The Wild Huntress Part 32

Pa.s.sED BY THE PURSUIT.

I must have fallen upon my back, or else turned upon it after falling.

On opening my eyes, the sky was the first object that my glance encountered. I saw only a strip of it, of dark-blue colour, bordered on each side by black. I knew it was the sky by its twinkling stars; and that the black borderings were the cliffs of the canon. By this I remembered where I was, and the stars and darkness admonished me it was still night. There was hot air upon my face--as if some one was behind breathing down upon me. I turned my head, and looked upward. A pair of brilliant eyes were glancing into mine. So confused were my senses, that it was some time before I made them out to be the eyes of my Arab.

He was standing over me, with his muzzle close to my forehead. It was his breath I had felt upon my face. I could not tell how long I had been entranced. I had no clue to the time of night, and I was not in a position to consult the stars. I must have lain several hours, partly in syncope, and partly asleep. It was fortunate I had a buffalo-robe around my body. I had found it lying upon the plain among the dead men; and had s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, and tied it around my shoulders as I rode on.

But for it, I might have perished in my slumber: since the night was chill, and I had neither covering on my back, nor blood in my veins, to resist the cold. It was the absence of the latter that had brought me to the ground. I had left most of my blood upon the b.u.t.te.

Sleep or time had revived me. I was able to get to my feet; and I arose. I was still weak, and staggered like a lamb; but my senses were sufficiently clear; and I now recollected everything that had transpired. I was also conscious of the danger of remaining in that place; and it was this thought that induced me to get up--with the intention of going forward.

I was strong enough to mount, and just strong enough to keep the seat upon my horse; but I was aware of the necessity of putting a wider distance between myself and the Red-Hand before daylight should arrive; and I continued onward up the ravine. The trace was easily followed-- more easily than when I first entered the canon. There was more light; and this must have been caused by a moon. I could see none--the cliffs hindered me--but the strip of sky visible above the rocks showed the sheen of moonlight.

I rode but slowly. Feeble though I was, I could have ridden faster, but I was proceeding with caution. Strange as it may seem, I was now paying more regard to the front than the rear. I had a suspicion that my pursuers might be _ahead_ of me. I could hardly believe in their having abandoned the pursuit, after so slight an effort. Too many of them had fallen by my hand. They would scarce let me escape so easily, and with my scalp untaken: I had ascertained that the trophy was still upon my head. It was quite possible they had pa.s.sed me. While endeavouring to mount my horse, I had drawn him from the path; and the place where I had found myself lying was behind some bushes, where I should have been screened from the eyes of any one riding along the track. In daylight I might have been seen; but not then. At that hour the darkness would have concealed me. And it _had_ concealed me, as I soon after discovered. My suspicion that the pursuers had pa.s.sed me proved the means of saving me. But for the caution it had prompted me to observe, I should have ridden head to head against their horses! I had proceeded about a mile further, and was still advancing when my steed raised his head horizontally, and gave utterance to a low snort. At the same instant, he stopped without any tightening of the rein! Above the sough of the stream, I heard noises. The intonation of the red man's voice was easily recognised. There were Indians in front of me! Were they coming or going? The voices grew louder as I listened--the speakers were nearing me.

My first thought was to glide behind the trees; but a glance showed me that these were not tall enough. They were mere bushes. They might have concealed the body of a man; but a horse standing up could not have been hidden behind them. For a moment I was undecided as to how I should act--till I bethought me of turning, and riding back to where I had lain. I was in the act of facing about, when through the sombre light I observed a break in the cliff. It appeared to be a gap--the entrance of a lateral ravine. It offered a chance of concealment: since it was even darker than within the canon itself. I hesitated not about accepting the shelter it promised; and, heading my horse into it, I rode rapidly but silently forward.

When fairly concealed under its shadowy gloom, I again halted and listened. I heard the hoof-strokes of horses and the voices of men. I recognised the deep guttural of the Arapahoes. A troop was riding past, going back towards the valley. They were those who had pursued me.

Were these _all_ of my pursuers. There appeared to be only a small party--ten or a dozen hors.e.m.e.n. Others might have gone up the river, who had not yet returned. It was this doubt that caused me to hesitate; otherwise I should have ridden back into the canon, and kept on up the stream. But by doing so I might place myself between two parties of my pursuers, with no chance of retreating in either direction. Moreover, pickets might have been stationed along the path. To fall upon one of these would be fatal. Why not follow the lateral ravine? I might ride up that for a distance, and then leaving it, cross over to the caravan trace--above any point to which the pursuit might have been carried?

