Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

“What shall we reply?” said he.

“Nothing,” answered Pepé.

The breeze which murmured through the reeds was the only answer the Indian could hear.

He went on —

“The eagle may hide his track in the air from the eye of an Apache; the salmon in the stream leaves no trace behind him; but a white man who crosses the desert is neither a salmon nor an eagle.”

“Nor a gosling,” murmured Pepé; “and a gosling only betrays himself by trying to sing.”

The Indian listened again, but hearing no sound, continued, without showing any signs of being discouraged, “The white warriors of the north are but three against twenty, and the red warriors engage their word to be friends and allies to them.”

“Wagh!” said Bois-Rose, “for what perfidy has he need of us?”

“Let him go on, and we shall hear; he has not yet finished, or I am much mistaken!”

“When the white warriors know the intentions of the Blackbird, they will leave their hiding-place,” continued he, “but they shall hear them. The white men of the north are the enemies of those of the south – their language, their religion is different. The Apaches hold in their toils a whole camp of southern warriors.”

“So much the worse for the gold-seekers,” said Bois-Rose.

“If the warriors of the north will join the Indians with their long rifles, they shall share the horses and the treasures of the men of the south; the Indians and the whites will dance together round the corpses of their enemies, and the ashes of their camp.”

Bois-Rose and Pepé looked at each other in astonishment, and explained to Fabian the proposal made to them, but the fire of their eyes and their disdainful looks, showed that the noble trio had but one opinion on the subject – that of perishing rather than aiding the Indians to triumph even over their mortal enemies.

“Do you hear the miscreant,” cried Bois-Rose, using in indignation an image fit for the Indians, “he takes jaguars far jackals. Ah! if Fabian were not here, a bullet would be my answer.”

Meanwhile, the Indian feeling certain of the presence of the hunters in the island, began to lose patience – for the orders of the chiefs had been peremptory to attack the whites – but he, having his own opinions, wished to prove them right. He knew that the American or Canadian rifle never misses its aim, and three such allies seemed to him not to be despised. He therefore continued to speak:

“The buffalo of the prairies is not more easy to follow than the white man; the track of the buffalo tells the Indian his age, his size, and the time of his passing. There are behind the reeds of the floating island a man as strong as a bison, and taller than the tallest rifle, a warrior of mingled north and south blood, and a young warrior of the pure south, but the alliance of these two with the first, indicates that they are enemies of the southern whites – for the weakest ever seek the friendship of the strongest and espouse their cause.”

“The sagacity of these dogs is admirable,” said Bois-Rose.

“Because they flatter you,” said Pepé, who seemed somewhat annoyed at what the Indian had said.

“I await for the answer of the whites,” continued the Blackbird. “I hear only the sound of the river, and the wind which says to me, ‘the whites imagine a thousand errors; they believe that the Indian has eyes behind his back, that the track of the bison is invisible, and that reeds are ball proof.’ The Blackbird laughs at the words of the wind.”

“Ah!” said Bois-Rose, “if we had entered but two miles higher up the river!”

“A friend disdained becomes a terrible enemy,” continued the chief.

“We say something similar among us,” muttered Pepé.

The Blackbird now signed to the captive to approach. The latter advanced, and the chief pointed out to him the little island, and said, “Can the rifle of the pale-face send a ball into the space between those bushes?”

But the prisoner had understood only the little Spanish mixed with the Indian dialect, and he remained mute and trembling. Then the Blackbird spoke to one of his warriors, who placed in the hands of the prisoner the rifle that he had taken from him, and by gestures made him understand what was wanted of him. The unlucky man tried to take aim, but terror caused him to shake in such a fashion that his rifle was unsteady in his hands.

“If the Indian has no better way than that to make us speak,” said Pepé, “I will not say a word until to-morrow!”

The white man fired indeed, but the ball, directed by his trembling hands, fell into the water some distance from the island. The Blackbird glanced contemptuously at him, and then looked around him.

“Yes,” said Pepé; “seek for balls and powder among the lances and lassoes of your warriors.”

But as he finished this consoling reflection, the five men who had gone away, returned armed for combat, with rifles and quivers full of arrows. They had been to fetch the arms which they had laid down, in order to follow the wild horses more freely. Five others now went off.

