The Pirates of the Prairies: Adventures in the American Desert

Ten minutes later he rejoined Doña Clara, who had seen with a terror, mingled with admiration, the heroic action of her defender. The maiden, beneath her apparent weakness, concealed a thoroughly manly soul. With her cheeks slightly tinged, her eyebrows contracted, her teeth clenched, and animated by the fixed idea of escaping her ravishers, fatigue seemed to have no mastery over her. It was with a feeling of indescribable joy that she mounted the fresh steed the Indian brought her.

Owing to Eagle-wing's bold stroke, the fugitives had a considerable advance on their pursuers; for the Apaches, as they came up to the spot where their two companions had been killed, leaped off their horses, and surrounded their corpses with lamentations.

Eagle-wing understood that this flight could not last, and that sooner or later they must die or yield; he therefore altered his tactics.

At a little distance from the spot where they now were the Gila was contracted; the river, reduced to a width of one hundred and fifty yards at the most, ran between two wooded hills.

"We are lost," he hurriedly said to his companion, "if we continue to fly thus. A desperate resolve can alone save us."

"Let us try it at all risks," the maiden answered, intrepidly, with quivering lip and flashing eye.

"Come!" he continued.

Doña Clara followed him without hesitation to the rugged bank of the river, when the warrior stopped.

"There," he said, hoarsely, as he pointed with a gesture full of nobility to the Apaches coming up at full speed, "slavery, infamy, and death. Here," he continued, as he pointed to the river, "death, perhaps, but liberty."

"Let us be free or die!" she replied.

As we have said, the river ran between two elevated banks, and the fugitives were now standing like two equestrian statues on the top of a hillock twenty or five-and-twenty feet in height, from which they must throw themselves into the river, an enormous leap for the horses which ran a risk of being crushed in falling, and dragging their riders down with them. But any other means of flight had become impossible.

The Apaches, spread all over the plain, had succeeded in surrounding the fugitives.

"Has my sister decided?" the Indian asked.

Doña Clara took a glance around her.

The redskins, headed by Black Cat, were scarce one hundred and fifty yards distant.

"Let us go, in Heaven's name," she said.

"May Natosh protect us!" the Indian said.

They energetically pressed the flanks of their horses, lifting them at the same moment, and the two noble animals leaped into the river, uttering a snort of terror. The Apaches arrived at this moment on the brow of the hill, and could not restrain a yell of disappointment and wrath at the sight of the desperate act.

The waters had closed over the fugitives, sending up to heaven a cloud of spray, but the horses soon reappeared swimming vigorously toward the other bank. The Indians had halted on the hill, insulting by their yells and threats the victims who escaped by such a prodigy of daring. One of them, urged by his fury, and unable to pull up his horse in time, plunged into the Gila; but, having taken his precautions badly, the fall was mortal to the horse.

The Indian slipped off, and began striking out for the bank. Instead of continuing his flight, as he should have done, Eagle-wing, impelled by that spirit of bravado natural to the redskins, re-entered the river without hesitation, and, at the moment when the Apache warrior reappeared on the surface, he bent over, seized him by his long hair, and buried his knife in his throat. Then, turning to his enemies, who watched with a shudder this terrible drama, he drew up the wretch to his saddle-bow, scalped him, and brandishing this sanguinary trophy with an air of triumph, he uttered his war yell.

The Apaches poured a shower of bullets and arrows round the Coras Sachem, who, standing motionless in the middle of the river, still waved his horrible trophy. At length he turned his horse's head, and rejoined his companion, who was awaiting him timorously on the bank.

"Let us go," he said, as he fastened the scalp to his waist belt. "The Apaches are dogs, who can do nought but bark."

"Let us go," she replied, as she turned her head away in horror.

At the moment when they started again without troubling themselves about their enemies, who, scattered along the other bank, were eagerly seeking a ford, Eagle-wing perceived a cloud of dust, which, on dissipating, permitted him to see a party of horsemen galloping up at lightning speed.

"There is no hope left," he muttered.

CHAPTER XIV

THE SUCCOUR

We will leave Eagle-wing and Doña Clara for a moment, and return to Bloodson's Teocali.