This plan appeared feasible; and, without delay, I adopted it. I rode on up the gorge, which very much resembled that I had left--only that there was no water in it. It had not been always so: for my path here and there ran over a channel of rocks, which indicated the bed of a stream, now dry. I followed the ravine for a mile or more; and then looked for a path that would take me across to the caravan trail. I looked in vain. Stupendous cliffs rose on each side. I could not scale them. I had no choice but to keep on up the ravine; but that would be going at right angles to my proper course!

There was no alternative but to halt and wait for daylight. Indeed, I was too faint to ride further. Slight exertion fatigued me; and, no longer in dread of immediate danger I deemed it more prudent to stop, and, if possible, gain strength by rest. I dismounted, gave my horse to the gra.s.s; and, having wrapped myself in the warm robe, soon entered upon the enjoyment of sleep--sweeter and more natural than the involuntary slumber in which I had been lately indulging.

CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT.

THE TRACK OF THE MOCa.s.sIN.

The blue dawn of morning was glinting among the rocks when I awoke. On the crest of the cliff was a streak of amber-coloured light, that betokened the rising of the sun and warned me that it was time to be stirring. I had no toilet to make--no breakfast to eat: nothing to do but mount my horse and move onward. I continued up the lateral ravine-- since there was no path leading out from it; and to return to the Huerfano, would have been to ride back into the teeth of danger. I still felt faint. Though less than twenty-four hours since I had eaten, I hungered acutely. Was there nothing I could eat? I looked inquiringly around. It was a scene of sterility and starvation. Not a symptom of life--scarcely a sign of vegetation! Rocks, bare and forbidding, formed two parallel facades grinning at each other across the gorge--their rugged features but little relieved by the mottling of dark junipers that clung from their clefts. There appeared neither root nor fruit that might be eaten. Only a chameleon could maintain existence in such a spot!

I had scarcely made this reflection, when, as if to contradict it, the form of a n.o.ble animal became outlined before my eyes. Its colour, size, and proportions, were those of a stag of the red deer species; but its spiral horns proclaimed it of a different genus. These enabled me to identify it as the rare mountain-ram--the magnificent _ammon_, of the Northern Andes. It was standing upon a salient point of the cliff--its form boldly projected against the purple sky, in an att.i.tude fixed and statuesque. One might have fancied it placed there for embellishment--a characteristic feature of that wild landscape. The scene would have been incomplete without it. From my point of observation it was five hundred yards distant. It would have been equally safe at five: since I had no means of destroying it. I might easily have crept within shot-range--since a grove of cotton-woods, just commencing where I had halted, extended up the bottom of the ravine. Under these I could have stalked, to the base of the cliff on which the animal stood--a sort of angular promontory projecting into the gorge. This advantage only rendered the sight more tantalising: my gun was empty, and I had no means of reloading it. Was it certain the piece was empty? Why should the Indian have believed it to be loaded? Up to this moment, I had not thought of examining it. I drew the ramrod, and inverted it into the barrel. The head struck upon a soft substance. The screw stood four fingers above the muzzle: the gun was charged! There was no cap upon the nipple. There had been none! This accounted for the piece having missed fire. In all likelihood, I owed my life to the circ.u.mstance of the savage being ignorant of the percussion principle!

I was now indebted to another circ.u.mstance for a supply of caps. The locker near the heel of the stock had escaped the attention of the Indians. Its bra.s.s cover had pa.s.sed for a thing of ornament. On springing it open the little caps of corrugated copper gleamed before my eyes--an abundance of them. I tapped the powder into the nipple; adjusted a cap; and, dismounting, set forth upon the stalk. The spreading tops of the cotton-woods concealed me; and, crouching under them, I made my approaches as rapidly as the nature of the ground would permit. It grew damper as I advanced; and, presently, I pa.s.sed pools of water and patches of smooth mud--where water had recently lain. It was the bed of an intermittent stream--a hydrographic phenomenon of frequent occurrence in the central regions of North America. The presence of water accounted for that of the cotton-wood trees--a sure indication of moisture in the soil.

The water was a welcome sight. I was suffering from thirst even more than from hunger; and, notwithstanding the risk of losing my chance of a shot, I determined to stop and drink. I was creeping forward to the edge of one of the ponds, when a sight came under my eyes that astonished me; and to such a degree, as to drive both thirst and hunger out of my thoughts--at least for the moment. In the margin of sandy mud extending along the edge of the water, appeared a line of tracks--the tracks of human feet! On crawling nearer, I perceived that they were moca.s.sin-tracks, but of such tiny dimensions, as to leave no doubt as to the s.e.x of the individual who had made them. Clearly, they were the imprints of a woman's feet! A woman must have pa.s.sed that way! An Indian woman of course!

