The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

“The painting is not his,” replied the girl. “It has been done by the hands of his enemies – by red men. The white circle was designed for a mark, at which many bullets have been fired. The red streaks you see are blood, that has streamed from wounds inflicted on the stranger’s body! When Wa-ka-ra shall know who caused that blood to flow, he will hasten to avenge it.”

“If it be the wish of the white huntress, Wa-ka-ra will avenge the blood – even though his own people may have spilled it. Speak, Ma-ra-nee! You say that red men have done this – were they Utahs?”

“No; but the enemies of the Utahs.”

“The Utahs have many enemies – on the north, south, east, and west they have foes. Whence comes the stranger? and who has been spilling his blood?”

“From the east – from the Arapahoes.”

“Ugh!” exclaimed the chief, with a start, his countenance suddenly becoming clouded with an angry expression. “Arapahoes! Where has the pale-face encountered the Arapahoes?”

“On the Huerfano.”

“Good; the white huntress brings news that will gladden the hearts of the Utah warriors! Arapahoes on the Huerfano! who has seen them there?” The huntress replied by pointing to me. “He has been their captive,” she added, “and has just escaped from them. He can guide Wa-ka-ra to their camp, where the Utah chief will find his deadliest enemy – Red-Hand.”

At the mention of this name, the cloud that was gathering upon the brow of the Utah chief became darker by several shades, and the mild expression was no longer observable. In its place was a look of fierce resolve, blended with glances that spoke a savage joy. Some old and terrible resentment was rekindled by the name – with a hope, no doubt, of its being gratified?

The chief now entered upon a series of interrogatories directed to myself. He spoke English – thanks to his trapper associations: and it was in this language he had been conversing with the huntress. His inquiries were directed to such particulars as might put him in possession of the necessary knowledge for an attack upon the Arapahoes. As concisely as possible, I made known their position and numbers – with other circumstances calculated to aid in the design. The account I gave seemed to gratify him. As soon as our dialogue was ended, I had the satisfaction to hear him declare his intention of proceeding at once to the valley of the Huerfano! To me it was joyful news: my comrades might yet be rescued from the hands of the Arapahoes?

“Ma-ra-nee!” said he, again addressing himself to the huntress, “conduct the stranger to your tent! Give him food. And you, Cojo!” he continued, turning to the little Mexican, “you are skilled in medicine – look to his wounds! He can repose while we are preparing. Ho! sound the signal of assembly! Summon our braves to the war-dance!”

The last words were addressed to an Indian who was standing close behind him. Quickly succeeding the order, the notes of a bugle burst upon the air – strange sounds in an Indian camp! But the white man’s music was not the only sign of civilised life to be observed among the tents of the Utahs. The guns and pistols – the spurs, lances, and saddles – the shakos and helmets – all spoke of the spoiled presidios on the Mexican frontier; while fair-skinned doncellas of Spanish race were seen mingling with the copper-coloured squaws – aiding them in their domestic duties – captives to all appearance contented with their captivity! None of this was new to me. I had witnessed similar scenes in the land of the Comanche. They are of daily occurrence along the whole frontier of Spanish America: where the red man constantly encroaches – reclaiming the country of his ancestors, wrested from him three centuries ago by the cupidity of the Conquistadores.

Upon the side of the Indian now lies the strength – if not in numbers – at least in courage and war-prowess. The horse he once dreaded has become his dearest friend; and he can manage him with a skill scarcely equalled by his pale-faced adversary. The lance and fire-weapon are in his hands; the spirit-thunder no longer appals him: he knows its origin and nature, and uses it in the accomplishment of a terrible retaliation! On the northern continent, Utah and Yaqui, Kiowa and Comanche, Apaché and Navajo, have all proved their superiority over the degenerated descendants of Cortez: as in the south have Cuncho and Cashibo, Goajira and Auracanian, over those of the ruthless Pizarro. The red man no longer goes to war as a mere savage. He has disciplined his strength into a perfect strategy; and possesses a military system as complete as that of most civilised nations. The Comanche cavalry charges in line, and can perform evolutions to the call of the bugle! So can the Utah, as I had evidence at that moment. Before the trumpet-notes had ceased to reverberate from the rocks, five hundred warriors had secured their horses, and stood beside them armed and ready to mount. A regiment of regular dragoons could not have responded to “Boots and saddles” with greater expedition!

