The Wild Huntress Part 26

As Wingrove came up to the fire, I noticed a singular expression upon his countenance. Instead of being rejoiced at his success, his looks betrayed anxiety! I questioned him as to the cause. He did not answer directly; but, drawing me to one side, inquired in a whisper, if I had seen any one in his absence.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"If it wan't altogether unpossible, I'd swar I seed that girl."

"What girl?"

I trembled, as I put the question: I was thinking of Lilian.

"That darnationed devil of a Chicasaw."

"What! Su-wa-nee?"

"Yes--Su-wa-nee."

"Oh--that cannot be? It could not be her?"

"So I'd a thort myself; but darn me, capt'n! if I kin b'lieve it wa'nt her. What I seed war as like her as two eggs."

"What did you see?"

"Why, jest arter I'd killed the goat, an' war heisting it on my shoulders, I spied a Injun glidin' into the bushes. I seed it war a squaw; an' jest the picter o' the Chicasaw. She 'peared as ef she hed kim right from hyar, an' I thort you must a seed her."

"Did you get sight of her face?"

"No, her back war torst me, an' she kep on 'ithout turnin' or stoppin' a minnit. 'Twar the very duds that girl used to wear, an' her bulk to an inch. It kudn't a been liker her. Darn me, ef 'twan't eyther her or her ghost!"

"It is very improbable that it could have been either?"

I did not for a moment entertain the idea that it was the Chicasaw he had seen; and yet my comrade was fully impressed with the belief, and reiterated the a.s.sertion that he had either seen Su-wa-nee or her "shadder." Though the thing was improbable, it was not beyond possibility. We knew that there were Indians travelling with the train: we had heard so before starting out. But what likelihood was there of Su-wa-nee being among them? Certainly not much. That there were prairie Indians around us, was probable enough. We had already observed their traces upon the ground of the deserted camp. The "squaw" seen by Wingrove might be one of these.

Whether or not, her presence proved the proximity of red-skins; and the knowledge of having such dangerous neighbours, summoned us to a fresh exercise of vigilance and caution. Our fire was instantly extinguished; and, contenting ourselves with a morsel of the half-broiled buffalo-beef, we moved to some distance from the spot, before proceeding, to cook the antelope. A dark covert in the thick woods offered us a more secure kitchen. There we rekindled our fire--and roasting the ribs of the p.r.o.ng-horn, refreshed ourselves with an ample meal. After an hour's repose, we resumed our journey--in confident expectation, that before sunset we should get within sight of the caravan.

CHAPTER FIFTY.

UP THE CANON.

We had not ridden far from our halting-place, when we arrived at the end of the great cotton-wood forest. Beyond that, the trace led over open ground--here and there dotted by groves and "islands" of timber.

Through these we threaded our way--keeping as much as possible among the trees. Further on, we came upon a gorge--one of the noted _canons_ through which the Huerfano runs. Here the river sweeps down a narrow channel, with rocky banks that rise on each side into precipitous cliffs of stupendous height.

To avoid this gorge--impa.s.sable for wheeled vehicles--the waggon-trace, below its entrance, turns off to the right; and we perceived that the caravan had taken that direction. To get round the heads of the transverse ravines, that run into the _canon_, a detour must be made of not less than ten miles in length. Beyond the canon--the trace once more returns to the stream.

The notes of a military reconnoissance had forewarned me of this deviation; and, furthermore, that the trace pa.s.ses over a ridge altogether dest.i.tute of timber. To follow it, therefore, in the broad light of day, would expose our little party to view. If hostile Indians should be hanging after the caravan, they would be sure to see us, and equally certain to make an attack upon us; and from the traces we had noticed at the night-camp--to say nothing of what Wingrove had seen--we knew there were Indians in the valley. They might not be hostile; but the chances were ten to one that they were; and, under this supposition, it would be imprudent in us to risk crossing the ridge before nightfall.

There were two alternatives: to remain under the timber till after sunset, and then proceed by night; or to push on into the canon, and endeavour to make our way along the bed of the stream. So far as we knew, the path was an untried one; but it might be practicable for horses. We were now on the most dangerous ground we had yet trodden-- the highway of several hostile tribes, and their favourite _tenting-place_, when going to, or returning from, their forays against the half-civilised settlements of New Mexico.