“This looks bad,” said Bois-Rose.

“Shall we attack them while they are but fifteen,” said Pepé.

“No, let us remain silent; he still doubts whether we are here.”

“As you like.”

The Indian chief now took a rifle and advanced again to the bank.

“The hands of the Blackbird do not tremble like a leaf shaken by the wind,” said he, pointing his rifle steadily towards the island. “But before firing, he will wait while he counts one hundred, for the answer of the whites who are hidden in the island.”

“Get behind me, Fabian,” said Bois-Rose.

“No, I stay here,” said Fabian, decidedly. “I am younger, and it is my place to expose myself for you.”

“Child! do you not see that my body exceeds yours six inches on every side, and your remaining in front is but presenting a double mark.”

And without shaking a single one of the reeds around the island, he advanced and knelt before Fabian.

“Let him do it, Fabian,” said Pepé. “Never had man a more noble buckler, than the heart of the giant which beats in fear for you.”

The Indian chief, rifle in hand, listened as he counted, but excepting the murmur of the water, a profound silence reigned everywhere.

He fired at length, and the leaves of the trees flew into the air; but as the three hunters knelt in a row they did not present a large aim, and the ball passed at some little distance from them.

The Blackbird waited a minute and cried again: “The Indian was wrong, he acknowledges his error, he will seek for the white warriors elsewhere.”

“Who believes that?” said Pepé; “he is more sure than ever. He is about to leave us alone for a few minutes, until he has finished with that poor devil yonder, which will not belong – since the death of a white is a spectacle which an Indian is always in a hurry to enjoy.”

“But had we better not make some effort in favour of the unlucky man?” said Fabian.

“Some unexpected circumstances may come to our assistance,” replied Bois-Rose. “Whatever Pepé says, the Indians may still doubt, but if we show ourselves, all is over. To accept an alliance with these Indians, even against Don Estevan de Arechiza, would be an unworthy cowardice. What can we do?” added he, sadly.

One fear tormented him; he had seen Fabian in danger when his blood was boiling with passion, but had he the calm courage which meets death coolly? Had he the stoical resignation of which he himself had given so many proofs? The Canadian took a sudden resolution.

“Listen, Fabian,” said he; “can I speak to you the language of a man? Will the words which your ears will transmit to your heart not freeze it with terror?”

“Why doubt my courage?” replied Fabian in a tone of gentle reproach. “Whatever you say, I will hear without growing pale; whatever you do, I will do also, without trembling.”

“Don Fabian speaks truly, Pepé; look at his eye,” said the Canadian, pressing Fabian in his arms; then he continued solemnly: “Never were three men in greater peril than we are now; our enemies are seven times our number; when each of us has killed six of them, there would still remain a number equal to our own.”

“We have done it before,” said Pepé.

“And we shall do it again,” cried Fabian.

“Good, my child,” said Bois-Rose, “but whatever happens, these demons must not take us alive. See, Fabian!” added the old man, in a voice that he tried to keep firm while unsheathing a long knife, “if we were left without powder or ammunition at the mercy of these dogs, about to fall into their hands, and this poignard in my hand was our only chance, what would you say?”

“I would say, strike, father, and let us die together!”

“Yes, yes,” cried the Canadian, looking with indescribable tenderness at him who called him father, “it will be one means of never being separated.” And he held out to Fabian his hand trembling with emotion, which the latter kissed respectfully.

“Now,” said Bois-Rose, “whatever happens we shall not be separated. God will do the rest, and we shall try to save this unlucky man.”

“To work then!” said Fabian.

“Not yet, my child; let us see what these red demons are about to do.”

Meanwhile the Indians had ranged themselves in two lines, and the white man was placed a little in advance of them.

“I see what they are going to do,” said Bois-Rose, “they are going to try if the poor wretch’s legs are better than his arms. They are about to chase him.”

“How so?” said Fabian.

“They will place their captive a little in advance, then at a given signal he will run. Then all the Indians will run after him, lance and hatchet in hand. If the white is quick enough to reach the river before them, we will call to him to swim to us. Some shots will protect him, and he may reach here safe and sound. But if terror paralyses his limbs, as it did his hands just now, the foremost Indian will break his head with a blow from a hatchet. In any case we shall do our best.”

