The Trail-Hunter: A Tale of the Far West

"Xocoyotl (My child)!"

The cry of the soul – this first and supreme appeal of a mother on the verge of the tomb – affected the two men with their hearts of bronze. Valentine cautiously lifted the child, which had gone to sleep peacefully on the leaves, and presented it to the mother, saying in a soft voice:

"Nantli joltinemi (Mother, he lives)!"

At these words, which restored her hope, the woman leaped up as if moved by a spring, seized the child, and covered it with kisses, as she burst into tears. The hunters respected this outpouring of maternal love: they withdrew, leaving food and water by the woman's side. At sunset the two men returned. The woman was squatting by the fire, nursing her child, and lulling it to sleep by singing an Indian song. The night passed tranquilly, the two hunters watching in turn over the slumbers of the woman they had saved, and who reposed in peace.

At sunrise she awoke; and, with the skill and handiness peculiar to the women of her race, she rekindled the fire and prepared breakfast. The two men looked at her with a smile, then threw their rifles over their shoulders, and set out in search of game. When they returned to the bivouac the meal was ready. After eating, Valentine lit his Indian pipe, seated himself at the foot of a tree, and addressed the young woman.

"What is my sister's name?" he asked.

"Tonameyotl (the Sunbeam)," she replied, with a joyous smile that revealed the double row of pearls that adorned her mouth.

"My sister has a pretty name," Valentine answered. "She doubtless belongs to the great nation of the Apaches."

"The Apaches are dogs," she said in a hollow voice, and with a flash of hatred in her glance. "The Comanche women will weave them petticoats. The Apaches are cowardly as the coyotes: they only fight a hundred against one. The Comanche warriors are like the tempest."

"Is my sister the wife of a cacique?"

"Where is the warrior who does not know Unicorn?" she said proudly.

Valentine bowed. He had already heard the name of this terrible chief pronounced several times. Mexicans and Indians, trappers, hunters, and warriors, all felt for him a respect mingled with terror.

"Sunbeam is Unicorn's wife," the Indian girl continued.

"Good!" Valentine answered. "My sister will tell me where to find the village of her tribe, and I will lead her back to the chief."

The young woman smiled.

"I have in my heart a small bird that sings at every instant of the day," she said in her gentle and melodious voice. "The swallow cannot live without its mate, and the chief is on the trail of Sunbeam."

"We will wait the chief here, then," Valentine said.

The hunter felt great pleasure in conversing with this simple child.

"How was my sister thus fastened to the trunk of tree, and thrown into the current of the Gila, to perish there with her child? It is an atrocious vengeance."

"Yes, it is the vengeance of an Apache dog," she answered. "Aztatl (the Heron), daughter of Stanapat, the great chief of the Apaches, loved Unicorn – her heart bounded at the mere name of the great Comanche warrior; but the chief of my nation has only one heart, and it belongs to Sunbeam. Two days ago the warriors of my tribe set out for a great buffalo hunt, and the squaws alone remained in the village. While I slept in my hut four Apache thieves, taking advantage of my slumber, seized me and my child, and delivered us into the hands of Stanapat's daughter. 'You love your husband,' she said with a grin: 'you doubtless suffer at being separated from him. Be happy: I will send you to him by the shortest road. He is hunting on the prairies down the river, and in two hours you will be in his arms, unless,' she added with a laugh, 'the caymans stop you on the road.' – 'The Comanche women despise death,' I answered her. 'For a hair you pluck from me, Unicorn will take the scalps of your whole tribe; so act as you think proper;' and I turned my head away, resolved to answer her no more. She herself fastened me to the log, with my face turned to the sky, in order, as she said, that I might see my road; and then she hurled me into the river, yelling: 'Unicorn is a cowardly rabbit, whom the Apache women despise. This is how I revenge myself.' I have told my brother, the pale hunter, everything as it happened."

"My sister is a brave woman," Valentine replied: "she is worthy to be the wife of a renowned chief."

The young mother smiled as she embraced her child, which she presented, with a movement full of grace, to the hunter, who kissed it on the forehead. At this moment the song of the maukawis was heard at a short distance off. The two hunters raised their heads in surprise, and looked around them.

