The Wild Huntress Part 30

And where am I in this stringent att.i.tude? I am conscious that I am a captive and bound--a captive to Indians--to Arapahoes. Memory helps me to this knowledge; and furthermore, that I should be, if I have not been carried elsewhere, in the valley of the Huerfano--by the Orphan b.u.t.te.

Ha! why should I not be _upon_ the b.u.t.te--on its summit? I remember going down to the plain; and there being struck senseless to the earth.

For all that, I may have been brought up again. The savages may have borne me back to satisfy some whim? They often act in such strange fashion with, their vanquished victims. I must be on some eminence: since I cannot see the earth before me? In all likelihood, I am on the top of the mound. This will account for my not having a view of the ground. It will also explain the direction in which the voices are reaching me. Those who utter them are below upon the plain?

The death-song ceases: and sounds of other import are borne upward to my ears. I hear shouts that appear to be signals--words of command in the fierce guttural of the Arapaho. Other sounds seem nearer. I distinguish the voices of two men in conversation. They are Indian voices. As I listen they grow more distinct. The speakers are approaching me--the voices reach me, as if rising out of the ground beneath my feet! They draw nigher and nigher. They are close to where I stand--so close that I can feel them breathing upon my body--but still I see them not. Their heads are below the line of my vision. I feel a hand--knuckles pressing against my throat; the cold blade of a knife is laid along my cheek; its steel point glistens under my eyes. I shudder with a horrid thought. I mistake the purpose. I hear the "wheek" that announces the cutting of a tight-drawn cord. The thong slackens, and drops off from my cheeks. My head is free: but the piece of wood between my teeth--it remains still gagging me firmly. I cannot get rid of that.

I can now look below, and around me. I perceive the correctness of my conjecture. I am on the b.u.t.te--upon its summit. I am close to the edge of the platform, and command a full view of the valley below. A painted Arapaho is standing on each side of me. One is a common warrior, with nought to distinguish him from his fellows. The other is a chief. Even without the insignia of his rank, the tall gaunt form and lupine visage are easily identified. They are those of Red-Hand the truculent chieftain of the Arapahoes.

Now for the first time do I perceive that I am naked. From the waist upward, there is not a rag upon me--arms, breast, and body all bare!

This does not surprise me. It is natural that the robbers should have stripped me--that they should at least have taken my coat, whose yellow b.u.t.tons are bright gold in the eyes of the Indian. But I am now to learn that for another, and very different, purpose have they thus bereft me of my garments. Now also do I perceive the _fashion_ in which I am confined. I am erect upon my feet, with arms stretched out to their full fathom. My limbs are lashed to an upright post; and, with the same thong, are my arms tied to a transverse beam. _I am bound upon a cross_!

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

THE MYSTERIOUS CIRCLE.

In an exulting tone, the savage chief broke silence. "_Bueno_!" cried he, as soon as he saw that my eyes were upon him--"_bueno, bueno_! The pale-face still lives! the heart of the Red-Hand is glad of it--ha, ha, ha! Give him to drink of the fire-water of Taos! Let him be strong!

Fill him with life, that death may be all the more bitter to him!"

These orders were delivered to his follower, who, in obedience to them, removed the gag; and, holding to my lips a calabash filled with Taos whiskey, poured a quant.i.ty of the liquor down my throat. The beverage produced the effect which the savage chief appeared to desire. Scarcely had I swallowed the fiery spirit when my strength and senses were restored to their full vigour--but only to make me feel more keenly the situation in which I stood--to comprehend more acutely the appalling prospect that was before me. This was the design in resuscitating me.

No other purpose had the cruel savage. Had I entertained any doubt as to the motive, his preliminary speech would have enlightened me; but it was made still clearer by that which followed.

"Dog of a pale-face!" cried he, brandishing a long Spanish knife before my eyes; "you shall see how the Red-Hand can revenge himself upon the enemies of his race. The slayer of Panthers, and the White Eagle, shall die a hundred deaths. They have mocked the forest maiden, who has followed them from afar. Her vengeance shall be satisfied; and the Red-Hand will have his joy--ha, ha, ha!"

Uttering a peal of demoniac laughter, the Indian held the point of the knife close to my forehead--as if about to drive the blade into my eyes!

