The Scalp Hunters Part 58

"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 antic.i.p.ation 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 cl.u.s.tered 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 pa.s.sed 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 ma.s.sacred; 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."