This was my first reflection; and almost simultaneous with it arose another half-interrogative conjecture: was it Su-wa-nee? No. The foot was too small for that of the forest maiden. I had a remembrance of the dimensions of hers. The tracks before my eyes were not over eight inches in length: and could only have been made by a foot slender, and of elegant shape. The imprint was perfect; and its clear outline denoted the light elastic tread of youth. It was a _young_ woman who had made those footmarks.

At first, I saw no reason to doubt that the tracks were those of some Indian girl. Their size would not have contradicted the supposition.

Among the aboriginal belles of America, a little foot is the rule--a large one the exception. I had tracked many a pair much smaller than those; but never had I seen the footprints of an Indian with the _toes turned out_; and such was the peculiarity of those now before me. This observation--which I did not make till after some time had elapsed-- filled me with astonishment, and something more. It was suggestive of many and varied emotions. The girl or woman who had made these tracks could never have been strapped to an Indian cradle. She must be white!

CHAPTER SIXTY NINE.

A RIVAL STALKER.

It was not by any conjuncture that I arrived at this conclusion. I was quite confident that the footsteps were not those of a _squaw_--all inexplicable as was the contrary hypothesis. I observed that they were very recent--of less than an hour's age. As I rose from regarding them, a new sign appeared on the same bed of sand--the footmarks of a wolf!

No--I was deceived by resemblance. On nearer examination, they were not wolf-tracks I saw; but those of a dog, and evidently a large one. These were also fresh like the woman's tracks--made doubtless at the same time. The dog had accompanied the woman, or rather had been following her: since a little further on, where both were in the same line, his track was uppermost.

There were two special reasons why this sign should astonish me: a _white_ woman in such a place, and _wearing moccasins_! But for the style of the _chaussure_, I might have fancied that the tracks were those of some one who had strayed from the caravan. I might have connected them with _her_--ever uppermost in my thoughts. But--no.

Small though they were, they were yet too large for those _mignon_ feet, well-remembered. After all, I _might_ be mistaken? Some dusky maiden might have pa.s.sed that way, followed by her dog? This hypothesis would have removed all mystery, had I yielded to it. I could not: it was contrary to my tracking experience. Even the dog was not Indian: the prints of his paws proclaimed him of a different race.

My perplexity did not hinder me from quenching my thirst. The pain was paramount; and after a.s.suaging it, I turned my eyes once more towards the cliff. The wild ram had not stirred from his place. The n.o.ble animal was still standing upon the summit of the rock. He had not even changed his att.i.tude. In all likelihood, he was acting as the sentinel of a flock, that was browsing behind him. The sun was falling fair upon his body, and deepened the fern-red colour upon his flanks. I could note his full round eyes glistening under the golden beam. I was near enough to bring him down; and, should the rifle prove to have been properly loaded, I was likely to have for my breakfast the choicest viand of the mountain region of America. I had raised my piece, sighted the n.o.ble game, and was about to pull trigger, when, to my astonishment, the animal sprang off from the cliff; and, turning back downward, fell heavily into the gorge!

When I saw him pitching outward from the rock, I fancied he was making one of those singular somersaults, frequently practised by the _ovis ammon_ in descending the ledges of a cliff. But no. Had the descent been a voluntary one, he would have come down upon his huge elastic horns, instead of falling as he had done, with the dull sodden sound of a lifeless body?

I perceived that the bighorn had ceased to live; and the report of a gun--that rang through the gorge, and was still reverberating from the cliffs--told the cause of his death. Some hunter, stalking on the other side, had taken the start, of me! White or red? Which fired the shot?

If an Indian, my head would be in as much danger of losing its skin as the sheep. If a white man, I might still hope for a breakfast of broiled mutton. Even a churl might be expected to share with a starving man; but it was not the quarter in which to encounter a Christian of that kidney. It was the crack of a rifle. The red man rarely hunts with the rifle. The arrow is his favourite weapon for game.

Notwithstanding the remoteness from civilisation, the probabilities were that the hunter was white. He might be one of those attached to the caravan; or, more likely, a _free_ trapper. I knew that upon several head tributaries of the Arkansas there were settlements of these singular men.

From prudential considerations, I kept my place. Screened by the cotton-woods, I should have an opportunity of deciding the point, without my presence being suspected. If the hunter should prove to be an Indian, I could still retreat to my horse without being observed. I had not long to wait. I heard a noise, as of some one making way through the bushes. The moment after, a huge wolf-like animal rushed round the projecting angle of the cliff, and sprang upon the carcase of the bighorn. At the same instant a voice reached my ears--"Off there, Wolf! off, villain dog! Don't you see that the creature is killed--no thanks to you, sirrah?" Good heavens! it was the voice of a woman!