"The quail sings very late, I fancy," Valentine muttered suspiciously.

The Indian girl smiled as she looked down, but gave no answer. Suddenly a slight cracking of dry branches disturbed the silence. Valentine and Curumilla made a move, as if to spring up and seize their rifles that lay by their side.

"My brothers must not stir," the squaw said quickly: "it is a friend."

The hunters remained motionless, and the girl then imitated with rare perfection the cry of the blue jay. The bushes parted, and an Indian warrior, perfectly painted and armed for war, bounded like a jackal over the grass and herbs that obstructed his passage, and stopped in face of the hunters. This warrior was Unicorn. He saluted the two men with that grace innate in the Indian race; then he crossed his arms on his breast and waited, without taking a glance at his squaw, or even appearing to have seen her. On her side the Indian woman did not stir.

During several moments a painful silence fell on the four persons whom chance had assembled in so strange a way. At length Valentine, seeing the warrior insisted on being silent, decided he would be the first to speak.

"Unicorn is welcome to our camp," he said. "Let him take a seat by the fire of his brothers, and share with them the provisions they possess."

"I will take a seat by the fire of my paleface brother," he replied; "but he must first answer me a question I wish to ask of him."

"My brother can speak: my ears are open."

"Good!" the chief answered. "How is it the hunters have with them Unicorn's wife?"

"Sunbeam can answer that question best," Valentine said gravely.

The chief turned to his squaw.

"I am waiting," he remarked.

The Indian woman repeated, word for word, to her husband the story she had told a few minutes before. Unicorn listened without evincing either surprise or wrath: his face remained impassive, but his brows were imperceptibly contracted. When the woman had finished speaking, the Comanche chief bowed his head on his chest, and remained for a moment plunged in serious thought. Presently he raised his head.

"Who saved Sunbeam from the river when she was about to perish?" he asked her.

The young woman's face lit up with a charming smile.

"These hunters," she replied.

"Good!" the chief said, laconically, as he bent on the two men glances full of the most unspeakable gratitude.

"Could we leave her to perish?" Valentine said.

"My brothers did well. Unicorn is one of the first sachems of his nation. His tongue is not forked: he gives his heart once, and takes it back no more. Unicorn's heart belongs to the hunters."

These simple words were uttered with the majesty and grandeur the Indians know so well how to assume when they think proper. The two men vowed their gratitude, and the chief continued: —

"Unicorn is returning to his village with his wife: his young men are awaiting him twenty paces from here. He would be happy if the hunters would consent to accompany him there."

"Chief," Valentine answered, "we came into the prairie to hunt the buffalo."

"Well, what matter? My brothers will hunt with me and my young men; but if they wish to prove to me that they accept my friendship, they will follow me to my village."

"The chief is mounted, while we are on foot."

"I have horses."

Any further resistance would have been a breach of politeness, and the hunters accepted the invitation. Valentine, whom accident had brought on to the prairies of the Rio Gila and Del Norte, was in his heart not sorry to make friends there, and have allies on whose support he could reckon in case of need. The squaw had by this time risen: she timidly approached her husband, and held up the child, saying in a soft and frightened voice, —

"Kiss this warrior."

The chief took the frail creature in his muscular arms, and kissed it repeatedly with a display of extraordinary tenderness, and then returned it to the mother. The latter wrapped the babe in a small blanket, then placed it on a plank shaped like a cradle, and covered with dry moss, fastened a hoop over the place where its head rested, to guard it from the burning beams of the sun, and hung the whole on her back by means of a woolen strap passing over her forehead.

"I am ready," she said.

"Let us go," the chief replied.

The hunters followed him, and they were soon on the prairie.

CHAPTER V

THE ADOPTION

Some sixty Comanche warriors were lying in the grass awaiting their sachem, while the tethered horses were nibbling the tall prairie grasses and the tree shoots. It could be seen at the first glance that these men were picked warriors, selected for a dangerous expedition. From the heels of all dangled five or six wolf tails – marks of honor which only renowned warriors have the right to wear.

