The Scalp Hunters

“Toss up for her!” cried one.

“Ay, that’s fair; toss up! toss up!” shouted several.

The hint was adopted; the lots were cast; and the savage belle became the property of the winner.

In the space of a few minutes nearly every mule in the atajo carried an Indian damsel.

Some of the hunters had taken no part in this Sabine proceeding. Some disapproved of it (for all were not bad) from motives of humanity. Others did not care for being “hampered with a squaw,” but stood apart, savagely laughing at the scene.

During all this time Seguin was on the other side of the building with his daughter. He had mounted her upon one of the mules, and covered her shoulders with his serape. He was making such preparations for her journey as the tender solicitudes of the father suggested.

The noise at length attracted him; and, leaving her in charge of his servants, he hurried round to the front.

“Comrades!” cried he, glancing at the mounted captives, and comprehending all that had occurred, “there are too many here. Are these whom you have chosen?” This question was directed to the trapper Rube.

“No,” replied the latter, “them’s ’em,” and he pointed to the party he had picked out.

“Dismount these, then, and place those you have selected upon the mules. We have a desert to cross, and it will be as much as we can do to pass it with that number.”

And without appearing to notice the scowling looks of his followers, he proceeded, in company with Rube and several others, to execute the command he had given.

The indignation of the hunters now showed itself in open mutiny. Fierce looks were exchanged, and threats uttered aloud.

“By Heaven!” cried one, “I’ll have my gal along, or her scalp.”

“Vaya!” exclaimed another, in Spanish; “why take any of them? They’re not worth the trouble, after all. There’s not one of them worth the price of her own hair.”

“Take the har then, and leave the niggurs!” suggested a third.

“I say so too.”

“And I.”

“I vote with you, hoss.”

“Comrades!” said Seguin, turning to the mutineers, and speaking in a tone of extreme mildness, “remember your promise. Count the prisoners, as we agreed. I will answer for the payment of all.”

“Can ye pay for them now?” asked a voice.

“You know that that would be impossible.”

“Pay for them now! Pay for them now!” shouted several.

“Cash or scalps, says I.”

“Carrajo! where is the captain to get the money when we reach El Paso more than here? He’s neither a Jew nor a banker; and it’s news to me if he’s grown so rich. Where, then, is all the money to some from?”

“Not from the Cabildo, unless the scalps are forthcoming; I’ll warrant that.”

“True, José! They’ll give no money to him, more than to us; and we can get it ourselves if we show the skins for it. That we can.”

“Wagh! what cares he for us, now that he has got what he wanted?”

“Not a niggur’s scalp. He wouldn’t let us go by the Prieto, when we kud ’a gathered the shining stuff in chunks.”

“Now he wants us to throw away this chance too. We’d be green fools to do it, I say.”

It struck me at this moment that I might interfere, with success. Money seemed to be what the mutineers wanted; at least it was their alleged grievance; and rather than witness the fearful drama which appeared to be on the eve of enactment, I would have sacrificed my fortune.

“Men!” cried I, speaking so that I could be heard above the din, “if you deem my word worth listening to, it is this: I have sent a cargo to Chihuahua with the last caravan. By the time we get back to El Paso the traders will have returned, and I shall be placed in possession of funds double what you demand. If you will accept my promise, I shall see that you be paid.”

“Wagh! that talk’s all very well, but what do we know of you or yer cargo?”

“Vaya! A bird in the hand’s worth two in the bush.”

“He’s a trader. Who’s goin’ to take his word?”

“Rot his cargo! Scalps or cash, cash or scalps! that’s this niggur’s advice; an’ if ye don’t take it, boys, ye may leave it! but it’s all the pay ye’ll ever crook yer claws on.”

The men had tasted blood, and like the tiger, they thirsted for more. There were glaring eyes on all sides, and the countenances of some exhibited an animal ferociousness hideous to look upon. The half-robber discipline that hitherto ruled in the band seemed to have completely departed, and the authority of the chief to be set at defiance.

On the other side stood the females, clinging and huddling together. They could not understand the mutinous language, but they saw threatening attitudes and angry faces. They saw knives drawn, and heard the cocking of guns and pistols. They knew there was danger, and they crouched together, whimpering with fear.