While I was yet quivering under the surprise produced by the silvery tones, the speaker appeared before my eyes--a girl majestically beautiful. A face smooth-skinned, with a tinge of golden-brown--cheeks of purplish red--a nose slightly aquiline, with nostrils of spiral curve--eyes like those of the Egyptian antelope--a forehead white and high, above bounded by a band of shining black hair, and surmounted by a coronet of scarlet plumes--such was the head that I saw rising above the green frondage of the cotton-woods! The body was yet hidden behind the leaves; but the girl just then stepped from out the bushes, and her whole form was exhibited to my view--equally striking and picturesque.

I need not say that it was of perfect shape--bust, body, and limbs all symmetrical. A face like that described, could not belong to an ungainly form. When nature designs beauty, it is rare that she does her work by halves. Unlike the artists of the anatomic school, she makes the model for herself--hence the perfect correspondence of its parts.

And perhaps fairer form had nature never conceived. The dullest sculptor might have been inspired by its contemplation.

The costume of the girl corresponded to the cast of her features. About both there was that air of wild picturesqueness, which we observe in art paintings of the gipsy, and sometimes in the gipsy herself--for those sirens of the green lanes have not all disappeared; and, but that saw the snowy cone of Pike's Peak rising over the crest of the cliff, I might have fancied myself in the Sierra Asturias, with a beautiful _gitana_ standing before me. The soft fawn-skin _tilma_, with its gaudy broidering of beads and stained quills--the fringed skirt and buskined ankles--the striped Navajo blanket slung scarf-like over her shoulders-- all presented a true gipsy appearance. The plumed circlet upon the head was more typical of Transatlantic costume; and the rifle carried by a female hand was still another idiosyncracy of America. It was from that rifle the report had proceeded, as also the bullet, that had laid low the bighorn! It was not a _hunter_ then who had killed the game; but she who stood before me--a huntress--the Wild Huntress.

CHAPTER SEVENTY.

THE WILD HUNTRESS.

No longer was it from fear that I held back; but a hesitancy springing from surprise mingled with admiration. The sight of so much beauty-- grand as unexpected--was enough to unnerve one, especially in such a place--and one to whose eye the female form had so long been a stranger.

Su-wa-nee's I had seen only at a distance; and hers, to my sight, was no longer beautiful. I hesitated to show myself--lest the sight of me should alarm this lovely apparition, and cause her to take flight. The thought was not unnatural--since the tricoloured pigments of black, red, and white were still upon my skin; and I must have presented the picture of a chimney-sweep with a dining-plate glued upon his breast. In such a guise I knew that I must cut a ludicrous figure, and would have slipped back to the pool, and washed myself; but I dreaded to take my eyes from that beautiful vision, lest I might never look upon it again! In my absence, she would be gone? I feared even then, that on seeing me she might take flight: and I was too faint to follow her. For this reason, I stood silently gazing through my leafy covert, like one who watches the movements of some shy and beautiful bird. I almost dreaded to breathe lest the sound might alarm her. I was planning, at the same time, how I should initiate an interview.

Her voice again reached me, as she recommenced scolding the dog: even its chiding tones were sweet. She had approached, and stooped for a moment over the bighorn, as if to satisfy herself that the animal was dead. Her canine companion did not appear to be quite sure of the fact: for he continued to spring repeatedly upon the carca.s.s with open mouth, as if eager to devour it.

"Off, off!" cried she, threatening the dog with the b.u.t.t of her rifle.

"You wicked Wolf! what has got into you? Have I not told you that the thing is dead--what more do you want? Mind, sirrah!" continued she, shaking her finger significantly at the dog--"mind, my good fellow!

_you_ had no part in the killing of it; and if you spoil the skin, you shall have no share in the flesh. You hear me? Not a morsel!"

Wolf appeared to understand the hint and retired. Impelled by hunger, I accepted the cue:

"You will not refuse a morsel to one who is starving?"

"Aha! who speaks?" cried the huntress, turning round with a glance rather of inquiry than alarm. "Down, Wolf!" commanded she, as the dog bounded forward with a growl. "Down, you savage brute! Don't you hear that some one is starving? Ha! a negro! Poor devil! where can he have come from, I wonder?"

Only my head was visible--a thick bush in front of me concealing my body. The coat of char upon my face was deceiving her.

"No, not a negro," said I, stepping out and discovering my person--"not a negro, though I have been submitted to the treatment of one."

"Ho! white, red, and black! Mercy on me, what a frightful harlequin!

Ha, ha, ha!"

"My toilet appears to amuse you, fair huntress? I might apologise for it--since I can a.s.sure you it is not my own conception, nor is it to my taste any more than--"

"You are a white man, then?" said she, interrupting me--at the same time stepping nearer to examine me.