The proximity of the caravan--which we calculated to be about ten miles ahead of us--only increased our risk. There was but little danger of the Indians attacking that: the train was too strong, even without the escort. But the probability was, that a band of Indian horse-thieves would be skulking on its skirts--not to make an attack upon the caravan itself but as wolves after a gang of buffalo, to sacrifice the stragglers. Unless when irritated by some hostile demonstration, these robbers confine themselves to plundering: but in the case of some, murder is the usual concomitant of plunder.

The delay of another night was disheartening to all of us--but especially so to myself, for reasons already known. If we should succeed in pa.s.sing through the canon, perhaps on the other side we might come in sight of the caravan? Cheered on by this prospect, we hesitated no longer; but hastening forward, entered between the jaws of the defile. A fearful chasm it was--the rocky walls rising perpendicularly to the height of many hundreds of feet--presenting a grim _facade_ on each side of us. The sky above appeared a mere strip of blue; and we were surrounded by a gloom deeper than that of twilight. The torrent roared and foamed at our feet; and the trail at times traversed through the water.

There _was_ a trail, as we soon perceived; and, what was more significant, one that had recently been travelled! Horses had been over it; and in several places the rocky pebbles, that should otherwise have been dry, were wet by the water that had dripped from their fetlocks. A large troop of horses must have pa.s.sed just before us. Had the dragoon escort gone that way? More likely a party of mounted travellers belonging to the train? And yet this did not strike us as being likely.

We were soon convinced that such was not the case. On riding forward, we came upon a mud-deposit--at the mouth of one of the transverse ravines--over which led the trail. The mud exhibited the _tracks_ distinctly and in a more significant light--they were _hoof-tracks_! We saw that more than a hundred horses had pa.s.sed up the defile; and not one _shod_ animal among them! This fact was very significant. They could not have been troop-horses? Nor yet those of white men? If ridden, they must have been ridden by Indians? It did not follow that they were ridden. We were travelling through a region frequented by the _mustang_. Droves had been seen upon our route, at great distances off: for these are the shyest and wildest of all animals. A _caballada_ may have pa.s.sed through the gorge, on their way to the upper valley? There was nothing improbable in this. Although the plains are the favourite habitat of the horse, the _mustang_ of Spanish America is half a mountain animal; and often penetrates the most difficult pa.s.ses-- climbing the declivities with hoof as sure as that of a chamois.

Had these horses been ridden? That was the point to be determined, and how? The sign was not very intelligible, but sufficiently so for our purpose. The little belt of mud-deposit was only disturbed by a single line of tracts--crossing it directly from side to side. The animals had traversed it in single file. Wild horses would have _crowded over it_-- some of them at least kicking out to one side or the other? This I myself knew. The reasoning appeared conclusive. We had no longer a doubt that a large party of Indians had gone up the gorge before us, and not very long before us.

It now became a question of advance or retreat. To halt within the defile--even had a halting-place offered--would have been perilous above all things. There was no spot, where we could conceal either ourselves or our animals. The mounted Indians might be returning down again; and, finding us in such a snug trap, would have us at their mercy? We did not think, therefore, of staying where we were. To go back was too discouraging. We were already half through the canon, and had ridden over a most difficult path--often fording the stream at great risk, and climbing over boulders of rock, that imperilled the necks, both of ourselves and our animals. We determined to keep on.

We were in hopes that the Indians had by this time pa.s.sed clear through the gorge, and ridden out into the valley above. In that case there would be no great risk in our proceeding to the upper end. Our expectations did not deceive us. We reached the mouth of the chasm-- without having seen other signs of those who had proceeded us, than the tracks of their horses.

We had heard sounds, however, that had given us some apprehension--the reports of guns--not as during the early part of the day, in single shots, but in half-dozens at a time, and once or twice in large volleys--as if of a scattering _fusillade_! The sounds came from the direction of the upper valley; and were but faintly heard--so faintly that we were in doubt, as to whether they were the reports of fire-arms.