At this moment the five other Indians returned armed from head to foot, and now joined the rest. Fabian looked with profound compassion at the unlucky white man, who with haggard eye, and features distorted by terror, waited in horrible anguish until the signal was given. But the Blackbird pointed to the bare feet of his warriors, and then to the leather buskins which protected the feet of the white man. They then saw the latter sit down and take them off slowly, as if to gain a few seconds.

“The demons!” cried Fabian.

“Hush!” said Bois-Rose, “do not by discovering yourself destroy the last chance of life for the poor wretch!”

Fabian shut his eyes so as not to witness the horrible scene about to take place. At length the white man rose to his feet, and the Indians stood devouring him with their looks, until the Blackbird clapped his hands together, and then the howlings which followed could only be compared to those of a troop of jaguars in pursuit of a deer. The unlucky captive ran with great swiftness, but his pursuers bounded after him like tigers. Thanks to the start which he had had, he cleared safely a part of the distance which separated him from the river, but the stones which cut his feet and the sharp thorns of the nopals soon caused him to slacken his pace, and one of the Indians rushed up and made a furious thrust at him with his lance. It passed between his arm and his body, and the Indian losing his equilibrium, fell on the sand.

Gayferos, for it was he, appeared to hesitate a moment whether he should pick up the lance which the Indian had let fall, but then rapidly continued his course. That instant’s hesitation was fatal to him. All at once, amidst the cloud of dust raised by his feet, a hatchet shone over the head of the unfortunate Mexican, who was seen falling to the earth.

Bois-Rose was about to fire, but the fear of killing him whom he wished to defend, stopped his hand. For a single moment the wind cleared away the dust, and he fired, but it was too late, the Indian who fell under his ball was brandishing in his hand the scalp of the unhappy man. To this unexpected shot, the savages replied with howls, and then rushed away from what they believed to be only a corpse. Soon, however, they saw the man rise, with his head laid bare, who after straggling a few paces, fell again, while the blood flowed in torrents from his wounds.

“Ah!” cried Bois-Rose, “if there remains in him a spark of life – and people do not die only from scalping – we shall save him yet; I swear we shall!”

Chapter Forty One

Indian Cunning

As the Canadian uttered the generous oath, wrung from him by indignation, it seemed to him that a supplicating voice reached him. “Is not the poor wretch calling for aid?” And he raised his head from behind its shelter.

At sight of the fox-skin cap which covered the head of the giant, and of the long and heavy rifle which he raised like a willow wand, the Indians recognised one of their formidable northern enemies, and recoiled in astonishment – for the Blackbird alone had been instructed as to whom they were seeking. Bois-Rose, looking towards the shore now perceived the unlucky Gayferos stretching out his arms towards him, and feebly calling for help. The dying Indian still held the scalp in his clenched hand.

At this terrible spectacle the Canadian drew himself up to his full height. “Fire on these dogs!” cried he, “and remember – never let them take you alive.”

So saying, he resolutely entered the water, and any other man would have had it up to his head, but the Canadian had all his shoulders above the surface.

“Do not fire till after me,” said Pepé to Fabian; “my hand is surer than yours, and my Kentucky rifle carries twice as far as your Liege gun.” And he held his rifle ready to fire at the slightest sign of hostility from the Indians.

Meanwhile, Bois-Rose still advanced, the water growing gradually shallower, when an Indian raised his rifle ready to fire on the intrepid hunter; but a bullet from Pepé stopped him, and he fell forward on his face.

“Now you, Don Fabian!” said Pepé, throwing himself on the ground to reload, after the American custom in such cases.

Fabian fired, but his rifle having a shorter range, the shot only drew from the Indian at whom he aimed a cry of rage. But Pepé had reloaded, and stood ready to fire again.

There was a moment’s hesitation among the Indians, by which Bois-Rose profited to draw towards him the body of the unlucky Gayferos. He, clinging to his shoulders, had the presence of mind to leave his preserver’s arms free; who, with his burden, again entered the water, going backwards. Then his rifle was heard, and an Indian’s death-cry immediately followed. This valiant retreat, protected by Pepé and Fabian, awed the Indians, and some minutes after, Bois-Rose triumphantly placed the fainting Gayferos on the island.