It was but a feint to produce terror--a spectacle which this monster was said to enjoy.

Wingrove was still alive: the wretch Su-wa-nee must be near?

"_Carajo_!" again yelled the savage. "What promised you the Red-Hand?

To cut the living flesh from your bones? But _no_--that would be merciful. The Arapahoes have contrived a sweeter vengeance--one that will appease the spirits of our slain warriors. We shall combine sport with the sacrifice of the pale-faced dogs--ha, ha, ha!"

After another fiendish cachinnation, far more horrible to hear than his words of menace, the monster continued:

"Dog! you refused to instruct the Arapaho in the skill of the fire-weapon; but you shall furnish them with at least one lesson before you die--ha, ha! You shall soon experience the pleasant death we have prepared for you! Ugh!"

"Haste!" he continued, addressing himself to his follower; "prepare him for the sacrifice! Our warriors are impatient for the sport. The blood of our brothers is calling for vengeance. This in white, with a red spot in the centre--the rest of his body in black."

These mysterious directions were accompanied by a corresponding gesture.

With the point of his knife, the savage traced a circle upon my breast--just as if he had been _scribing_ it on the bark of a tree. The scratch was light, though here and there it drew blood. At the words "red spot in the centre," as if to make the direction more emphatic, he punctured the spot with his knife till the blood flowed freely. Had he driven the blade to its hilt, I could not have flinched: I was fixed firmly as the post to which they had bound me. I could not speak a word--either to question his intent, or reply to his menace. The gag was still between my teeth, and I was necessarily silent. It mattered little about my remaining silent. Had my tongue been free, it would have been idle to use it. In the wolf's visage, there was no one trait of clemency: every feature bespoke the obduracy of unrelenting cruelty.

I knew that he would only have mocked any appeal I might have made. It was just as well that I had no opportunity of making it. After giving some further directions to his follower--and once more repeating his savage menace, in the same exulting tone--he pa.s.sed behind me; and I lost sight of him. But I could tell by the noise that reached me at intervals, that he had gone down from the rock, and was returning to his warriors upon the plain.

It was the first time since my face-fastenings had been cut loose, that I had a thought of looking in that direction. During all the while that the Red-Hand stood by me, I had been in constant dread of instant death--or of some equally fearful issue. The gleaming blade had never been out of my eyes for two seconds at a time; for in the gesticulations that accompanied his speeches, the steel had played an important part, and I knew not the moment, it might please the ferocious savage to put an end to my life. Now that he was gone, and I found a respite from his torturing menace, my eyes turned mechanically to the plain. I there beheld a spectacle, that under other circ.u.mstances might have filled me with horror. Not so then. The agony of my thoughts was already too keen to be further quickened. Even the gory skull of one of my comrades, who lay scalped upon the sward, scarcely added an emotion. It was a sight I had antic.i.p.ated. They could not all be alive.

CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

A SAVAGE ARTIST.

The ensanguined skull was the first object that caught my eye. The dead man was easily identified. The body--short, plump, and rotund--could be no other than that of the unfortunate Irishman. His jacket had been stripped off; but some tattered remnants of sky-blue, still clinging to his legs, aided me in identifying him. Poor fellow! The lure of Californian metal had proved an ill star for him. His golden dream was at an end. He was lying along the sward, upon his side, half doubled up. I could not see his face. His hands were over it, with palms spread out--as if shading his eyes from the sun! It was a position of ordinary repose; and one might have fancied him asleep. But the gory crown, and red mottling upon the shirt--seemingly still wet--forbade the supposition. He slept; but it was the sleep of death!

My eyes wandered in search of the others. There were fires burning.

They were out upon the plain, some three hundred yards from the base of the b.u.t.te. They had been lately kindled: for their smoke was rising in thick columns, part of it falling again to the earth. Around the fires, and through the smoke, flitted the forms of the Indians. They appeared to be cooking and feasting. Some of them staggering over the ground, kept up an incessant babble--at intervals varying their talk with savage whoops. Others danced around accompanying their leaps with the monotonous "hi-hi-hi-ya." All appeared to have partaken freely of the fire-water of Taos. A few more seriously disposed were grouped around four or five prostrate forms--evidently the bodies of their slain. The two we had shot from their horses must have been amongst these: since they were no longer to be seen where they had fallen. Those around the bodies stood hand in hand chanting the dismal death-song.