The grumbling and rushing of the river hindered us from hearing them more distinctly. But for the presence of Indians in the valley--about which we were quite certain--we should perhaps not have noticed the sounds, or else have taken them for something else. Perhaps we might have conjectured, that a gang of buffaloes had pa.s.sed near the train-- leading to a brisk emptying of rifles. But the presence of the Indians rendered this hypothesis less probable.

We still continued to observe caution. Before emerging from the defile, we halted near its entrance--Wingrove and myself stealing forward to reconnoitre. An elevated post--which we obtained upon a shelf of the rock--gave us a commanding prospect of the upper valley. The sight restored our confidence: _the caravan was in view_!

CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

THE ORPHAN b.u.t.tE.

The landscape over which we were looking was one that has long been celebrated, in the legends of trapper and _cibolero_, and certainly no lovelier is to be met with in the midland regions of America. Though new to my eyes, I recognised it from the descriptions I had read and heard of it. There was an idiosyncrasy in its features--especially in that lone mound rising conspicuously in its midst--which at once proclaimed it the valley of the _Huerfano_. There stood the "Orphan b.u.t.te." There was no mistaking its ident.i.ty.

This valley, or, more properly, _valle_--a word of very different signification--is in reality a level plain, flanked on each side by a continuous line of bluffs or "benches"--themselves forming the abutments of a still higher plain, which const.i.tutes the general level of the country. The width between the bluffs is five or six miles; but, at the distance of some ten miles from our point of view, the cliffs converge-- apparently closing in the valley in that direction. This, however, is only apparent. Above the b.u.t.te is another deep canon, through which the river has cleft its way. The intervening s.p.a.ce is a picture fair to behold. The surface, level as a billiard-table, is covered with _gramma_ gra.s.s, of a bright, almost emerald verdure. The uniformity of this colour is relieved by cotton-wood copses, whose foliage is but one shade darker. Commingling with these, and again slightly darkening the hue of the frondage, are other trees, with a variety of shrubs or climbing-plants--as clematis, wild roses, and willows. Here and there, a n.o.ble poplar stands apart--as if disdaining to a.s.sociate with the more lowly growth of the groves.

These "topes" are of varied forms: some rounded, some oval, and others of more irregular shape. Many of them appear as if planted by the hands of the landscape-gardener; while the Huerfano, winding through their midst, could not have been more gracefully guided, had it been specially designed for an "ornamental water."

The b.u.t.te itself, rising in the centre of the plain, and towering nearly two hundred feet above the general level, has all the semblance of an artificial work--not of human hands, but a cairn constructed by giants.

Just such does it appear--a vast pyramidal cone, composed of huge prismatic blocks of granite, black almost as a coal--the dark colour being occasioned by an iron admixture in the rock. For two-thirds of its slope, a thick growth of cedar covers the mound with a skirting of darkest green. Above this appear the dark naked prisms--piled one upon the other, in a sort of irregular crystallisation, and ending in a summit slightly truncated. Detached boulders lie around its base, huge pieces that having yielded to the disintegrating influences of rain and wind, had lost their balance, and rolled down the declivity of its sides. No other similar elevation is near--the distant bluffs alone equalling it in height. But there the resemblance ends; for the latter are a formation of stratified sandstone, while the rocks composing the b.u.t.te are purely granitic! Even in a geological point of view, is the Orphan b.u.t.te isolated from all the world. In a double sense, does it merit its distinctive t.i.tle.

Singular is the picture formed by this lone mound, and the park-like scene that surrounds it--a picture rare as fair. Its very framing is peculiar. The bench of light-reddish sandstone sharply outlined on each edge--the bright green of the sward along its base--and the dark belt of cedars cresting its summit, form, as it were, a double moulding to the frame. Over this can be distinguished the severer outlines of the great Cordilleras; above them, again, the twin cones of the Wa-to-yah; and grandly towering over all, the sharp sky-piercing summit of Pike's Peak.

All these forms gleaming in the full light of a noonday sun, with a heaven above them of deep ethereal blue, present a picture that for grandeur and sublimity is not surpa.s.sed upon the earth.