Peg-leg took possession of me. “Señor Pintado!” said he, speaking in Spanish, and after having examined my wounds, “the best medicine for you will be your breakfast; and while your conpaisana is preparing it, you can come with me, and have a little water thrown over you. This painting does not improve your looks; besides, if it get into your wounds, they will be all the more difficult to make a cure of. Nos vamos!”

The huntress had retired to a tent that stood near that of the chief, and a little to the rear of it. I followed the Mexican, who, in a hobbling gait, proceeded towards the stream. The cold bath, assisted by some Taos brandy from the gourd xuagé of the trapper, soon restored my strength; and the hideous pigment, lathered with the bruised roots of the palmilla– the soap-plant of the New Mexicans, soon disappeared from my skin. A few slices of the oregano cactus applied to my wounds, placed them in a condition to heal with a rapidity almost miraculous; for such is the curative power of this singular plant. My Mexican medico was yet more generous, and furnished me with a handsome Navajo blanket, which served as a complete covering for my shoulders.

“Carrambo!” exclaimed he, as he tendered the garment, “take it, Americano! You maybe able to repay me when you have recovered your possible-sack from the Arapahoes. Mira!” he added, pointing towards the tents – “your breakfast is ready: yonder the señorita is calling you. Take heed, hombre! or her eyes may cause you a more dangerous wound than any of those you have received from the bullets of the Arapahoes. Vaya!”

I resisted an inclination to make inquiries: though the hint of the Taos trapper half furnished me with an excuse. My “countrywoman,” he had called her. No doubt he knew more of her history; but I questioned him not. Remembering her promise, I had hopes that I might soon learn it from her own lips.

Chapter Seventy Four

A Beautiful Hostess

“Aha, stranger!” said she, as I approached the tent, “he has altered your appearance wonderfully. Oh! you are not so frightful now. Come in! Here is pinole, and a little broiled goat’s flesh. I am sorry I did not bring some of the wild sheep. It is most excellent; but in my haste I did not think of it. Bread I cannot give you: we never have it here.”

“I have been accustomed to ruder fare than this,” said I, accepting the proffered viands, and without further ceremony, seating myself to discuss them.

There was an interval of silence, during which I continued eating. Once or twice, my hostess went out, returning again to see if anything was wanted. The warlike preparations going on outside appeared greatly to interest her; and I thought she regarded them with impatience, or as if anxious about the event.

Who or what was the object of this solicitude? Wa-ka-ra? In what relationship stood she to the chief? A captive she could scarcely be: else would she not have been permitted to stray so far from the encampment? His wife? The separate tent, as also the style used by the Utah in addressing her, negatived the idea. What then? I longed to hear the history of this wild huntress; but the opportunity had not yet arrived.

“Ah!” said she, returning once more within the tent, “I fear they will be too late. The red post is only just now erected; and the war-dance may last for an hour. It is a useless ceremony – only a superstition. The chief himself does not believe in it; but his braves will not go to battle without performing it. Hark! they are commencing the chaunt!”

I caught the low monotone of many voices, gradually rising and swelling into a prolonged chorus. At intervals, one was heard speaking in solo: as if proclaiming some distinguished deed, to incite the warriors to emulation. Then followed a clangour of yells, and loud whoops, breathing menace and revenge.

“It is the war-song that accompanies their dance,” added she. “You may rest till it is finished. Then you must be ready: they will ride off as soon as the ceremony is over.”

She flung herself on one of the buffalo-robes that covered the floor of the tent; and half seated, half reclining, appeared to reflect. The attitude displayed a feminine form of magnificent outlines; and with a face dazzlingly beautiful, this singular woman presented a picture something more than attractive.

“Wa-ka-ra must love her?” thought I.