Up to this moment Seguin had stood giving directions for the mounting of his captives. His manner was strangely abstracted, as it had been ever since the scene of meeting with his daughter. That greater care, gnawing at his heart, seemed to render him insensible to what was passing. He was not so.

As Kirker ended (for he was the last speaker) a change came over Sequin’s manner, quick as a flash of lightning. Suddenly rousing himself from his attitude of indifference, he stepped forward in front of the mutineers.

“Dare!” shouted he, in a voice of thunder, “dare to dishonour your oaths! By heavens! the first man who raises knife or rifle shall die on the instant!”

There was a pause, and a moment of deep silence.

“I had made a vow,” continued he, “that should it please God to restore me my child, this hand should be stained with no more blood. Let any man force me to break that vow, and, by Heaven, his blood shall be the first to stain it!”

A vengeful murmur ran through the crowd, but no one replied.

“You are but a cowardly brute, with all your bluster,” he continued, turning round to Kirker, and looking him in the eye. “Up with that knife! quick! or I will send this bullet through your ruffian heart!”

Seguin had drawn his pistol, and stood in an attitude that told he would execute the threat. His form seemed to have grown larger; his eye dilated, flashing as it rolled, and the man shrank before its glance. He saw death in it if he disobeyed, and with a surly murmur he fumbled mechanically at his belt, and thrust the blade back into its sheath.

But the mutiny was not yet quelled. These were men not so easily conquered. Fierce exclamations still continued, and the mutineers again began to encourage one another with shouts.

I had thrown myself alongside the chief, with my revolvers cocked and ready, resolved to stand by him to the death. Several others had done the same, among whom were Rube, Garey, Sanchez the bull-fighter, and the Maricopa.

The opposing parties were nearly equal, and a fearful conflict would have followed had we fought; but at this moment an object appeared that stifled the resentment of all. It was the common enemy!

Away on the western border of the valley we could see dark objects, hundreds of them, coming over the plain. They were still at a great distance, but the practised eyes of the hunters knew them at a glance. They were horsemen; they were Indians; they were our pursuers, the Navajoes!

They were riding at full gallop, and strung over the prairie like hounds upon a run. In a twinkling they would be on us.

“Yonder!” cried Seguin, “yonder are scalps enough to satisfy you; but let us see to our own. Come! to your horses! On with the atajo! I will keep my word with you at the pass. Mount! my brave fellows, mount!”

The last speech was uttered in a tone of reconciliation; but it needed not that to quicken the movements of the hunters. They knew too well their own danger. They could have sustained the attack among the houses, but it would only have been until the return of the main tribe, when they knew that every life would be taken. To make a stand at the town would be madness, and was not thought of. In a moment we were in our saddles; and the atajo, strung out with the captives and provisions, was hurrying off toward the woods. We purposed passing the defile that opened eastward, as our retreat by the other route was now cut off by the advancing horsemen.

Seguin had thrown himself at the head, leading the mule upon which his daughter was mounted. The rest followed, straggling over the plain without rank or order.

I was among the last to leave the town. I had lingered behind purposely, fearing some outrage, and determined, if possible, to prevent it.

“At length,” thought I, “they have all gone!” and putting spurs to my horse, I galloped after.

When I had ridden about a hundred yards from the walls, a loud yell rang behind me; and, reining in my horse, I turned in the saddle and looked back. Another yell, wild and savage, directed me to the point whence the former had come.

On the highest roof of the temple two men were struggling. I knew them at a glance; and I knew, too, it was a death-struggle. One was the medicine chief, as I could tell by the flowing, white hair. The scanty skirt and leggings, the naked ankles, the close-fitting skull-cap, enabled me easily to distinguish his antagonist. It was the earless trapper!

The conflict was a short one. I had not seen the beginning of it, but I soon witnessed the dénouement. As I turned, the trapper had forced his adversary against the parapet, and with his long, muscular arm was bending him over its edge. In the other hand, uplifted, he brandished his knife!

I saw a quick flash as the blade was plunged; a red gush spurted over the garments of the Indian; his arms dropped, his body doubled over the wall, balanced a moment, and then fell with a dull, sodden sound upon the terrace below!