Not far from the fires, a group fixed my attention. It consisted of three figures--all in att.i.tudes as different as it was possible to place them in. He who lay along the ground, upon his back, was the young hunter Wingrove. He still wore his fringed buckskin shirt and leggings; and by these I recognised him. He was at too great a distance for his features to be distinguished. He appeared to be bound hand and foot-- with his ankles lashed together, and his wrists tied behind his back.

He was thus lying upon his arms, in an irksome position; but the att.i.tude showed that he was alive. I knew it already.

Some half-dozen paces from him was a second form, difficult to be recognised as that of a human being--though it was one. It was the body of Jephthah Bigelow. Its very oddness of shape enabled me to identify it--odder from the att.i.tude in which I now beheld it. It was lying flat along the gra.s.s, face downward, the long ape-like legs and arms stretched out to their full extent--both as to length and width--and radiating from the thin trunk, like spokes from the nave of a wheel!

Viewing it from my elevated position, this att.i.tude appeared all the more ludicrous; though it was easy to perceive that it was not voluntary. The numerous pegs standing up from the sward, and the cords attached to them, and leading to the arms and limbs, showed that the _spread-eagle_ position was a constrained one. That it was Sure-shot, I had no doubt. The spare locks of clay-coloured hair were playing about in the breeze; and some remnants of bottle-green still clung around his limbs. But without these, the spider-like frame was too characteristic to be mistaken. I was glad to see those yellowish tufts. They told that the wearer still lived--as was also made manifest by the fact of his being bound. A dead body would not have merited such particular treatment.

It was the third figure of this group that most strongly claimed my attention. I saw that it was not that of a warrior; though quite as tall as many upon the plain. But the contour of the form was different--as also the fashion of the garments that draped it. It was the figure of a woman! Had I not been guided in my conjectures--by a certain foreknowledge--by the allusions that had occurred in the speeches of Red-Hand--I should never have dreamt of identifying that form. Forewarned by these, the apparition was not unexpected. The woman was Su-wa-nee! She was standing erect by the prostrate form of the young hunter--her head slightly bent, and her face turned towards him. An occasional motion of her arm showed that she was speaking to him. The gesture seemed to indicate a threat! Was it possible that in that dread hour she was reviling him? I was at too great a distance, either to hear her words, or note the expression upon her face. Only by the dumb show of her gesticulations, could I tell that a scene was pa.s.sing between them.

A glance around the plain enabled me to note some other changes that had recently taken place. The horses of the Indians were now picketed upon the gra.s.s, and browsing peacefully--as if the clangour of strife had never sounded in their ears. I could see my own Arab a little apart, with Wingrove's horse and the mules--all in the charge of a horse-guard, who stood sentry near them. The waggon was still by the base of the mound. The cedars along its sides were yet unburnt! I thought that the flames had consumed them, but no. The object of their fires had been to blind us with their smoke--thus to drive us from our position, and facilitate our capture.

I was not permitted to make these observations without interruption.

The savage--who had stood by me had a duty to perform; and during all this time he was busied in its performance. A singular and inexplicable operation it at first appeared to me. His initiatory act was to blacken my body from the waist upward, including my face, throat, and arms. The substance used appeared to be a paste of charcoal, which he rubbed rudely over my skin. A circle upon my breast--that traced out by the blade of the chief--was left clear; but as soon as the black ground had been laid on, a new substance was exhibited, of snow-white colour, resembling chalk or gypsum. With this--after the blood had been carefully dried off--the circular s.p.a.ce was thickly coated over, until a white disc, about as large as a dining-plate shewed conspicuously on my breast! A red spot in the centre of this was necessary to complete the _escutcheon_; but the painter appeared at a loss for the colour, and paused to reflect. Only a moment did he remain at fault. He was an ingenious artist; and his ingenuity soon furnished him with an idea.

Drawing his knife, and sticking the point of it some half inch deep into the fleshy part of my thigh, he obtained the required "carmine"; and, after dipping his finger in the blood, and giving it a dab in the centre of the white circle, he stood for a short time contemplating his work.