A few minutes before sunrise, Valentine awoke. "Up," he said to his companions, "it is the hour for starting."

Don Pablo and Shaw opened their eyes and got ready; but Curumilla was not there.

"Oh, oh," the hunter said; "the chief is up already, I fancy. Let us go down to the plain. We shall probably soon come across him."

The three men left the grotto, and began, by the uncertain rays of the moon, sliding down the abrupt sides of the Teocali, leaving their comrades asleep. A few minutes later, they reached the plain, where Curumilla was waiting for them, holding four horses by the bridle. Valentine gave a start of surprise.

"We had agreed to go on foot, chief," he said. "Have you forgotten that?"

"No," the other replied, laconically.

"Then, why the deuce did you saddle these horses, which are useless to us?"

The Indian shook his head.

"We shall be better on horseback," he said.

"Still," Don Pablo observed, "I fancy that it's better to follow a trail on foot, as you said yourself yesterday, Don Valentine."

The latter reflected for an instant; then, turning to the young man, he answered him with a significant toss of the head:

"Curumilla is a prudent man. We have lived together for nearly fifteen years, and I have always found it best to follow his advice. Only once I wanted to have my own way, and then I all but lost my scalp. We will mount, Don Pablo. The chief has his reasons for acting as he is now doing, as the result will in all probability prove."

The hunters leaped into the saddle, and, after a farewell glance at the Teocali, where their friends were resting, they let their horses feel the spur.

"In what direction are we going?" Don Pablo asked.

"Let us first gain the riverbank," Valentine answered. "So soon as we have got there, we shall see what we have to do. But, mind we do not separate; for in the darkness it will be almost impossible to find each other."

On the prairies, the only roads that exist, and can be followed, are paths traced for ages by buffaloes, elks, and wild beasts. These paths form labyrinths; of which the Indians alone hold the thread; hunters, however well acquainted they may be with the prairies, only enter them with the utmost precautions. When they fancy they recognise a path, they will not leave it under any pretext, certain that if they Were so imprudent as to turn to the right or left, they would not fail to lose themselves, and have infinite difficulty in finding their road again.

Valentine was, perhaps, the only white hunter on the prairies who, owing to the profound knowledge he possessed of the desert, could enter this maze with impunity. However, as all the paths inevitably lead to the banks of rivers, and this direction was the one the little party was to follow, Valentine's remark was only intended to moderate Don Pablo's ardour, and compel him to march at his side.

After a hurried ride of two hours, the hunters at length found themselves on the banks of the Gila, which rolled its yellow and turbid waters along beneath them. At the moment when they reached the river, the sun rose majestically on the horizon in a mist of purpled clouds.

"Let us stop here a moment," Valentine said, "in order to form our plan of action."

"We do not need a long discussion for that." Don Pablo replied.

"You think so?"

"Hang it all, the only thing to be done, I fancy, is to follow Red Cedar's trail."

"True: but to follow it we must first find it."

"Granted: so let us look for it."

"That is what we are about to do."

At this moment furious yells were heard not far from them. The hunters, surprised, looked about them anxiously, and soon saw a band of Indians running in every direction along the river bank. These were not more than half a league distant.

"Oh, oh," Valentine said, "what's the meaning of this?"

"They are Apaches," Shaw remarked.

"I can see that," the Frenchman said. "But what the deuce is the matter with those devils? On my honour, they seem mad."

"Wah!" Curumilla suddenly exclaimed, who was also looking, though not speaking, as was his wont.

"What's, the matter now?" Valentine asked, as he turned to the chief.

"Look," the latter replied, as he stretched out his arm, "Doña Clara!"

"What, Doña Clara!" the hunter exclaimed, with a start of surprise.

"Yes," Curumilla observed, "my brother must look."

"It is, in truth, Doña Clara," Valentine said after a minute; "what on earth can she be doing here?"

And without caring for the Indians, who, on seeing him, would not fail to start in pursuit, he hurried at full gallop in the direction of the maiden. His comrades followed him; not caring for the width of the stream at this spot, they plunged in, resolved to reach the other bank, and fly to the help of the maiden, under a shower of arrows which the Indians fired at them, while uttering yells of rage at these new enemies, who rose as if by enchantment before them.