As I made this reflection, I again observed the melancholy expression upon her countenance; and once more the resemblance to her of whom I was thinking! My interest in the beautiful huntress was every moment augmenting. I felt an indescribable yearning to hear the story of her misfortunes: for in no other light could I regard the situation in which I had found her.

“You have promised to tell me of yourself?” said I, reminding her of what she had said.

“I shall keep my promise – upon the condition, of which I have forewarned you.”

“Name it then – if not impossible, I am ready to accept it.”

“It is not impossible – though it may tax your generosity more than you expect. You have said that you intend returning to the States. Will you take me with, you?” A start must have betrayed my astonishment at the unexpected request.

“Willingly,” I replied; “but now – I fear – it is impossible.”

“Your journey is not ended? Is that what you mean?”

“Alas! I know not when or where it may end.”

“That is strange! But you intend to go back some time? Till then, let me be your travelling companion?”

The proposal left me for the moment without a word to say. “Oh, do not refuse me!” continued she, in an appealing tone; “I will wait upon you; I will hunt for you – anything, but longer I cannot stay here. With all their kindness – and they have been kind, in their own rude fashion – I cannot remain. I long for the society of civilised beings. O stranger! I cannot tell you how I long to see!” – She hesitated.

“Whom?”

I asked in expectation of hearing a name. “A sister – a sweet gentle sister, who loved me as her own life – whom I loved more than my life. Oh! not till we were parted knew I the strength of that love.”

“How long since you have seen this sister?”

“Six months ago, I left her – deceived by a villain, I left her. Six years it has seemed! Oh! I cannot endure this savage life. They honour me – they give me all the hospitality in their power – but I am not happy. Stranger, say you will relieve me from this terrible existence? Say you will take me with you?”

“I freely promise it, if it be your desire. But what of these? Will they – will he consent?”

“Who?”

“Wa-ka-ra.”

“Yes – yes! He has said I may go, whenever an opportunity should offer. Brave chief! he has nobly kept his word to him who is now no more.”

“To whom?”

“To him who saved my life – to him who saved me – Ah! see, the chief approaches! the war-song is ended. At another time, I shall tell you all; but not now. We must haste, or the warriors will be gone.”

“Surely you do not intend to accompany us?”

“The women follow at a distance, to take care of the wounded. I go with them.”

The voice of Wa-ka-ra, calling to me to join him and his warriors, put an end to a dialogue, that had done but little to illustrate the story of the strange personage by my side. If possible, I was more mystified than ever. But it was not a time to be tempted by the lure of an idle curiosity, however interesting the theme. The perilous situation of my old comrades came once more vividly before my mind. The thought recalled me to my duty; and, hurrying from the presence of that beautiful being – whom I hoped soon to behold again – I leaped upon the back of my horse; and joined the Utah warriors, as they swept in full gallop from out the lines of their encampment.

Chapter Seventy Five

Effecting the Surround

The ride was rough and rapid. Notwithstanding the superiority of my steed, it was as much as I could do to keep pace with my new allies – whose horses, used to all sorts of ground, went gliding along the uneven paths, as if they had been graded roads. Through tangled bushes they scrambled without stay, over sharp and slippery rocks – their unshod hoofs rendering them sure-footed as mountain sheep. Down the gorge lay our route; and paths, over which I had almost feared to walk my horse, were now passed in a quick continuous gallop. We soon reached the scene of my encounter with the huntress. The dog still kept sentry over the game. Couchant by the body of the bighorn, he only growled as the cavalcade swept past. No one stopped to relieve him, of his charge. On a war expedition the chase is universally neglected. Even its spoils are spurned. Hunger is supposed to beget prowess, as it sharpens the wits; and the savage fights best upon an empty stomach.

The hurried movements of the Indians – the eagerness each one exhibited to press forward – proved how earnest they were on this expedition. It was not my affair that was stimulating them to such speed. A tribal hostility of long standing – older than the warriors themselves – existed between Utah and Arapaho. Between the bands of Wa-ka-ra and Red-Hand the hostile inheritance had increased until it had reached the maximum of the most deadly vendetta. This will account for the hot haste with which we hurried on – for the universal excitement that prevailed in the ranks of my Utah allies. They knew that they outnumbered their enemies. They already exulted in the anticipation of a grand coup.