The same wild whoop again rang in my ears, and the hunter disappeared from the root.

I turned to ride on. I knew it was the settling of some old account, the winding up of some terrible revenge.

The clattering of hoofs sounded behind me, and a horseman rode up alongside. I knew, without turning my head, that it was the trapper.

“Fair swop, they say, ain’t no stealin’. Putty har, too, it ur. Wagh! It won’t neyther match nor patch mine; but it makes one’s feelin’s easier.”

Puzzled at this speech, I turned to ascertain its meaning. I was answered by the sight that met my eye. An object was hanging from the old man’s belt, like a streak of snow-white flax. But it was not that. It was hair. It was a scalp!

There were drops of blood struggling down the silvery strands as they shook, and across them, near the middle, was a broad red band. It was the track of the trapper’s knife where he had wiped it!

Chapter Forty.

The Fight in the Pass

We entered the woods, and followed the Indian trail up stream. We hurried forward as fast as the atajo could be driven. A scramble of five miles brought us to the eastern end of the valley. Here the sierras impinged upon the river, forming a cañon. It was a grim gap, similar to that we had passed on entering from the west, but still more fearful in its features. Unlike the former, there was no road over the mountains on either side. The valley was headed in by precipitous cliffs, and the trail lay through the cañon, up the bed of the stream. The latter was shallow. During freshets it became a torrent; and then the valley was inaccessible from the east, but that was a rare occurrence in these rainless regions.

We entered the cañon without halting, and galloped over the detritus, and round huge boulders that lay in its bed. Far above us rose the frowning cliffs, thousands of feet overhead. Great rocks scarped out, abutting over the stream; shaggy pines hung top downward, clinging in their seams; shapeless bunches of cacti and mezcals crawled along the cliffs, their picturesque but gloomy foliage adding to the wildness of the scene.

It was dark within the pass, from the shadow of the jutting masses; but now darker than usual, for black storm-clouds were swathing the cliffs overhead. Through these, at short intervals, the lightning forked and flashed, glancing in the water at our feet. The thunder, in quick, sharp percussions, broke over the ravine; but as yet it rained not.

We plunged hurriedly through the shallow stream, following the guide. There were places not without danger, where the water swept around angles of the cliff with an impetuosity that almost lifted our horses from their feet; but we had no choice, and we scrambled on, urging our animals with voice and spur.

After riding for a distance of several hundred yards, we reached the head of the cañon and climbed out on the bank.

“Now, cap’n,” cried the guide, reining up, and pointing to the entrance, “hyur’s yur place to make stand. We kin keep them back till thur sick i’ the guts; that’s what we kin do.”

“You are sure there is no pass that leads out but this one?”

“Ne’er a crack that a cat kud get out at; that ur, ’ceptin’ they go back by the other eend; an’ that’ll take them a round-about o’ two days, I reckin.”

“We will defend this, then. Dismount, men! Throw yourselves behind the rocks!”

“If ’ee take my advice, cap, I’d let the mules and weemen keep for’ard, with a lot o’ the men to look arter ’em; them that’s ridin’ the meanest critters. It’ll be nose an’ tail when we do go; and if they starts now, yur see wa kin easy catch up with ’em t’other side o’ the parairar.”

“You are right, Rube! We cannot stay long here. Our provisions will give out. They must move ahead. Is that mountain near the line of our course, think you?”

As Seguin spoke, he pointed to a snow-crowned peak that towered over the plain, far off to the eastward.

“The trail we oughter take for the ole mine passes clost by it, cap’n. To the south’art o’ yon snowy, thur’s a pass; it’s the way I got clur myself.”

“Very well; the party can take the mountain for their guide. I will despatch them at once.”

About twenty men, who rode the poorest horses, were selected from the band. These, guarding the atajo and captives, immediately set out and rode off in the direction of the snowy mountain. El Sol went with this party, in charge of Dacoma and the daughter of our chief. The rest of us prepared to defend the pass.

Our horses were tied in a defile; and we took our stands where we could command the embouchure of the cañon with our rifles.

We waited in silence for the approaching foe. As yet no war-whoop had reached us; but we knew that our pursuers could not be far off; and we knelt behind the rocks, straining our eyes down the dark ravine.

