The Pirates of the Prairies: Adventures in the American Desert

"You must do it, or woe to you!" Black Cat said with a degree of heat he could not repress.

"It shall not be," Valentine answered coldly.

"It shall be!" a calm and haughty voice said.

And Eagle-wing suddenly appeared in the midst of the group.

"What!" Valentine exclaimed with amazement, "you would give yourself up to torture? I will not suffer it, chief: remain with your friends, we will save you, or perish together."

The Coras shook his head sadly.

"No!" he said, "I cannot do that, it would be cowardly. The White Lily of the Valley must be saved. I have sworn to her father to devote myself to her, and my brother Koutonepi must let me accomplish my promise."

"But these men," Valentine continued to urge, "have no claim on you."

Moukapec let his head sink.

"By Nuestra Señora del Pilar," Don Pablo interrupted him with emotion, "we cannot thus abandon a man who has done us many services."

Valentine, with his eyes fixed on the ground, was reflecting.

"Good," Black Cat went on; "Eagle-wing is here, the palefaces are free: they will return to their great lodges whenever they please: they will find the roads open. The Apaches have only one word; let the warrior follow me."

The Indian took a parting glance at his friends, and a sigh escaped from his chest; but with a superior effort he overcame the sorrow that choked him, his face assumed its usual mask of stoicism, and turning to the two Apache chiefs, he said in a firm voice —

"I am ready: let us go."

The hunters exchanged a glance of discouragement, but they made no attempt to oppose the Coras' resolution, for they knew that it would be futile. But at this moment Doña Clara suddenly appeared, walked boldly up to the Indian, and touched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Stay!" she exclaimed. "I will not have you go, chief."

Eagle-wing turned as if he had received an electric shock, and gave the maiden a glance of undefinable expression; but he overcame this emotion, and reassumed his apparent coolness.

"I must go," he said softly, "the Lily must not restrain me; she is doubtless ignorant that her safety depends on my departure."

"I have heard everything," she quickly retorted. "I know the odious propositions these men have dared to make, and the condition they had audacity to insist on."

"Well, why then does my sister wish to stop me?"

"Because," the maiden energetically exclaimed, "I will not accept that condition."

"By Heavens! That is fine," Valentine said joyfully; "that is what I call speaking."

"Yes," the young lady continued, "in my father's name I order you not to leave this island, chief – in my father's name, who, were he here, would order you as I do."

"I answer for that," Don Pablo said; "my father has too noble a heart to assent to an act of cowardice."

The maiden turned to the Indian chief, who had been stoically witnessing the scene.

"Begone, redskins," she went on with a majestic accent, impossible to render, "you see that all your victims escape you."

"Honour bids me go," the warrior murmured feebly.

Doña Clara took his hand between hers, and looked at him softly.

"Moukapec!" she said to him, in her melodious and pure voice, "do you not know that yours would be a useless sacrifice? The Apaches are only striving to deprive us of our most devoted defender, that they may make an easier conquest of us. They are very treacherous Indians; remain with us."

Eagle-wing hesitated for a moment, and the two chiefs tried in vain to read on his face the feelings that affected him. During several seconds, a leaden silence weighed on this group of men, whose hearts could be heard beating. At length the Coras raised his head, and answered with an effort —

"You insist; I remain here."

Then he turned to the chief, who was waiting anxiously.

"Go," he said to them in a firm voice, "return to the tents of your tribe. Tell your brothers, who were never mine, but who at times have granted me a cordial hospitality, that Moukapec, the great Sachem of the Coras of the lakes, takes back his liberty: he gives up all claim to fire and water in their villages; he wishes to have nothing more in common with them; and if the Apache dogs prowl round him, and seek him, they will find him ever ready to meet them face to face on the warpath. I have spoken."

The Buffalo chiefs had listened to these words with that calmness which never abandons the Indians; not a feature on their faces had quivered. When the Coras warrior finished speaking, Black Cat looked at him fixedly, and replied to him with a cold and cutting accent —

"I have heard a crow, the Coras are cowardly squaws, to whom the Apache warriors will give petticoats. Moukapec is a prairie dog, the sunbeams hurt his eyes, he will make his lair with the paleface hares, my nation no longer knows him."

