would easily understand it. My brave comrade would take my place upon the crucifix?

For Wingrove I had less fear. Surely love – even slighted love – would save him from the sacrifice? Yet, after what had occurred, I had but little reason to hope even for him. I could think of but one chance of rescuing them: to overtake the train, and prevail upon the escort to return. I wondered at the dragoons having abandoned the waggon, and left the poor fellows who were with it to their fate! I could only explain such conduct, by supposing that these had been far behind, and that their disaster was still unknown to the people of the caravan. The six men who had fallen might have been the only ones along with the waggon; and their firing, as they defended themselves, might not have been heard? The roar of the water in the cañon might have drowned the reports of their guns; and, as I now listened to its deafening sound, I could believe in this hypothesis.

Indulging in such conjectures, I had groped my way some two or three miles up the gorge, when I became sensible of a singular faintness stealing over me. A chill crept through my frame – not like that produced by cold from without; but as if the blood was freezing in my veins! The feeling was accompanied by a sense of torpor and lassitude – like that experienced by one dropping to sleep in a snow-storm. I made an effort to rouse myself – thinking it was sleep that was oppressing me. It might well have been – since it was more than thirty hours since I had slept, and then only for a short while. It occurred to me that, by dismounting and walking for a distance, I might recover warmth and wakefulness. With this design, I alighted from my horse. Once upon the ground, I discovered that I could not walk – that I could not even keep my feet! My limbs tottered under me, as if I had been for months bed-rid. Only by holding on to my horse could I stand erect! What could it mean? My Arab turned his face towards me, as if making the same inquiry! I endeavoured to remount him, but could not. I was unable even to clamber upon his back; and after an unsuccessful effort, desisted – still supporting myself against his body. Had he moved away, at the moment, I should have fallen. And I must have fallen – after my senses left me. In the last gleam of consciousness, I remembered standing by the side of my horse. But I must have fallen: for when thought returned, I found myself upon my back, stretched at full length along the grass!

Chapter Sixty Seven
Passed by the Pursuit

I must have fallen upon my back, or else turned upon it after falling. On opening my eyes, the sky was the first object that my glance encountered. I saw only a strip of it, of dark-blue colour, bordered on each side by black. I knew it was the sky by its twinkling stars; and that the black borderings were the cliffs of the cañon. By this I remembered where I was, and the stars and darkness admonished me it was still night. There was hot air upon my face – as if some one was behind breathing down upon me. I turned my head, and looked upward. A pair of brilliant eyes were glancing into mine. So confused were my senses, that it was some time before I made them out to be the eyes of my Arab. He was standing over me, with his muzzle close to my forehead. It was his breath I had felt upon my face. I could not tell how long I had been entranced. I had no clue to the time of night, and I was not in a position to consult the stars. I must have lain several hours, partly in syncope, and partly asleep. It was fortunate I had a buffalo-robe around my body. I had found it lying upon the plain among the dead men; and had snatched it up, and tied it around my shoulders as I rode on. But for it, I might have perished in my slumber: since the night was chill, and I had neither covering on my back, nor blood in my veins, to resist the cold. It was the absence of the latter that had brought me to the ground. I had left most of my blood upon the butte.

Sleep or time had revived me. I was able to get to my feet; and I arose. I was still weak, and staggered like a lamb; but my senses were sufficiently clear; and I now recollected everything that had transpired. I was also conscious of the danger of remaining in that place; and it was this thought that induced me to get up – with the intention of going forward.

I was strong enough to mount, and just strong enough to keep the seat upon my horse; but I was aware of the necessity of putting a wider distance between myself and the Red-Hand before daylight should arrive; and I continued onward up the ravine. The trace was easily followed – more easily than when I first entered the cañon. There was more light; and this must have been caused by a moon. I could see none – the cliffs hindered me – but the strip of sky visible above the rocks showed the sheen of moonlight.

I rode but slowly. Feeble though I was, I could have ridden faster, but I was proceeding with caution. Strange as it may seem, I was now paying more regard to the front than the rear. I had a suspicion that my pursuers might be ahead of me. I could hardly believe in their having abandoned the pursuit, after so slight an effort. Too many of them had fallen by my hand. They would scarce let me escape so easily, and with my scalp untaken: I had ascertained that the trophy was still upon my head. It was quite possible they had passed me. While endeavouring to mount my horse, I had drawn him from the path; and the place where I had found myself lying was behind some bushes, where I should have been screened from the eyes of any one riding along the track. In daylight I might have been seen; but not then. At that hour the darkness would have concealed me. And it had concealed me, as I soon after discovered. My suspicion that the pursuers had passed me proved the means of saving me. But for the caution it had prompted me to observe, I should have ridden head to head against their horses! I had proceeded about a mile further, and was still advancing when my steed raised his head horizontally, and gave utterance to a low snort. At the same instant, he stopped without any tightening of the rein! Above the sough of the stream, I heard noises. The intonation of the red man’s voice was easily recognised. There were Indians in front of me! Were they coming or going? The voices grew louder as I listened – the speakers were nearing me.

My first thought was to glide behind the trees; but a glance showed me that these were not tall enough. They were mere bushes. They might have concealed the body of a man; but a horse standing up could not have been hidden behind them. For a moment I was undecided as to how I should act – till I bethought me of turning, and riding back to where I had lain. I was in the act of facing about, when through the sombre light I observed a break in the cliff. It appeared to be a gap – the entrance of a lateral ravine. It offered a chance of concealment: since it was even darker than within the cañon itself. I hesitated not about accepting the shelter it promised; and, heading my horse into it, I rode rapidly but silently forward.

When fairly concealed under its shadowy gloom, I again halted and listened. I heard the hoof-strokes of horses and the voices of men. I recognised the deep guttural of the Arapahoes. A troop was riding past, going back towards the valley. They were those who had pursued me. Were these all of my pursuers. There appeared to be only a small party – ten or a dozen horsemen. Others might have gone up the river, who had not yet returned. It was this doubt that caused me to hesitate; otherwise I should have ridden back into the cañon, and kept on up the stream. But by doing so I might place myself between two parties of my pursuers, with no chance of retreating in either direction. Moreover, pickets might have been stationed along the path. To fall upon one of these would be fatal. Why not follow the lateral ravine? I might ride up that for a distance, and then leaving it, cross over to the caravan trace – above any point to which the pursuit might have been carried?

This plan appeared feasible; and, without delay, I adopted it. I rode on up the gorge, which very much resembled that I had left – only that there was no water in it. It had not been always so: for my path here and there ran over a channel of rocks, which indicated the bed of a stream, now dry. I followed the ravine for a mile or more; and then looked for a path that would take me across to the caravan trail. I looked in vain. Stupendous cliffs rose on each side. I could not scale them. I had no choice but to keep on up the ravine; but that would be going at right angles to my proper course!

There was no alternative but to halt and wait for daylight. Indeed, I was too faint to ride further. Slight exertion fatigued me; and, no longer in dread of immediate danger I deemed it more prudent to stop, and, if possible, gain strength by rest. I dismounted, gave my horse to the grass; and, having wrapped myself in the warm robe, soon entered upon the enjoyment of sleep – sweeter and more natural than the involuntary slumber in which I had been lately indulging.