It is difficult to give an idea of our position by the pen. The ground we had selected as the point of defence was unique in its formation, and not easily described; yet it is necessary you should know something of its peculiar character in order to comprehend what followed.

The stream, after meandering over a shallow, shingly channel, entered the cañon through a vast gate-like gap, between two giant portals. One of these was the abrupt ending of the granite ridge, the other a detached mass of stratified rock. Below this gate the channel widened for a hundred yards or so, where its bed was covered with loose boulders and logs of drift timber. Still farther down, the cliffs approached each other, so near that only two horsemen could ride between them abreast; and beyond this the channel again widened, and the bed of the stream was filled with rocks, huge fragments that had fallen from the mountain.

The place we occupied was among the rocks and drift, within the cañon, and below the great gap which formed its mouth. We had chosen the position from necessity, at at this point the bank shelved out and offered a way to the open country, by which our pursuers could outflank us, should we allow them to get so far up. It was necessary, therefore, to prevent this; and we placed ourselves to defend the lower or second narrowing of the channel. We knew that below that point beetling cliffs walled in the stream on both sides, so that it would be impossible for them to ascend out of its bed. If we could restrain them from making a rush at the shelving bank, we would have them penned up from any farther advance. They could only flank our position by returning to the valley, and going about by the western end, a distance of fifty miles at the least. At all events, we should hold them in check until the atajo had got a long start; and then, trusting to our horses, we intended to follow it in the night. We knew that in the end we should have to abandon the defence, as the want of provisions would not allow us to hold out for any length of time.

At the command of our leader we had thrown ourselves among the rocks. The thunder was now pealing over our heads, and reverberating through the cañon. Black clouds rolled along the cliffs, split and torn by brilliant jets. Big drops, still falling thinly, slapped down upon the stones.

As Seguin had told me, rain, thunder, and lightning are rare phenomena in these regions; but when they do occur, it is with that violence which characterises the storms of the tropics. The elements, escaping from their wonted continence, rage in fiercer war. The long-gathering electricity, suddenly displaced from its equilibrium, seems to revel in havoc, rending asunder the harmonies of nature.

The eye of the geognosist, in scanning the features of this plateau land, could not be mistaken in the character of its atmosphere. The dread cañons, the deep barrancas, the broken banks of streams, and the clay-cut channels of the arroyos, all testified that we were in a land of sudden floods.

Away to the east, towards the head waters of the river, we could see that the storm was raging in its full fury. The mountains in that direction were no longer visible. Thick rain-clouds were descending upon them, and we could hear the sough of the falling water. We knew that it would soon be upon us.

“What’s keepin’ them anyhow?” inquired a voice.

Our pursuers had time to have been up. The delay was unexpected.

“The Lord only knows!” answered another. “I s’pose thar puttin’ on a fresh coat o’ paint at the town.”

“They’ll get their paint washed off, I reckin. Look to yer primin’, hosses! that’s my advice.”

“By gosh! it’s a-goin’ to come down in spouts.”

“That’s the game, boyees! hooray for that!” cried old Rube.

“Why? Do you want to git soaked, old case?”

“That’s adzactly what this child wants.”

“Well, it’s more ’n I do. I’d like to know what ye want to git wet for. Do ye wish to put your old carcass into an agey?”

“If it rains two hours, do ’ee see,” continued Rube, without paying attention to the last interrogatory, “we needn’t stay hyur, do ’ee see?”

“Why not, Rube?” inquired Seguin, with interest.

“Why, cap,” replied the guide, “I’ve seed a skift o’ a shower make this hyur crick that ’ee wudn’t care to wade it. Hooray! it ur a-comin’, sure enuf! Hooray!”

As the trapper uttered these exclamations, a vast black cloud came rolling down from the east, until its giant winds canopied the defile. It was filled with rumbling thunder, breaking at intervals into louder percussions, as the red bolts passed hissing through it. From this cloud the rain fell, not in drops, but, as the hunter had predicted, in “spouts.”

The men, hastily throwing the skirts of their hunting shirts over their gun-locks, remained silent under the pelting of the storm.