"Much good may it do him," Valentine remarked with a smile, while Eagle-wing shrugged his shoulders at this outburst of insults.

"I retire," Black Cat continued; "ere the owl has twice saluted the sun, the scalps of the palefaces will be fastened to my girdle."

"And," the second chief added, "the young men of my tribe will make war whistles of the white thieves' bones."

"Very good," Valentine replied, with a crafty smile; "try it, we are ready to receive you, and our rifles carry a long distance."

"The palefaces are boasting and yelping dogs," Black Cat said again. "I shall soon return."

"All the better," said Valentine; "but in the meanwhile, as I suppose you have nothing more to say to us, I fancy it is time for you to rejoin your friends, who must be growing impatient at your absence."

Black Cat gave a start of anger at this parting sarcasm; but repressing the passion that inflamed him, he folded himself haughtily in his buffalo robe, remounted the raft with his comrade, and they rapidly retired from the island.

CHAPTER XVI

SUNBEAM

The situation of the fugitives was most critical, as the Indians had stated; the number of their warriors hourly increased, and on both sides of the island there were large encampments, indicated by numerous fires.

The day passed in this way, and there was no attack. No incident even disturbed the tranquillity of the robbers till about the middle of the following night. At this moment the darkness was thick, and not a star glistened in the sky; the moon, obscured by clouds, only displayed her pallid disc at intervals.

One of those intense fogs which frequently prevail at this season on the Rio Gila, had fallen, and ended by confusing all objects; the banks of the river had disappeared from sight, and even the Indian campfires were no longer visible. The hunters, seated in a circle, maintained the deepest silence; each was yielding to the flood of bitter thoughts that rose from his heart. All at once, amid the silence of the night, a confused and indistinct sound was audible, like that of a paddle striking the side of a canoe.

"Hilloh! what's the meaning of this?" Valentine said. "Can the Apaches be dreaming of surprising us?"

"Let us have a look, at any rate," Don Pablo remarked.

The five men rose, and glided silently through the bushes, in the direction of the sound which had aroused them. After proceeding a certain distance, Valentine stopped to listen.

"I am certain I was not mistaken," he said to himself; "it was the sound produced by a paddle falling in a canoe that I heard. Who can have come to visit us? Perhaps it is some Indian deviltry."

And the hunter sounded the darkness around him with his piercing and unerring eye. All at once, he fancied he saw an object moving in the fog. He went on; then after carefully examining this person, who grew every moment more and more distinct, he drew himself up, and leant on his rifle.

"What the deuce do you want here at this hour, Sunbeam, my dear child?" he asked in a low voice.

The young Indian squaw, for it was really she whom the hunter had addressed, laid a finger on her lip as if recommending prudence.

"Follow me, Koutonepi," she said to him so softly that her voice resembled a sigh.

After going a few yards, the girl stooped, and made the hunter a sign to follow her example.

"Look," she said, pointing to one of those long and light canoes which the Indians hollow out of enormous trees, and which carry ten persons with ease. "Look."

Valentine, in spite of his self-command, had difficulty in suppressing a cry of joy. He held out his hand, saying with considerable emotion:

"My brave girl!"

"Sunbeam remembers," the Indian girl replied with a smile, "that Koutonepi saved her; the heart of the white lady is kind, Sunbeam wishes to save them all."

The first moment of emotion past, the hunter, who was thoroughly acquainted with the cunning and roguery of the redskins, bent a scrutinising gaze on the girl. The Indian's face had an expression of honesty which commanded confidence, and Valentine entered the canoe.

It contained paddles, provisions, and, what caused him more pleasure than all else, six large buffalo horns, full of gunpowder, and two bags of bullets.

"Good!" he said, "my daughter is grateful, Wacondah will protect her."

Sunbeam's face expanded at these words.

At this moment Don Pablo and the other hunters rejoined Valentine, and learned with delight what had happened; the sight of the canoe restored them all their energy. Shaw remained on guard, while Valentine, accompanied by the others, and Sunbeam, returned to Doña Clara, whom anxiety had aroused.