Eagle-wing and Doña Clara were still flying, unheeding the shouts of the hunters; the horsemen the Coras had perceived were Apache warriors returning to their village from a buffalo hunt. Although they were ignorant of what had happened, the sight of their friends galloping along the river bank, and the two riders escaping at full speed, revealed the truth to them, that is to say, that prisoners had escaped, and warriors of their tribe were in pursuit of them.

The river was soon crowded with Apache warriors, who crossed it to catch up with the fugitives. The pursuit was beginning to reassume alarming proportions for Eagle-wing and Doña Clara, in spite of the considerable advance they still had on their enemies.

The Gila is one of the largest and most majestic rivers in the Far West; its course is winding and capricious – it is full of rapids, cataracts, and islets formed by the change of bed which it effects when, by an abundant overflow of water, it spreads far and wide over the country, inundating it for four or five leagues around.

Eagle-wing had seen that the only chance of safety left him was not on the prairie, where he had, not a single covert to attempt a desperate resistance, but on one of those little islets of the Gila, whose rocks and thick scrubs would offer a temporary shelter, that could not be violated with impunity. His vagabond course had, therefore, no other object but to return to the river by a zigzag route.

Valentine and his comrades had not lost one of the fugitive's movements; although they were themselves hotly pursued, they anxiously followed the incidents of this terrible struggle.

"They are lost!" Don Pablo suddenly shouted. "That Indian is mad, on my soul. See, he is trying to turn back in this direction – it is running into the wolf's throat!"

"You are mistaken," Valentine answered; "the tactics of that man are, on the contrary, extremely simple, and at the same time most clever. The Apaches have guessed them; for look, they are trying to cut him off from the river as far as they can."

"'Tis true, by heavens!" Shaw said; "We must help that man in his manoeuvre."

"That depends on ourselves," Valentine answered, quickly; "let us turn and suddenly attack the Apaches; perhaps that diversion will enable our friends to succeed."

"Well, that is an excellent idea," remarked Don Pablo; "how wise it was of Curumilla to make us ride."

"What did I say to you?" Valentine said with a smile. "Oh! the chief is an invaluable man."

Curumilla smiled proudly, but maintained silence.

"Are you ready to follow me and be killed, if necessary to save Doña Clara?" Valentine went on.

"Cascaras!" the hunters answered.

"Forward, then, in heaven's name! Each of us must be worth ten men!" the Frenchman shouted, as he suddenly turned his horse on its hind legs. The four men rushed at full speed on the Apaches, uttering a formidable yell. On arriving within range they discharged their rifles, and four Apaches fell.

The Indians, intimidated by this sudden attack, which they were far from anticipating, dispersed in every direction to avoid the shock of their daring adversaries; then, collecting in a compact mass, they charged in their turn, uttering their war cry, and brandishing their weapons. But the hunters received them with a second discharge, which hurled four more Indians on the sand, and then started in different directions to collect again, one hundred and fifty yards further on.

"Courage, my friends!" Valentine cried, "Those scoundrels do not know how to use their weapons; if we liked We could hold them in check the whole day."

"That will not be necessary," Don Pablo remarked; "look there!"

In fact, the fugitives, profiting by the moment's respite which the hunters' attack on the Apaches granted them, had reached an islet about one hundred yards in circumference, in the middle of the stream, where they were temporarily in safety.

"It is now our turn," Valentine loudly shouted; "a final charge to drive those devils back, and then to the islet!"

"Hurrah! Hurrah!" the hunters then shouted, and they rushed on the Apaches.

There were a few minutes of hand-to-hand fighting, but the Apaches at length broke, and the hunters, freed by prodigies of valour, retreated to the riverbank, from which they were not more than twenty yards distant. The others plunged into the river, but suddenly Valentine's horse stood up, gave a prodigious bound, and fell back on its rider – the noble animal was literally riddled with arrows.

The Apaches uttered a formidable yell of joy, on seeing one of their enemies rolling on the ground, and they rushed up to scalp him. But Valentine had risen to his feet immediately; kneeling behind the body of his horse, which he converted into a breastwork, he discharged at the Indians first his rifle, and then his pistols, being supported by the fire of the hunters, who had reached the islet.

