The Scalp Hunters Part 48

After a short while they coil up their trail-ropes and fasten them to the rings. They look to their flints and priming, and tighten the buckles of their belts. They draw forth from their haversacks pieces of dry tasajo, eating it raw. They stand by their horses, ready to mount.

It is not yet time.

The light is gathering into the valley. The blue mist that hung over the river during the night is rising upward. We can see the town. We can trace the odd outlines of the houses. What strange structures they are!

Some of them are higher than others: one, two, four stories in height.

They are each in form like a pyramid without its apex. Each upper story is smaller than that below it, the roofs of the lower ones serving as terraces for those above. They are of a whitish yellow, the colour of the clay out of which they are built. They are without windows, but doors lead into each story from the outside; and ladders stretch from terrace to terrace, leaning against the walls. On the tops of some there are poles carrying bannerets. These are the residences of the princ.i.p.al war-chiefs and great warriors of the nation.

We can see the temple distinctly. It is like the houses in shape, but higher and of larger dimensions. There is a tall shaft rising out of its roof, and a banner with a strange device floating at its peak.

Near the houses we see corrals filled with mules and mustangs, the live-stock of the village.

The light grows stronger. Forms appear upon the roofs and move along the terraces. They are human forms enveloped in hanging garments, robe-like and striped. We recognise the Navajo blanket, with its alternate bands of black and white.

With the gla.s.s we can see these forms more distinctly; we can tell their s.e.x.

Their hair hangs loosely upon their shoulders, and far down their backs.

Most of them are females, girls and women. There are many children, too. There are men, white-haired and old. A few other men appear, but they are not warriors. The warriors are absent.

They come down the ladders, descending from terrace to terrace. They go out upon the plain, and rekindle the fires. Some carry earthen vessels, ollas, upon their heads, and pa.s.s down to the river. They go in for water. These are nearly naked. We can see their brown bodies and uncovered b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They are slaves.

See! the old men are climbing to the top of the temple. They are followed by women and children, some in white, others in bright-coloured costumes. These are girls and young lads, the children of the chiefs.

Over a hundred have climbed up. They have reached the highest root.

There is an altar near the staff. A smoke rolls up--a blaze: they have kindled a fire upon the altar.

Listen! the chant of voices, and the beat of an Indian drum!

The sounds cease, and they all stand motionless and apparently silent, facing to the east.

"What does it mean?"

"They are waiting for the sun to appear. These people worship him."

The hunters, interested and curious, strain their eyes, watching the ceremony.

The topmost pinnacle of the quartz mountain is on fire. It is the first flash of the sun!

The peak is yellowing downward. Other points catch the brilliant beams.

They have struck the faces of the devotees. See! there are white faces! One--two--many white faces, both of women and girls.

"Oh, G.o.d! grant that it may be!" cries Seguin, hurriedly putting up the gla.s.s, and raising the bugle to his lips.

A few wild notes peal over the valley. The hors.e.m.e.n hear the signal.

They debouche from the woods and the defiles of the mountains. They gallop over the plain, deploying as they go.

In a few minutes we have formed the arc of a circle, concave to the town. Our horses' heads are turned inwards, and we ride forward, closing upon the walls.

We have left the atajo in the defile; the captive chief, too, guarded by a few of the men. The notes of the bugle have summoned the attention of the inhabitants. They stand for a while in amazement, and without motion. They behold the deploying of the line. They see the hors.e.m.e.n ride inward.

Could it be a mock surprise of some friendly tribe? No. That strange voice, the bugle, is new to Indian ears; yet some of them have heard it before. They know it to be the war-trumpet of the pale-faces!

For awhile their consternation hinders them from action. They stand looking on until we are near. Then they behold pale-faces, strange armour, and horses singularly caparisoned. It is the white enemy!

They run from point to point, from street to street. Those who carry water dash down their ollas, and rush screaming to the houses. They climb to the roofs, drawing the ladders after them. Shouts are exchanged, and exclamations uttered in the voices of men, women, and children. Terror is on every face; terror displays itself in every movement.

Meanwhile our line has approached, until we are within two hundred yards of the walls. We halt for a moment. Twenty men are left as an outer guard. The rest of us, thrown into a body, ride forward, following our leader.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

ADELE.

We direct ourselves to the great building, and, surrounding it, again halt. The old men are still upon the roof, standing along the parapet.

They are frightened, and tremble like children.

"Do not fear; we are friends!" cried Seguin, speaking in a strange language, and making signs to them.

His voice is not heard amidst the shrieks and shouting that still continue.

The words are repeated, and the sign given in a more emphatic manner.

The old men crowd along the edge of the parapet. There is one among them who differs from the rest. His snow-white hair reaches below his waist. There are bright ornaments hanging from, his ears and over his breast. He is attired in white robes. He appears to be a chief; for the rest obey him. He makes a signal with his hands, and the screaming subsides. He stands forward on the parapet, as if to speak to us.

"Amigos, amigos!" (friends!) cries he, speaking in Spanish.

"Yes, yes; we are friends," replies Seguin, in the same language. "Do not fear us! We came not to harm you."

"Why harm us? We are at peace with the white pueblos to the east. We are the children of Montezuma; we are Navajoes. What want you with us?"

"We come for our relatives, your white captives. They are our wives and daughters."

"White captives! You mistake us. We have no captives. Those you seek are among the nations of the Apache, away far to the south."

"No; they are with you," replies Seguin. "I have certain information that they are here. Delay us not, then! We have come a far journey for them, and will not go without them."

The old man turns to his companions. They converse in a low voice, and exchange signs. Again he faces round to Seguin.

"Believe me, senor chief," says he, speaking with emphasis, "you have been wrongly informed. We have no white captives."

"Pish! 'Ee dod-rotted ole liar!" cries Rube, pushing out of the crowd, and raising his cat-skin cap as he speaks. "'Ee know this child, do 'ee?"

The skinless head is discovered to the gaze of the Indians. A murmur, indicative of alarm, is heard among them. The white-haired chief seems disconcerted. He knows the history of that scalp!

A murmur, too, runs through the ranks of the hunters. They had seen white faces as they rode up. The lie exasperates them, and the ominous click of rifles being c.o.c.ked is heard on all sides.

"You have spoken falsely, old man," cries Seguin. "We know you have white captives. Bring them forth, then, if you would save your own lives!"

"Quick!" shouts Garey, raising his rifle in a threatening manner; "quick! or I'll dye the flax on yer old skull."