A grim smile announced that he was satisfied with it; and, uttering a final grunt, the swarthy Apelles leaped down from the platform, and disappeared from my sight. A horrid suspicion had already taken possession of my soul; but I was not left long to speculate upon the purpose for which I had been thus bedaubed: the suspicion gave place to certainty.

Upon the plain directly in front of me, and at less than a hundred yards' distance from the b.u.t.te, the warriors were collecting in groups.

The Red-Hand with his under-chiefs had already arrived there; and the other Indians were forsaking the fires, and hurrying up to the spot.

They had left their lances apart, standing upright on the plain, with their shields, bows, and quivers leaning against them, or suspended from their shafts. The only weapons taken along with them to the common rendezvous were the muskets. With these they were now occupying themselves--apparently preparing them for use. I saw them mark out a line upon the gra.s.s, by stretching a lazo between two upright pegs. I saw them wiping, loading, and priming their pieces--in short, going through all the preliminary manoeuvres, observed by marksmen preparing for a trial of skill. Then burst on me in all its broad reality the dread horror for which I was reserved--then did I comprehend the design of that white circle with its centre of red: the savages were about to hold a shooting-match--_my own bosom was to be their target_!

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

A PITILESS PASTIME.

Yes--to hold a shooting-match was undoubtedly the design of my captors; and equally clear was it that my breast was to be their mark. This explained my position upon the summit of the mound, as well as my att.i.tude upon the cross. I was bound to the latter, in order that my person might be held erect, spread, and conspicuous. I could not comfort, myself with any doubt as to their intention. Every movement I saw confirmed it; and the question was finally set at rest by Red-Hand possessing himself of one of the loaded muskets, and making ready to fire. Stepping a pace or two in front of the line of his warriors, he raised the piece to his shoulder, and pointed it towards me. It is vain to attempt describing the horror I endured at that moment. Utterly unable to move, I gazed upon the glistening barrel, with its dark tube, that threatened to send forth the leaden messenger of death. I have stood before the pistol of the duellist. It is not a pleasant position to be in, under any conditions of quarrel. Still it is perfect happiness compared with that I then held. In the former case, there are certain circ.u.mstances that favour the chances of safety. You know that you are _en profile_ to your antagonist--thus lessening the danger of being hit. Judging by yourself, you feel a.s.sured that the aim taken will be quick and unsteady, and the shot a random one. You are conscious of possessing the capability of motion--that whether you may feel inclined to give way to it or not, you still have a certain discretion of avoiding the deadly missile--that by superior skill or quickness, you may antic.i.p.ate your antagonist and hinder his bullet from being sent. There are other circ.u.mstances of a moral nature to sustain you in a trial of this kind--pride, angry pa.s.sion, the fear of social contempt; and, stronger than all--perhaps most frequent of all--the jealousy of rival love. From none of all these could I derive support, as I stood before the raised musket of the Arapaho. There was no advantage--either moral or physical--in my favour. I was broad front to the danger, without the slightest capacity of "dodging" it; whilst there was nothing to excite the nerves of the marksman, or render his aim unsteady. On the contrary, he was sighting me as coolly, as if about to fire at a piece of painted plank.

It may have been but a minute, that the savage occupied himself in adjusting his aim; but to me it appeared ten. In such a situation, I may have believed the seconds to be minutes: they seemed so. In reality, the time must have been considerable. The drops of sweat that had started from my brow were chasing each other over my cheeks, and trickling down upon my breast. So prolonged was the suspense, I began to fancy that the Arapaho was designedly dallying with his aim, for the purpose of sporting with my fears. He may have had such motive for procrastination. I could have believed it. Distant though he was, I could mark his fiendish smile, as he repeatedly dropped the piece from his shoulder, and then returned it to the level. That he meant more than mere menace, however, was proved in the end. Having satisfied himself with several idle feints, I saw him make demonstration, as if setting himself more determinedly to the work. This time he was certainly in earnest. His cheek lay steadily along the stock--his arms appeared more rigid--his finger was pressing on the trigger--the moment had come!