The Apaches, exasperated at being held in check by one man, rushed upon him, as if to crush him beneath their weight. Valentine, to whom his firearms were now useless, seized his rifle by the barrel, and employed it like a mace, falling back step by step, but always keeping his front to the enemy.

By a prodigious chance, Valentine had not yet received a wound, save a few unimportant scratches, for the Indians were so close together that they could not use their arms for fear of wounding one another. But Valentine felt his strength deserting him, his ears buzzed, his temples throbbed as if bursting; a veil was gradually spread over his eyes, and his wearied arms only dealt uncertain blows.

Human strength has its limits, and however great the energy and will of a man may be, the moment arrives when further fighting becomes impossible, his strength betrays his courage, and he is forced to confess himself vanquished.

Valentine was reduced to this supreme point. His rifle broke in his hands; he was disarmed, and at the mercy of his ferocious enemies. All was over with the gallant Frenchman.

But the hunters, whom the Indians had forgotten in the heat of the action, seeing the imminent peril of their companion, resolutely hurried to his aid. While Eagle-wing, Don Pablo, and Shaw attacked the Indians and compelled them to fall back, Curumilla carried off his friend on his shoulders.

The contest began again, more obstinate and terrible than before, but, after extraordinary efforts, the hunters succeeded in regaining the islet, in spite of the stubborn resistance of the redskins.

Valentine had fainted, and Curumilla carried him to a perfectly sheltered spot, and silently busied himself with recalling him to life. But fatigue alone had produced the hunter's syncope, so he soon reopened his eyes, and ten minutes later he was perfectly restored.

When the Apaches saw their enemies in safety, they ceased a contest henceforth useless, and retired out of rifle range. The day passed without fresh incidents, and the hunters were able to intrench themselves as well as they could on the islet, which they had succeeded in reaching with so much toil.

CHAPTER XV

ON THE ISLAND

The sun had descended on the horizon, and darkness was invading the sky; ere long a dense veil of gloom was spread over the entire face of nature. The Indians seemed to have given up all idea of attacking the whites, but did not leave the riverbank; on the contrary, their number momentarily increased. On either bank of the Gila they had lit large fires, and put up their tents.

The situation of the fugitives was far from reassuring; sheltered on an island, whence they could not escape without being seen by their vigilant enemies, their provisions were reduced to a few handfuls of maize boiled in water, and a little pemmican. Their ammunition consisted of twenty charges of powder at the most.

The hunters lit no fire, for fear of letting the Apaches know the exact spot where they were; collected in the middle of the island in a dense thicket, they watched over Doña Clara, who, overwhelmed by the terrible emotions of the day, had yielded to sleep, and was lying on a bed of dry leaves.

Valentine and his friends watched the movements of the enemy by the light of their bivouac fires. Opposite the island, and round a fire larger than the rest, several chiefs, among whom Black Cat could be clearly distinguished, appeared engaged in a lively discussion. At length, two men rose and advanced slowly to the water's edge; on reaching it, they took off their buffalo robes, raised them above their heads, and let them float in the breeze.

"Do you see that?" Don Pablo said to Valentine. "The redskins wish to parley with us."

"What the deuce can they have to say to us?" the hunter answered; "the demons must know in what extremities we are."

"No matter. I fancy we shall do well by receiving them.

"What does Eagle-wing think of it?" Valentine asked the Coras, who, crouched near them with his head resting on the palms of his hands, was reflecting deeply.

"The Apaches are foxes without courage," the sachem answered; "let us hear what they want."

"And you, penni, what is your opinion?" the hunter said, turning to Curumilla.

"My brother is prudent," the Aucas Ulmen replied; "we can hear the propositions of the Apaches."

"Well, as you all wish it, I consent; but I feel certain that no good will come of this interview."

"Perhaps so," Shaw remarked.

"That is not my opinion," Don Pablo said.

"Koutonepi must not receive them here," Curumilla went on. "The Apache are very crafty; they have an extremely forked tongue, and the eyes of tiger cats."

"That is true," said Valentine; "let us go and see what they want."