"Here is a new friend I present to you," the hunter said, pointing to the young Indian, who stood timidly behind him.

"Oh! I know her," Doña Clara replied, as she embraced the girl, who was quite confused by these caresses.

"But tell me, Sunbeam," Valentine said, after the expiration of a moment, "how comes it that you arrived here?"

The Indian girl smiled haughtily.

"Unicorn is a great warrior," she answered; "he has the glance of the eagle, he knows all that happens in the prairie; he saw the danger his brother, the great paleface hunter, ran, and his heart trembled with sadness."

"Yes," Valentine said, "the chief loves me."

The Indian continued.

"Unicorn sought a mode of coming to his brother's assistance; he was wandering along the riverbank when the fog supplied him with the means he so greatly desired; he placed Sunbeam in a canoe, ordered her to come, and she came with joy, laughing at the Apache dogs, whose mole eyes could not perceive her, when she passed in front of them."

"Yes, it must be so," Valentine said, "but why did not the chief come himself with his warriors, instead of sending you?"

"Unicorn is a sachem," the squaw answered, "he is wise and prudent as he is brave. The warriors had remained in the village; the chief was alone with Sunbeam."

"May heaven grant that your words be sincere, and that we may not have cause to repent having placed confidence in you," Don Pablo said.

"Sunbeam is a Comanche woman," the Indian replied haughtily; "her heart is red, and her tongue is not forked."

"I answer for her," Doña Clara said, impetuously; "she would not deceive us."

"I believe it," Valentine said; "but, at any rate, we shall see. There is some honour among the redskins; besides, we shall be prudent. Now, I presume that, like myself, you are all anxious to quit this island? My advice is, that we should at once take advantage of the canoe this young woman has brought us."

"It is true, then," Doña Clara said joyfully, as she sprang up.

"Yes," Valentine answered, "a magnificent canoe, in which we shall be perfectly at our ease; and, better still, it is capitally found in food and ammunition. Still, I think we should not do wrong by taking advantage of the fog to escape, without giving the Indians a chance of seeing us."

"Be it so," Don Pablo said; "but once on firm ground, what road shall we follow, as we have no horses? Come, Sunbeam, can you give us any advice on that head?"

"Listen," the young squaw said; "the Apaches are preparing for a great expedition. They have called under arms all their brethren; and more than three thousand warriors are traversing the prairie in every direction at this moment. Their war parties hold all the paths. Two nations alone would not respond to the invitation of the Apaches: they are the Comanches and the Navajos. The villages of my tribe are not far off, and I can try to lead you to them."

"Very good," Don Pablo answered. "From what you tell us, the riverbanks are guarded. Going up the Gila in a canoe is impossible, because within two hours we should be inevitably scalped. I am therefore of opinion that we should proceed by the shortest road to the nearest Comanche or Navajo village. But, to do that, we require horses, for we must let no grass grow under our feet."

"Only one road is open," Sunbeam said, firmly.

"Which?" Don Pablo asked.

"The one that crosses the Apache camp."

"Hum!" Valentine muttered, "That seems to me very dangerous. We are only seven, and two of them are women."

"That is true," Eagle-wing remarked, who had hitherto been silent; "but it is, at the same time, the road which offers the best chances of success."

"Let us hear your plan, then," Valentine asked.

"The Apaches," the sachem went on, "are numerous; they believe us crushed and demoralised by the critical position in which we are. They will never suppose that five men will have the audacity to enter their camp; and their security is our strength."

"Yes, but horses! Horses!" the hunter objected.

"The Wacondah will provide them," the chief replied. "He never abandons brave men, who place their confidence in him."

"Well, let us trust in Heaven!" Valentine said.

"I believe," said Doña Clara, who had listened to the conversation with deep attention, "that the advice of our friend, the Indian warrior, is good, and we ought to follow it."

Eagle-wing bowed, while a smile of satisfaction played over his face.

"Let it be as you desire," the hunter said, turning to the young Mexican girl, "we will start without further delay."

The cry of the jay was heard twice.

"Hilloh!" the hunter went on, "What is going on now? That is Shaw's signal."

