The Scalp Hunters Part 69

Seeing this, he dropped the weapon and drew his tomahawk. We now fought hand to hand, hatchet to hatchet!

Backward and forward along the ledge we drove each other, as the advantage of the blows told in favour of either, or against him.

Several times we grappled, and would have pushed each other over; but the fear that each felt of being dragged after mutually restrained us, and we let go, and trusted again to our tomahawks.

Not a word pa.s.sed between us. We had nothing to say, even could we have understood each other. But we had no boast to make, no taunt to urge, nothing before our minds but the fixed dark purpose of murdering one another!

After the first onset the Indian had ceased yelling, and we both fought in the intense earnestness of silence.

There were sounds, though: an occasional sharp exclamation, our quick, high breathing, the clinking of our tomahawks, the neighing of our horses, and the continuous roar of the torrent. These were the symphonies of our conflict.

For some minutes we battled upon the ledge. We were both cut and bruised in several places, but neither of us had as yet received or inflicted a mortal wound.

At length, after a continuous shower of blows, I succeeded in beating my adversary back, until we found ourselves out upon the platform. There we had ample room to wind our weapons, and we struck with more energy than ever. After a few strokes, our tomahawks met, with a violent concussion, that sent them flying from our hands.

Neither dared stoop to regain his weapon; and we rushed upon each other with naked arms, clutched, wrestled a moment, and then fell together to the earth. I thought my antagonist had a knife. I must have been mistaken, otherwise he would have used it; but without it, I soon found that in this species of encounter he was my master. His muscular arms encircled me until my ribs cracked under the embrace. We rolled along the ground, over and over each other. Oh, G.o.d! we were nearing the edge of the precipice.

I could not free myself from his grasp. His sinewy fingers were across my throat. They clasped me tightly around the trachea, stopping my breath. He was strangling me.

I grew weak and nerveless. I could resist no longer. I felt my hold relax. I grew weaker and weaker. I was dying. I was--I--Oh, Heaven!

pard--on. Oh--!

I could not have been long insensible; for when consciousness returned I was still warm, sweating from the effects of the struggle, and my wounds were bleeding freshly and freely. I felt that I yet lived. I saw that I was still upon the platform; but where was my antagonist? Why had not he finished me? Why had not he flung me over the cliff?

I rose upon my elbow and looked around. I could see no living things but my own horse and that of the Indian galloping over the platform, kicking and plunging at each other.

But I heard sounds, sounds of fearful import, like the hoa.r.s.e, angry worrying of dogs, mingling with the cries of a human voice--a voice uttered in agony!

What could it mean? I saw that there was a break in the platform, a deep cut in the rock; and out of this the sounds appeared to issue.

I rose to my feet, and, tottering towards the spot, looked in. It was an awful sight to look upon. The gully was some ten feet in depth; and at its bottom, among the weeds and cacti, a huge dog was engaged in tearing something that screamed and struggled. It was a man, an Indian.

All was explained at a glance. The dog was Alp; the man was my late antagonist!

As I came upon the edge, the dog was on the top of his adversary, and kept himself uppermost by desperate bounds from side to side, still dashing the other back as he attempted to rise to his feet. The savage was crying in despair. I thought I saw the teeth of the animal fast in his throat, but I watched the struggle no longer. Voices from behind caused me to turn round. My pursuers had reached the canon, and were urging their animals along the ledge.

I staggered to my horse, and, springing upon his back, once more directed him to the terrace--that part which led outward. In a few minutes I had cleared the cliff and was hurrying down the mountain. As I approached its foot I heard a rustling in the bushes that on both sides lined the path. Then an object sprang out a short distance behind me. It was the Saint Bernard.

As he came alongside he uttered a low whimper and once or twice wagged his tail. I knew not how he could have escaped, for he must have waited until the Indians reached the platform; but the fresh blood that stained his jaws, and clotted the s.h.a.ggy hair upon his breast, showed that he had left one with but little power to detain him.

On reaching the plain I looked back. I saw my pursuers coming down the face of the sierra; but I had still nearly half a mile of start, and, taking the snowy mountain for my guide, I struck out into the open prairie.

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

AN UNEXPECTED RENCONTRE.

As I rode off from the mountain foot, the white peak glistened at a distance of thirty miles. There was not a hillock between: not a brake or bush, excepting the low shrubs of the artemisia.

It was not yet noon. Could I reach the snowy mountain before sunset?

If so, I trusted in being able to follow our old trail to the mine.

Thence, I might keep on to the Del Norte, by striking a branch of the Paloma or some other lateral stream. Such were my plans, undefined as I rode forth.

I knew that I should be pursued almost to the gates of El Paso; and, when I had ridden forward about a mile, a glance to the rear showed me that the Indians had just reached the plain, and were striking out after me.

It was no longer a question of speed. I knew that I had the heels of their whole cavalcade. Did my horse possess the "bottom"?

I knew the tireless, wiry nature of the Spanish mustang; and their animals were of that race. I knew they could gallop for a long day without breaking down, and this led me to fear for the result.

Speed was nothing now, and I made no attempt to keep it up. I was determined to economise the strength of my steed. I could not be overtaken so long as he lasted; and I galloped slowly forward, watching the movements of my pursuers, and keeping a regular distance ahead of them.

At times I dismounted to relieve my horse, and ran alongside of him. My dog followed, occasionally looking up in my face, and seemingly conscious why I was making such a hurried journey.

During all the day I was never out of sight of the Indians; in fact, I could have distinguished their arms and counted their numbers at any time. There were in all about a score of hors.e.m.e.n. The stragglers had gone back, and only the well-mounted men now continued the pursuit.

As I neared the foot of the snowy peak, I remembered there was water at our old camping-ground in the pa.s.s; and I pushed my horse faster, in order to gain time to refresh both him and myself. I intended to make a short halt, and allow the n.o.ble brute to breathe himself and s.n.a.t.c.h a bite of the bunch-gra.s.s that grew around the spring. There was nothing to fear so long as his strength held out, and I knew that this was the plan to sustain it.

It was near sundown as I entered the defile. Before riding in among the rocks I looked back. During the last hour I had gained upon my pursuers. They were still at least three miles out upon the plain, and I saw that they were toiling on wearily.

I fell into a train of reflection as I rode down the ravine. I was now upon a known trail. My spirits rose; my hopes, so long clouded over, began to a.s.sume a brightness and buoyancy, greater from the very influence of reaction. I should still be able to rescue my betrothed.

My whole energies, my fortune, my life, would be devoted to this one object. I would raise a band stronger than ever Seguin had commanded.

I should get followers among the returning employes of the caravan; teamsters whose term of service had expired. I would search the posts and mountain rendezvous for trappers and hunters. I would apply to the Mexican Government for aid, in money--in troops. I would appeal to the citizens of El Paso, of Chihuahua, of Durango.

"Ge-hosaphat! Hyur's a fellur ridin' 'ithout eyther saddle or bridle!"

Five or six men with rifles sprang out from the rocks, surrounding me.

"May an Injun eat me ef 'tain't the young fellur as tuk me for a grizzly! Billee! look hyur! hyur he is! the very fellur! He! he! he!

He! he! he!"

"Rube! Garey!"

"What! By Jove, it's my friend Haller! Hurrah! Old fellow, don't you know me?"

"Saint Vrain!"

"That it is. Don't I look like him? It would have been a harder task to identify you but for what the old trapper has been telling us about you. But come! how have you got out of the hands of the Philistines?"

"First tell me who you all are. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, we're a picket! The army is below."

"The army?"

"Why, we call it so. There's six hundred of us; and that's about as big an army as usually travels in these parts."

"But who? What are they?"