He rose, making Curumilla a sign to follow him; and after assuring himself that his arms were in good condition, he walked to the end of the island. The Indians were still continuing their signals, and Valentine raised his hands to his mouth in the shape of a speaking trumpet.

"What do the Buffalo Apaches want?" he shouted.

"The chiefs have to speak with the palefaces, but they cannot hear them at such a distance. Will the palefaces promise them safety if the warriors come to them?"

"Come," Valentine replied, "but mind, only two of you."

"Good," the chief said, "two warriors will come."

The Apaches consulted for an instant together, and then took from among the lofty grass in which it was concealed a light raft, which the hunters had not noticed, and prepared to gain the island.

The whites awaited them, resting on their rifles, apparently careless, but anxiously watching the shrubs on the bank, behind which the Apache warriors were doubtless hidden, and watching them in their turn.

The Indians landed and walked toward the hunters with all the etiquette prescribed by the law of the prairies. On seeing that the Indians were unarmed, Valentine handed his rifle to Don Pablo, who laid it a few paces behind him.

"Good," Black Cat muttered, with a smile; "my brother acts loyally. I expected that from him."

"Hum, chief!" Valentine answered, sharply; "Enough of compliments – what have you to say to me?"

"My pale brother does not like to lose time in vain words," the Indian said; "he is a wise man. I bring him the propositions of the principal chiefs of the tribe."

"Let us hear them, chief. If they are just, although we are not in so bad a position as you may suppose, we may possibly accept them, merely for the sake of saving bloodshed."

"There are at this moment more than two hundred warriors assembled on the riverbank; tomorrow there will be five hundred. Now, as the palefaces have no canoes, as they are not otters to plunge unseen into the 'endless river,' or birds to soar in the air – "

"What next?" Valentine interrupted him impertinently.

"How will my brothers eat, when the little provision they have is exhausted? With what will my brothers defend themselves when they have burnt all their powder?"

"I presume that is of little consequence to you, chief," the hunter answered, with ill-concealed impatience. "You did not ask the interview I have granted to talk nonsense, so I must ask you to come to facts."

"I only wished to prove to my brother that we are well-informed, and know that the palefaces have no means of flight or safety. If, then, my brothers are willing, they can rejoin their nations, without being impeded by us in their retreat."

"Ah, ah! And in what way, chief, if you please?"

"By delivering to us immediately two persons who are here."

"Only think of that! And who may these two persons be?"

"The White Lily and the Coras Chief."

"Listen, chief: if you took the trouble to come here in order to make me such a proposal, you were wrong to leave your comrades," Valentine said, with a grin.

"My brother will reflect," the Apache said, with perfect calmness.

"I never reflect when the question is the commission of an act of cowardice, chief," Valentine answered sharply. "We have known each other for a long time; many of your warriors have been sent by me to the happy hunting grounds. I have often fought against you, and never on the desert have you or your brothers had to reproach me with an action unworthy of an honest hunter."

"That is true," the two chiefs answered, with a deferential bow; "my brother is beloved and esteemed by all the Apaches."

"Thanks. Now listen to me: the maiden you call White Lily, and whom you made prisoner, is free by right and in fact, and you know very well that you have no right to ask her of me."

"Several of our brothers, the most valiant warriors of our tribe, have gone to the happy hunting grounds before their hour marked by the Wacondah: their blood cries for vengeance."

"That does not concern me; these were killed fighting like brave men, and those are the chances of war."

"My brother has spoken well," Black Cat said. "The Lily is free; she can remain with the warriors of her nation. I consent to it. But my brother cannot refuse to give up to me the Indian hidden in his camp."

"That Indian is my friend," the hunter answered nobly; "he is not my prisoner, that I can deliver him up. I have no right to compel him to leave me. If he prefers to remain with us, the chief knows that hospitality is sacred on the prairie; if Moukapec wishes to return to his brothers, he is free. But what interest have the Apaches in my giving this man into their hands?"

"He has betrayed his nation, and must be punished."

"Do you imagine, chief, that I should deliberately, and stifling every feeling of gratitude within me, place in your hands a man I love, whose devotion is known to me, in order that you may kill him with horrible torture? On my soul, chief, you must be mad."