On seeing their chief, they hurriedly rose and leaped into their saddles. All were aware that their sachem's wife had been carried off, and that the object of their expedition was to deliver her. Still, on noticing her, they evidenced no surprise, but saluted her as if she had left them only a few moments previously. The war party had with it several horses, which the chief ordered to be given to his squaw and his new friends; then, at a signal from him, the whole party started at full speed, for the Indians know no other pace than the gallop.

After about two hours' ride they reached the vicinity of the village, which could be smelt some time before reaching, owing to the habit the Comanches have of placing their dead on scaffoldings outside the villages, where they moulder away: these scaffoldings, composed of four stakes planted in the ground, terminated in a fork, while from poles stuck up near them hung skins and other offerings made by the Indians to the genius of good.

At the entrance of the village a number of horsemen were assembled, awaiting the return of the sachem. So soon as they perceived him they burst into a formidable yell, and rushed forward like a whirlwind, shouting, firing guns, and brandishing their weapons. Unicorn's band followed this example, and there was soon a most extraordinary confusion.

The sachem made his entry into the village in the midst of shouts, barking of dogs, and shots; in short, he was accompanied to the square by an indescribable row. On reaching it the warriors stopped. Unicorn begged the hunters to dismount, and guided them to his cabin, which he made them enter before him.

"Now," he said to them, "brothers, you are at home: rest in peace, eat and drink. This evening I will come and talk with you, and make you a proposal which I sincerely hope you will not reject."

The two hunters, wearied by the long ride they had made, fell back with extreme satisfaction on the beds of dried leaves which awaited them.

"Well," Valentine asked Curumilla, "penni, what do you say about what is happening to us?"

"It may be good."

"Can it not?"

"Yes."

On which Curumilla fell asleep, and Valentine soon followed his example. As he had promised, toward evening Unicorn entered the cabin.

"Have my brothers rested?" he asked.

"Yes," Valentine answered.

"Are they disposed to listen to me?"

"Speak, chief; we are listening."

The Comanche sachem then squatted near the fire, and remained for several minutes, with his head bent forward and his eyes fixed on the ground, in the position of a man who is reflecting. At length he raised his head, stretched forth his arm as if to give greater authority to the words he was about to utter, and began thus: —

"Brother, you and your friend are two brave warriors. The prairies rejoice at your arrival among us; the deer and the buffaloes fly at your approach; for your arm is strong, and your eye unerring. Unicorn is only a poor Indian; but he is a great warrior among the Comanches, and a much feared chief of his tribe. You have saved his wife, Sunbeam, whom the Apache dogs threw into the Gila, and whom the hideous alligators were preparing to devour. Since his wife, the joy of his hearth, and his son, the hope of his old days, have been restored to him, Unicorn has sought in his heart the means to prove to you his gratitude. He asked the Chief of Life what he could do to attach you to him. Unicorn is terrible in combat; he has the heart of the grizzly bear for his enemies – he has the heart of the gazelle for those he loves."

"Chief," Valentine answered, "the words you utter at this moment amply repay us for what we have done. We are happy to have saved the wife and son of a celebrated warrior: our reward is in our hearts, and we wish for no other."

The chief shook his head.

"No," he said; "the two hunters are no longer strangers for the Comanches; they are the brothers of our tribe. During their sleep Unicorn assembled round the council fire the chiefs of his nation, and told them what has passed. The chiefs have ranged themselves on Unicorn's side, and have ordered him to make known to the hunters the resolution they have formed."

"Speak, then, chief," Valentine said, "and believe that the wishes of the council will be commands to us."

A smile of joy played round the chief's lips.

"Good!" he said. "This is what was agreed on among the great chiefs. My brothers the hunters will be adopted by the tribe, and be henceforth sons of the great Comanche nation. What say my brothers?"

A lively feeling of pleasure made Valentine quiver at this unexpected proposition. To be adopted by the Comanche tribe, was obtaining the right of hunting over the whole extent of the immense prairies which that powerful nation holds through its indomitable courage and the number of its warriors. The hunter exchanged a glance with his silent comrade and rose.