Everybody seized his weapon, and proceeded at full speed in the direction whence the signal came; Doña Clara and Sunbeam remaining behind, concealed in a thicket.

Though unable to guess the motive which had caused Sunbeam to act in the way she had done, Doña Clara had however, understood at the first word, with that intuition which women possess, that Sunbeam was to be trusted – that in the present case she was acting under the impression of a good thought, and was entirely devoted to them for some reason or another. Hence she bestowed the most affectionate caresses on her.

Knowing, besides, the desire for rapine and the avarice which are the foundation of the redskin character generally, she took off a gold bracelet she wore on her right arm, and fastened it on the Indian's, whose joy and happiness were raised to their acme by this pretty present.

Seduced by this unexpected munificence, although already devoted to Valentine by the services he had rendered her, she attached herself unreservedly to Doña Clara.

"The pale virgin need not feel alarmed," she said in her soft and musical voice; "she is my sister. I will save her, with the warriors who accompany her."

"Thanks," Doña Clara answered, "my sister is good; she is the wife of a great chief; I shall ever be her friend. So soon as I have rejoined my father, I will make her presents far more valuable than this."

The young Indian clapped her dainty little hands, in sign of joy.

"What is the matter there?" Valentine asked, on reaching Shaw, who, lying on the ground with his rifle thrust forward, seemed trying to pierce the darkness.

"On my honour, I do not know," the latter replied simply, "but it seems as if something extraordinary were going on around us. I see shadows moving about the river, but can distinguish nothing, owing to the fog; I hear dull sounds, and plashing in the water, and I fancy that the Indians are going to attack us."

"Yes," Valentine muttered, as if speaking to himself, "these are their favourite tactics. They like to surprise their enemies, so let us look out for the canoe."

At this instant, a black mass pierced the fog, advancing slowly and noiselessly up to the island.

"Here they are," Valentine said, in a low voice. "Attention! Do not let them land."

The hunters hid themselves behind the shrubs. Valentine was not mistaken: it was a raft loaded with Indian warriors coming up. So soon as the Apaches were only a few yards from the island, five shots were fired simultaneously, which spread death and disorder among them.

The Apaches believed they should surprise their enemies asleep, and were far from expecting so rough a reception. Seeing their plans foiled, and that the enemy were ready for action, there was a momentary hesitation; still, shame gained the victory over prudence, and they continued to advance.

This raft was the vanguard of some dozen others, still hidden in the fog, awaiting the result of the reconnoissance made by the first. If the hunters were awake, they had orders to return without attacking them, which they obeyed. The first raft had the same instructions, but it had either got into a current which urged it on, or, as was more probable, the Indians wished to avenge their comrades, and they consequently advanced.

This time the word of command was given by Valentine, and the Apaches landed without being disturbed. They all rushed forward brandishing their clubs, and uttering their war yell, but were received with clubbed rifles, felled or drowned, ere they had scarce time to walk a couple of paces on land.

"Now," Valentine said coldly, "we shall be quiet the whole night. I know the Indians, they will not recommence the attack. Don Pablo, be so good as to warn Doña Clara: Shaw and the Coras warrior will get the canoe ready, and, if you think proper, we will start at once."

Curumilla had already prepared to pull the canoe into a more suitable spot for embarking than the mass of tall grass and shrubs in which it was concealed, but, as he was about to leap into it, he fancied he saw that it was sensibly moving from the bank.

Curumilla, much surprised, stepped into the river, in order to discover the cause of this unusual movement. The canoe was moving further and further, and was already three or four yards from the bank. Completely liberated from the reeds, it was cutting the current at right angles, with a continuous and regular movement, which proved that it was obeying some secret and intelligent influence.

Curumilla, more and more surprised, but determined to know the truth, proceeded silently to the bow of the boat, and then all was explained. An end of rope, intended to tie up the canoe and prevent it from drifting, was hanging over; an Apache was holding this end between his teeth, and swimming vigorously in the direction of the camp, dragging the canoe with him.

"My brother is fatigued," Curumilla said, ironically; "he must let me in my turn direct the canoe."