The flash from the pan--the red stream poured forth from the muzzle--the hist of the bullet, were all simultaneous. The report came afterwards; but, before it had reached my ears, I knew that I was untouched. The lead had already whizzed past, at a distance--as I could judge by the sound--of several feet from my body. I heard a scratching behind me; and the instant after, a swarthy face was thrust before my eyes. It was that of the artist, who had painted me for the part I was playing. I had been under the impression that he had gone down to the plain, but I now perceived my error. He had remained near me, concealing his body behind the rock. I saw that he was now enacting a different _role_-- that of marker for the marksmen. Running his eye over my body, and perceiving that I was nowhere hit, he telegraphed the intelligence to his comrades upon the plain; and then glided back to his covert.

I was relieved from the terrible anxiety; but only for a short moment--a mere interval of about a dozen seconds' duration. The Red-Hand, after firing, had resigned his place; but this was instantly occupied by one of his sub-chiefs, who, armed with another musket, in turn stepped up to the line. Again I saw the gleaming barrel brought to the level, with its dark tube pointed upon my body. This marksman was more expeditious; but for all that, it was to me a time of racking torture. Again did the drops bead out upon my brow, and chase one another down my cheeks.

Again had I to undergo all the agony of death itself and, as before, without dying, or even losing a drop of my blood! As before, I beheld the puff of smoke, the flash, the blaze of fire projected from the muzzle: but ere the crack reached me, I heard the "thud" of the bullet, as it flattened against the granite on which I stood. This time the marker did not mount up to the platform. He had seen the splinters shivered from the rock; and without further inquiry, for the second time, telegraphed a miss.

A third candidate appeared upon the stand; and my fears returned--as acute as ever. This fellow caused me to suffer nearly a dozen deaths.

Either was his gun without a flint, or his powder damp: since after snapping nearly a dozen times, the piece still refused to go off. Had it been designed to give me a new horror, the thing could not have been better planned: for each time that the savage essayed to fire, I had to undergo the agony of a fresh apprehension. The scene ended by another gun being placed in his hands, that _did_ go off; but with no advantage to the clumsy marksman: for his bullet, like that of the Red-Hand, whistled past, far wide of the mark.

A fourth now took the ground. This was a tall, swarthy warrior, one of the tallest of the tribe; and without the insignia of a chief. The cool and deliberate manner in which he went about his work, caused me to antic.i.p.ate in him a better shot; and my apprehensions were heightened to a degree of painful intensity. I felt my whole frame shiver as his gun blazed forth; and for a time I believed myself hit. The cheer of his companions upon the plain announced the belief in the success of the shot; but he upon the summit soon undeceived them--just as I became myself rea.s.sured. The bullet had struck the wood-work of my crucifix-- one of the crosspieces to which my arms were attached. It was the shock of the timber that had deceived me into the belief that I had been struck.

A fifth marksman followed; and then another and another--until more than a dozen had tried their hands. The guns were now all emptied; but this caused only a temporary cessation in the cruel sport. They were soon reloaded; and new candidates stepped forward to make trial of their skill.

I had by this time discovered that they were not practising for mere sport. It was a _game_, and bets were laid, upon it. Apart upon the plain, the stakes were placed, consisting of saddles, robes, weapons, and the plunder of the emigrant waggon. Horses also were picketed near--surplus animals--that were betted against one another: whether in many separate wagers, or all forming a grand "pool," I could not determine. My own scalp--I was uncertain whether I still wore it--was no doubt the chief object of the contest. It was the "cup," to be given to him who should place his bullet in that white circle upon my breast, and nearest the red spot in the centre!

The guns being once more reloaded, the firing recommenced, I saw that only one shot was allowed to each; and this only to those who had entered a stake. The condition gave me an opportunity of experiencing my apprehensions in different degrees: since, according to the apparent adroitness or clumsiness of the marksman, my fears of being hit were greater or less. Strange to say, before a dozen shots had been fired, _I no longer wished them to miss_! The dread ordeal, so oft repeated, was too terrible to be borne. I was sustained by no hope of ultimate escape. I knew that the fiends would continue firing, till some one of them should finish me by a fatal shot; and I cared not how soon it should be sent. Nay, I even desired that it should come quickly. Death was preferable to the agony I was enduring.