“There are three of them settled for,” said he, “and now we shall have a few minutes’ truce. Well, Fabian, do you see the advantage of firing in file? You did not do badly for a beginner, and I can assure you that when you have a Kentucky rifle like us, you will be a good marksman.” Then to Gayferos, “We came too late to save the skin of your head, my poor fellow, but console yourself, it is no such dreadful thing. I have many friends in the same condition, who are none the worse for it. Your life is saved – that is the great thing – and we shall endeavour to bind up your wounds.”

Some strips torn from the shirt of Gayferos served to bind around his head a large mass of willow leaves crushed together and steeped in water, and concealed the hideous wound. The blood was then washed from his face.

“You see,” said Bois-Rose, still clinging to the idea of keeping Fabian near him, “you must learn to know the habits of the desert, and of the Indians. The villains, who see, by the loss of three of their men, what stuff we are made of, have retired to concoct some stratagem. You hear how silent all is after so much noise?”

The desert, indeed, had recovered its silence, the leaves only trembled in the evening breeze, and the water began to display brilliant colours in the setting sun.

“Well, Pepé, they are but seventeen now!” continued Bois-Rose, in a tone of triumph.

“Oh! we may succeed, if they do not get reinforcements.”

“That is a chance and a terrible one; but our lives are in God’s hands,” replied Bois-Rose. “Tell me, friend!” said he to Gayferos, “you probably belong to the camp of Don Estevan?”

“Do you know him then?” said the wounded man, in a feeble voice.

“Yes; and by what chance are you so far from the camp?”

The wounded man recounted how, by Don Estevan’s orders, he had set off to seek for their lost guide, and that his evil star had brought him in contact with the Indians as they were hunting the wild horses.

“What is the name of your guide?”

“Cuchillo.”

Fabian and Bois-Rose glanced at each other.

“Yes,” said the latter, “there is some probability that your suspicions about that white demon were correct, and that he is conducting the expedition to the Golden Valley; but, my child, if we escape these Indians, we are close to it; and once we are installed there, were they a hundred, we should succeed in defending ourselves.”

This was whispered in Fabian’s ear.

“One word more,” said Bois-Rose to the wounded man, “and then we shall leave you to repose. How many men has Don Estevan with him?”

“Sixty.”

Bois-Rose now again bathed the head of the wounded Gayferos with cold water: and the unhappy man, refreshed for the moment, and weakened by loss of blood, fell into a lethargic sleep.

“Now,” continued Bois-Rose, “let us endeavour to build up a rampart which shall be a little more ball and arrow-proof than this fringe of moving leaves and reeds. Did you count how many rifles the Indians had?”

“Seven, I believe,” said Pepé.

“Then ten of them are less to be feared. They cannot attack us either on the right or the left – but perhaps they have made a détour to cross the river, and are about to place us between two fires.”

The side of the islet opposite the shore on which the Indians had shown themselves was sufficiently defended by enormous roots, bristling like chevaux-de-frise; but the side where the attack was probably about to recommence was defended only by a thick row of reeds and osier-shoots.

Thanks to his great strength, Bois-Rose, aided by Pepé, succeeded in dragging from the end of the islet which faced the course of the stream, some large dry branches and fallen trunks of trees. A few minutes sufficed for the two skilful hunters to protect the feeble side with a rough but solid entrenchment, which would form a very good defence to the little garrison of the island.

“Do you see, Fabian,” said Bois-Rose, “you’ll be as safe behind these trunks of trees as in a stone fortress. You’ll be exposed only to the balls that may be fired from the tops of the trees, but I shall take care that none of these redskins climb so high.”

And quite happy at having raised a barrier between Fabian and death, he assigned him his post in the place most sheltered from the enemy.

“Did you remark,” said he to Pepé, “how at every effort that we made to break a branch or disengage a block of wood, the island trembled to its foundation?”

“Yes,” said Pepé, “one might think that it was about to be torn from its base and follow the course of the stream.”

The Canadian then cautioned his two companions to be careful of their ammunition, gave Fabian some instructions as to taking aim, pressed him to his heart, squeezed the hand of his old comrade, and then the three stationed themselves at their several posts. The surface of the river, the tops of the aspens growing on the banks, the banks themselves and the reeds, were all objects of examination for the hunters, as the night was fast coming on.