"I accept for myself and friend," he said as he held out his hand to the chief, "the honor the Comanches do us in admitting us into the number of the sons of their warlike nation. We shall prove ourselves worthy of this marked favour."

Unicorn smiled.

"Tomorrow," he said as he rose, "my brothers will be adopted by the nation."

After bowing gracefully to the hunters he took leave of them and withdrew. The next daybreak the chiefs entered the cabin. Valentine and Curumilla were ready, and had long been acquainted with the trials they would have to undergo. The neophytes were conducted into the great medicine hut, where a copious meal was prepared. It consisted of dog meat boiled in bear fat, tortillas, maize, and hautle cakes. The chiefs squatted in a circle, while the squaws waited on them.

When the meal was ended all rose. Unicorn placed himself between the hunters, laid his hands on their heads, and struck up the great war song. This song was repeated in chorus by the company to the sound of the war whistles, the drums and the chikikouis. The following is the translation of the song: —

"Master of Life, regard us with a favourable eye.We are receiving two brothers in arms who appear to have sense.They display vigour in their arms.They fear not to expose their bodies to the blows of their enemies."

It is impossible for anyone who has not been present at the ceremony to form even a distant idea of the frightful noise produced by their hoarse voices mingled with the shrill and discordant instruments: it was enough to produce a deafness. When the song was ended each took his seat by the council fire.

The hunters were seated on beaver skins, and the great war calumet was presented to them, from which each took several puffs, and it went the round. Unicorn then rose, and fastened round the neck of each a wampum collar, and another made of the claws of the grizzly bear. The Indians, during this time, had built near the medicine lodge a cabin for the sweating, and when it was finished the hunters took off their clothes and entered it. The chiefs then brought two large stones which had been previously made red hot, and after closing the hut carefully, left the neophytes in it.

The latter threw water on the stones, and the steam which arose almost immediately produced a profuse perspiration. When this was at its height the hunters ran out of the hut, passed through the double row of warriors, and leaped into the river, according to the usual fashion. They were immediately drawn from the water, wrapped in blankets, and led to Unicorn's hut, in order to undergo the final trial, which is also the most painful. The hunters were laid on their backs, then Unicorn traced on their chests with a sharp stick dipped in water in which gunpowder had been dissolved, the figure of the animal serving as totem (protector) to the tribe. Then with two spikes fastened to a small piece of wood, and dipped in vermillion, he proceeded to prick the design.

Whenever Unicorn came to a place that was too hard he made an incision in the flesh with a gun-flint. The places that were not marked with vermillion were rubbed in with powder, so that the result was a red and blue tattooing. During the course of this operation the war songs and chikikouis were constantly heard, in order to drown the cries which the atrocious pain might draw from the patients; but the latter endured it all without even a contraction of the eyebrows evidencing the pain they must have felt.

When the tattooing was over the wounds were cauterised with rotten wood to prevent suppuration; they were washed with cold water, in which had been infused a herb resembling box, a great deal of which the Indians mix with their tobacco to reduce the strength. The trial we have described is so painful to endure, that nearly always it is only accomplished at intervals, and often lasts a week. This time the hunters endured it bravely during the six hours it lasted, not uttering a cry, or giving a sign of weakness. Hence the Indians, from this moment, regarded them with a species of respect; for with them courage is the first of qualities.

"My brothers are children of the tribe," the chief said, offering each a horse. "The prairie belongs to them. These coursers will bear them to the most remote limits of the desert, chasing the wild beasts, or pursuing the Apache dogs."

"Good!" Valentine answered.

At one bound the two hunters were in their saddles, and made their horses perform the most elegant and graceful curvets. This last and heroic deed, after all they had suffered during the course of the day, raised to their full height the joy and enthusiasm of the Comanches, who applauded with frenzied shouts and yells all they saw their new brothers execute. After remaining nearly an hour on horseback they dismounted, and followed the chiefs into the medicine lodge; and when each had taken his seat round the council fire, and the calumet had again been smoked, Unicorn rose.