"Ouchi!" the Indian exclaimed, in his alarm; and, letting loose the rope, he dived. Curumilla dived upon him. For some minutes the river was agitated by a submarine shock, and then the two men reappeared on the surface. Curumilla held the Apache tightly by the throat.

He then drew his knife, buried it twice in the Indian's heart and lifted his scalp, and letting go of the corpse, which floated swiftly on the river, he leaped into the canoe, which during the short struggle had continued to drift, and brought it back to the isle.

"Hilloh!" Valentine said, laughing; "Where on earth do you come from, chief? I thought you were lost." Without uttering a syllable, Curumilla showed him the bloody scalp hanging from his girdle.

"Good," said Valentine; "I comprehend; my brother is a great warrior, nothing escapes him."

The Araucano smiled proudly. The little party had collected; the embarkation took place at once, and the men, each seizing a paddle, began crossing the river slowly and silently, thanks to Curumilla's precaution of muffling the paddles with leaves.

The hearts of these men, brave as they were, palpitated with fear, for they did not yet dare believe in the success of their daring project.

CHAPTER XVII

INDIAN HOSPITALITY

Not only was the attempt of the hunters to escape not so desperate as the reader might be inclined to suppose, but it even offered, up to a certain point, great chances of success.

The Apaches, when encamped in sight of an enemy, never keep watch, unless they form a weak detachment of warriors, and find themselves opposed to a far superior force; but even in that case these sentries are so careless that it is extremely easy to surprise them, which often happens, by the way, without rendering them any the more cautious.

In the case of which we write, hardly a few miles from their village, and having an effective strength of nearly eight hundred bold warriors, they could not suppose that five men, who had sought shelter in an island, without the means of quitting it, would attempt such a daring stroke.

Hence, after their attempted surprise of the whites had failed, they returned to sleep, some round the fires, others in the tents erected by their wives, waiting patiently for the morrow to attack their foes from all sides at once, which offered a certain chance of success.

In the meanwhile the hunters advanced toward the bank, concealed by the fog that enfolded them like a winding sheet, and hid their movements from the eyes interested in spying them. In this way they arrived in sight of the fires, whose uncertain gleams became weaker and weaker, and they saw their enemies lying down asleep.

Eagle-wing, at a hint from Sunbeam, steered the canoe to the foot of a rock, whose commanding mass stood about thirty feet over the river, and offered them under its flank a propitious shelter to disembark in security.

So soon as they landed, the hunters took Indian file, and with their rifles ready, they stealthily marched toward the camp, stopping at intervals to look anxiously around them, or listen to any suspicious sound.

Then, when all became quiet again, they resumed their venturesome march, gliding past tents and at times stepping over the sleepers at the fire, whom the slightest badly-calculated movement would have aroused.

It is impossible to form a correct idea of such a march unless you have made one yourself. A man gifted with the most energetic mind could not endure its terrible emotions for an hour. With oppressed chest, haggard eyes, and limbs agitated by a feverish and convulsive motion, the hunters passed through the midst of their ferocious enemies, knowing perfectly well that, if they were discovered, it would be all over with them, and that they would perish in the most horrible agony.

On reaching almost the extreme limit of the camp, an Indian, lying across the path they were following, suddenly made a movement and sat up, instinctively seizing his lance. One shout and the hunters were lost! Curumilla walked straight up to the Indian, who was stupefied by the sight of this funereal and fantastic procession, which he could not comprehend, and was followed by his comrades, whose step was so light that they seemed to glide over the ground without touching it.

The Apache, terrified by this apparition, which, in his superstitious belief, he attributed to the heavenly powers, crossed his arms on his chest and silently bowed his head. The band passed, the Indian not making a sigh or uttering a word. The hunters had scarce disappeared behind some rising ground, when the Apache ventured to lift his eyes; he was then convinced that he had had a vision, and without trying to account for what he had seen, he lay down and went quietly to sleep again. By this time the hunters had emerged from the camp.

"Now," said Valentine, "the worst is over."

"On the contrary," Don Pablo observed, "our position is more precarious than ever, since we are in the midst of our enemies, and have no horses."

Curumilla laid his hand on his shoulder, and looked at him softly. "My brother will be patient," he said, "he will soon have them."

"How so?" the young man asked.