“This is the hour when the demons of darkness lay their snares,” said Bois-Rose, “when these human jaguars seek for their prey. It was of them that the Scriptures spoke.”

No one replied to this speech, which was uttered rather as a soliloquy.

Meanwhile, the darkness was creeping on little by little, and the bushes which grew on the bank began to assume the fantastic forms given to objects by the uncertain twilight.

The green of the trees began to look black; but habit had given to Bois-Rose and to Pepé eyes as piercing as those of the Indians themselves, and nothing, with the vigilance they were exerting, could have deceived them.

“Pepé,” whispered Bois-Rose, pointing to a tuft of osiers, “does it not seem to you that that bush has changed its form and grown larger?”

“Yes; it has changed its form!”

“See, Fabian! you have the piercing sight that I had at your age; does it not appear to you that at the left-hand side of that tuft of osiers the leaves no longer look natural?”

The young man pushed the reeds on one side, and gazed for a while attentively.

“I could swear it,” said he, “but – ” He stopped, and looked in another direction.

“Well! do you see anything?”

“I see, between that willow and the aspen, about ten feet from the tuft of osiers, a bush which certainly was not there just now.”

“Ah! see what it is to live far from towns; – the least points of the landscape fix themselves in the memory, and become precious indications. You are born to live the life of a hunter, Fabian!”

Pepé levelled his rifle at the bush indicated by Fabian.

“Pepé understands it at once,” said Bois-Rose; “he knows, like me, that the Indians have employed their time in cutting down branches to form a temporary shelter; but I think two of us at least may teach them a few stratagems that they do not yet know. Leave that bush to Fabian, it will be an easy mark for him; fire at the branches whose leaves are beginning to wither – there is an Indian behind them. Fire in the centre, Fabian!”

The two rifles were heard simultaneously, and the false bush fell, displaying a red body behind the leaves, while the branches which had been added were convulsively agitated. All three then threw themselves on the ground, and a discharge of balls immediately flew over their heads, covering them with leaves and broken branches, while the war-cry of the Indians sounded in their ears.

“If I do not deceive myself, they are now but fifteen,” said Bois-Rose, as he quitted his horizontal posture, and knelt on the ground.

“Be still!” added he. “I see the leaves of an aspen trembling more than the wind alone could cause them to do. It is doubtless one of those fellows who has climbed up into the tree.”

As he spoke, a bullet struck one of the trunks of which the islet was composed, and proved that he had guessed rightly.

“Wagh!” said the Canadian, “I must resort to a trick that will force him to show himself.”

So saying, he took off his cap and coat, and placed them between the branches, where they could be seen. “Now,” said he, “if I were fighting a white soldier, I would place myself by the side of my coat, for he would fire at the coat; with an Indian I shall stand behind it, for he will not be deceived in the same manner, and will aim to one side of it. Lie down, Fabian and Pepé, and in a minute you shall hear a bullet whistle either to the right or the left of the mark I have set up.”

As Bois-Rose said this, he knelt down behind his coat, ready to fire at the aspen.

He was not wrong in his conjectures; in a moment, the balls of the Indians cut the leaves on each side of the coat, but without touching either of the three companions, who had placed themselves in a line.

“Ah,” cried the Canadian, “there are whites who can fight the Indians with their own weapons; we shall presently have an enemy the less.”

And saying this he fired into the aspen, out of which the body of an Indian was seen to fall, rolling from branch to branch like a fruit knocked from its stem.

At this feat of the Canadian, the savage howlings resounded with so much fury, that it required nerves of iron not to shudder at them. Gayferos himself, whom the firing had not roused, shook off his lethargy and murmured, in a trembling voice, “Virgen de los Dolores! Would not one say it was a band of tigers howling in the darkness? – Holy Virgin! have pity on me!”

“Thank her rather,” interrupted the Canadian; “the knaves might deceive a novice like you, but not an old hunter like me. You have heard the jackals of an evening in the forest howl and answer each other as though there were hundreds of them, when there were but three or four. The Indians imitate the jackals, and I will answer for it there are not more that a dozen now behind those trees. Ah! if I could but get them to cross the water, not one of them should return to carry the news of their disaster.”