"The Master of Life loves His Comanche sons, since He gives them for brothers such warriors as Koutonepi and Curumilla. Who can equal their courage! Who would dare to contend with them! On their approach the grizzly bear hides at the extremity of its den; the jaguar bounds far away on seeing them; the eagle itself, which looks the sun in the face, flies from their unerring bullet. Brothers, we congratulate ourselves on counting you among our warriors. Henceforth we shall be invincible. Brothers, give up the names you have up to this day borne, and assume those we now give you. You, Koutonepi, are henceforth Quauhtli, and bear the name of that eagle, whose courage and strength you possess. You, Curumilla, will be called Vexolotl, and the cock will be proud to see that you have taken possession of its name."

The two hunters warmly thanked their new brothers, and were led back by the chiefs to their cabin, who wished them a pleasant night after so rude a day. Such was the way in which Valentine and Curumilla, to whom we shall continue to give their old names, formed the acquaintance of Unicorn, and the result of it.

CHAPTER VI

THE MISSIONARY

With time the relations existing between the hunters and the Indians were drawn closer, and became more friendly. In the desert physical strength is the quality most highly esteemed. Man, compelled to struggle incessantly against the dangers of every description that rise each moment before him, is bound to look only to himself for the means to surmount them. Hence the Indians profess a profound contempt, for sickly people, and weak and timid nerves.

Valentine easily induced Unicorn to seize, during the hunt of the wild horses, the Mexican magistrates, in order to make hostages of them if the conspiracy were unsuccessful. What the hunter foresaw happened. Red Cedar had opposed stratagem to stratagem; and, as we have seen, Don Miguel was arrested in the midst of his triumph, at the very moment when he fancied himself master of the Paso del Norte.

After Valentine, Curumilla, and Don Pablo had seen, from their hiding place in the bushes, the mournful escort pass that was taking Don Miguel as a prisoner to Santa Fe, they held a council. Moments were precious; for in Mexico conspirators have the sad privilege over every other prisoner of being tried quickly, and not left to pine. The prisoner must be saved. Valentine, with that promptitude of decision which formed the salient point of his character, soon arranged in his head one of those bold schemes which only he could discover.

"Courage!" he said to Don Pablo. "As long as the heart beats in the breast there is hope, thank Heaven! The first hand is lost, I allow; but now for the second game."

Don Pablo had entire faith in Valentine: he had often been in the position to try his friend. If these words did not completely reassure him, they at least almost restored his hope, and gave him back that courage so necessary to him at this supreme moment, and which had abandoned him.

"Speak, my friend," he said. "What is to be done?"

"Let us attend to the most important thing first, and save Father Seraphin, who devoted himself for us."

The three men started. The night was a gloomy one. The moon only appeared at intervals: incessantly veiled by thick clouds which passed over its disc, it seemed to shed its sickly rays regretfully on the earth. The wind whistled through the branches of the trees, which uttered mysterious murmurs as they came into collision. The coyotes howled in the plain, and at times their sinister form shot athwart the skyline. After a march of about an hour the three men approached the spot where the missionary had fallen from the effect of Red Cedar's bullet; but he had disappeared. An alarm mingled with a frightful agony contracted the hunter's hearts. Valentine took a despairing glance around; but the darkness was too dense for him possibly to distinguish anything.

"What is to be done?" Don Pablo asked sadly.

"Seek," Valentine replied sharply: "he cannot be far."

Curumilla had already taken up the trail, and had disappeared in the gloom. The Araucano had never been a great speaker naturally: with age he had grown almost dumb, and never uttered a word save when absolutely necessary. But if the Indian did not talk, he acted; and in critical situations his determination was often worth long harangues. Don Pablo, obedient to Valentine's orders, threw his rifle over his shoulder, and prepared to execute them.

"Where are you going?" the hunter asked him, as he seized his arm.

"To look for Father Seraphin."

"Wait."

The two men stood motionless, listening to the mysterious sounds of the desert, that nameless melody which plunges the soul into a soft reverie. Nearly an hour passed thus, nothing revealing to the hunters that Curumilla's search had proved successful. Valentine, growing impatient at this long delay, was also preparing to go on, at once the weak, snapping cry of the walkon rose in the air.