A long while could we have gazed upon it; but an object, that came at once under our eyes, turned our thoughts into a far different channel.

Away up the valley, at its furthest end, appeared a small white spot-- little bigger to our view than the disc of an archer's target. It was of an irregular roundish form; and on both sides of it were other, shapes--smaller and of darker hue. We had no difficulty in making out what these appearances were: the white object was the tilt of a waggon: the dark forms around it were those of men--mounted and afoot! It must have been the last waggon of the train: since no other could be seen; and as it appeared at the very end of the valley--in the angle formed by the convergence of the cliffs--we concluded that there the canon opened into which the rest had entered. Whether the waggon seen was moving onward, we did not stay to determine. The caravan was in sight; and this, acting upon us like an electric influence, impelled us to hasten forward.

Calling to our companions to advance, we remounted our horses, rode out of the gorge, and kept on up the valley. We no longer observed the slightest caution. The caravan was before our eyes; and there could be no doubt that, in a couple of hours, we should be able to come up with it. As to danger, we no longer thought of such a thing. Indians would scarcely be so daring as to a.s.sail us within sight of the train? Had it been night, we might have reasoned differently; but, under the broad light of day, we could not imagine there was the slightest prospect of danger. We resolved, therefore, to ride direct for the waggons, without making halt.

Yes--one halt was to be made. I had promised the _ci-devant_ soldiers to make _civilians_ of them before bringing them face to face with the escort; and this was to be accomplished by means of some spare wardrobe which Wingrove and I chanced to have among our packs. The place fixed upon as the scene of the metamorphosis was the b.u.t.te--which lay directly on our route. As we rode forward, I was gratified at perceiving that the waggon still remained in sight. If it was moving on, it had not yet reached the head of the valley. Perhaps it had stopped to receive some repairs? So much the better: we should the sooner overtake it.

On arriving at the b.u.t.te, the white canvas was still visible; though from our low position on the plain, only the top of the tilt could be seen. While Wingrove was unpacking our spare garments, I dismounted, and climbed to the summit of the mound--in order to obtain a better view. I had no difficulty in getting up--for, strange to say, a trail runs over the Orphan b.u.t.te, from south-east to north-west, regularly aligned with Pike's Peak in the latter direction, and with _Spanish Peaks_ in the former! But this alignment was not the circ.u.mstance that struck me as singular. A far more curious phenomenon came under my observation. The path leading to the summit was entirely clear of the granite blocks that everywhere else covered the declivities of the mound. Between these it pa.s.sed like a narrow lane, the huge prisms rising on each side of it, piled up in a regular trap-like formation, as if placed there by the hand of man! The latter hypothesis was out of the question. Many of the blocks were a dozen feet in diameter, and tons in weight. t.i.tans alone could have lifted them! The summit itself was a table of some twenty by forty feet in superficial extent, and seamed by several fissures. Only by following the path could the summit be reached without great difficulty. The loose boulders rested upon one another, in such fashion, that even the most expert climber would have found difficulty in scaling them; and the stunted spreading cedars that grew between their clefts, combined in forming a _chevaux de frise_ almost impenetrable.

I was not permitted to dwell long on the contemplation of this geological phenomenon. On reaching the summit, and directing my telescope up the valley, I obtained a tableau in its field of vision that almost caused me to drop the gla.s.s out of my fingers! The whole waggon was in view down to its wheel-tracks; and the dark forms were still around it. Some were afoot, others on horseback--while a few appeared to be lying flat along the sward. Whoever these last may have been, I saw at the first glance what the others were. The bronzed skins of naked bodies--the ma.s.ses of long sweeping hair--the plumed crests and floating drapery--were perfectly apparent in the gla.s.s--and all indicating a truth of terrible significance that the forms thus seen were those of savage men! Yes: both they on horseback and afoot were Indians beyond a doubt. And those horizontally extended? They were _white_ men--the owners of the waggons? This truth flashed on me, as I beheld a fearful object--a body lying head towards me, with its crown of mottled red and white, gleaming significantly through the gla.s.s. I had no doubt as to the nature of the object: it was a scalpless skull!

CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.