Another sound, heard between the peals, now called our attention. It resembled the continuous noise of a train of waggons passing along a gravelly road. It was the sound of hoof-strokes on the shingly bed of the cañon. It was the horse-tread of the approaching Navajoes!

Suddenly it ceased. They had halted. For what purpose? Perhaps to reconnoitre.

This conjecture proved to be correct; for in a few moments a small red object appeared over a distant rock. It was the forehead of an Indian with its vermilion paint. It was too distant for the range of a rifle, and the hunters watched it without moving.

Soon another appeared, and another, and then a number of dark forms were seen lurking from rock to rock, as they advanced up the cañon. Our pursuers had dismounted, and were approaching us on foot.

Our faces were concealed by the “wrack” that covered the stones; and the Indians had not yet discovered us. They were evidently in doubt as to whether we had gone on, and this was their vanguard making the necessary reconnaissance.

In a short time the foremost, by starts and runs, had got close up to the narrow part of the cañon. There was a boulder below this point, and the upper part of the Indian’s head showed itself for an instant over the rock. At the same instant half a dozen rifles cracked; the head disappeared; and, the moment after, an object was seen down upon the pebbles, at the base of the boulder. It was the brown arm of the savage, lying palm upward. We knew that the leaden messengers had done their work.

The pursuers, though at the expense of one of their number, had now ascertained the fact of our presence, as well as our position; and the advanced party were seen retreating as they had approached.

The men who had fired reloaded their pieces, and, kneeling down as before, watched with sharp eyes and cocked rifles.

It was a long time before we heard anything more of the enemy; but we knew that they were deliberating on some plan of attack.

There was but one way by which they could defeat us: by charging up the cañon, and fighting us hand-to-hand. By an attack of this kind their main loss would be in the first volley. They might ride upon us before we could reload; and, far outnumbering us, would soon decide the day with their long lances. We knew all this; but we knew, too, that a first volley, when well delivered, invariably staggers an Indian charge, and we relied on such a hope for our safety.

We had arranged to fire by platoons, and thus have the advantage of a second discharge, should the Indians not retreat at the first.

For nearly an hour the hunters crouched under the drenching rain, looking only to keep dry the locks of their pieces. The water, in muddy rivulets, began to trickle through the shingle, and eddying around the rocks, covered the wide channel in which we now stood, ankle-deep. Both above and below us, the stream, gathered up by the narrowing of the channel, was running with considerable velocity.

The sun had set, at least it seemed so, in the dismal ravine where we were. We were growing impatient for the appearance of our enemy.

“Perhaps they have gone round,” suggested one.

“No; thar a-waitin’ till night. They’ll try it then.”

“Let ’em wait, then,” muttered Rube, “ef thur green enuf. A half an hour more’ll do; or this child don’t understan’ weather signs.”

“Hist! hist!” cried several voices together. “See; they are coming!”

All eyes were bent down the pass. A crowd of dark objects appeared in the distance, filling up the bed of the stream. They were the Indians, and on horseback. We knew from this that they were about to make a dash. Their movements, too, confirmed it. They had formed two deep, and held their bows ready to deliver a flight of arrows as they galloped up.

“Look out, boyees!” cried Rube; “thur a-comin’ now in airnest. Look to yur sights, and give ’em gos; do ’ee hear?”

As the trapper spoke, two hundred voices broke into a simultaneous yell. It was the war-cry of the Navajoes!

As its vengeful notes rang upon the cañon, they were answered by loud cheers from the hunters, mingled with the wild whoops of their Delaware and Shawano allies.

The Indians halted for a moment beyond the narrowing of the cañon, until those who were rearmost should close up. Then, uttering another cry, they dashed forward into the gap.

So sudden was their charge that several of them had got fairly through before a shot was fired. Then came the reports of the guns; the crack – crack – crack of rifles; the louder detonations of the Spanish pieces, mingled with the whizzing sound of Indian arrows. Shouts of encouragement and defiance were given on both sides; and groans were heard, as the grooved bullet or the poisoned barb tore up the yielding flesh.

Several of the Indians had fallen at the first volley. A number had ridden forward to the spot of our ambush, and fired their arrows in our faces. But our rifles had not all been emptied; and these daring savages were seen to drop from their saddles at the straggling and successive reports.