For all that, they were not rushing recklessly into battle. The Utah chieftain was too skilled a soldier. I perceived that he was acting upon a preconceived plan; and his strategy was soon made known to me. It was that of the “surround.” The band was to break up into four divisions of nearly equal numerical strength. The first, under Wa-ka-ra himself, was to go round by the bluffs; and, having worked its way into the lower cañon, would enter the plain from that direction. Should the Arapahoes attempt to retreat towards the Arkansas, this party could intercept them. A second division – also keeping above the bluffs – was to make to a point nearly opposite the butte; where, by a ravine known to the Indians, a descent could be made into the valley of the Huerfano. A third was to seek its station upon the opposite side – where a similar defile led down to the plain; while the remaining warriors were to move forward by the upper cañon, and halt at its mouth – until the other three parties were known to have reached their respective places.

At a signal agreed upon, all four divisions were to move forward at a rapid gallop, and close in upon the enemy. The first party was to give the cue: as it had furthest to go; and, by the time it could reach its destination, the others would be ready. A smoke was to be the signal for charging forward. The plan was well conceived; and if it should prove that the Arapahoes were still by the butte, a fight à l’outrance might be looked for as the certain result. They would have no alternative but fight.

The execution of the movement was soon entered upon. Near the place where I had passed the last hours of the night, a side ravine – which, in the darkness I had not observed – sloped up out of the gorge. By cañons and deep defiles the whole face of the country was cut up in this bi-pinnate fashion – every pass of it being well-known to the Utahs. Hence their confidence in being able to effect the surround of their enemies, who were less familiar with this region; and who must have been tempted thither by the passage of the train.

Up the lateral ravine rode Wa-ka-ra with his dusky warriors; while the second division, intended to take station on the bluff, defiled by the same track, but more slowly. The rest of us kept on down the gorge.

On reaching the main cañon, the party destined for the opposite bluff separated from the other; and proceeded circuitously by a branch ravine that opened to the upper plain.

The fourth and last division rode direct down the bank of the river – upon the path by which I had been pursued. This division was in charge of the second chief; and to it was I myself assigned – with Peg-leg, also a volunteer, as my immediate companion. The trapper had himself some old scores to settle with the Arapahoes; and appeared as eager for the fight as any Utah in the tribe.

Apprehensive of falling in with some straggling pursuers of the preceding night, we moved forward with caution. The sub-chief was an old warrior, whose scars and grizzled hair betokened experience of many a hostile encounter, and no doubt many a cunning stratagem. Scouts were sent in advance; and these, returning from time to time, signalled that the path was clear. Advancing in this fashion, we at length reached the embouchure of the cañon, and halted within its gloomy shadow.

As yet not an Arapaho had been seen: but, on climbing to a ledge of rocks, I had the satisfaction to perceive that these brigands were still by the butte. I saw not them, but their horses – the cavallada being almost in the position in which I had left it! From this it was evident, that they had returned from the pursuit: had abandoned it altogether, and given their steeds to the grass. Only a few of the men were in sight – moving about among the fires, that still burned upon the plain; but the strength of the cavallada told that the others were there – no doubt, concealed from our view by the interposed mass of the mound. I saw the waggon at its base – the white tilt conspicuous against the dark-green foliage of the cedars. But my eyes dwelt not upon this. In rapid glance, they were carried to the summit.

The crucifix was still there. I could trace its timbers – its upright and horizontal beams – though not distinctly. I knew what was rendering their outlines indistinct. There was a body upon the cross – the body of a man. It was that which interrupted the regularity of the lines. The timbers were between me and the body – for I viewed it from behind – and at such a distance, I could not have told who was the crucified man, even had he been facing me. Wingrove or Sure-shot – one or the other. Of that much I was certain. I could make out that the man was naked – just as I had been myself: I saw his white skin glistening along each side of the upright post.

While gazing upon it, I heard the report of a musket. Nearly at the same instant, a little blue-coloured cloud was ascending into the air. It rose from behind the butte; and was easily recognisable as smoke produced by the discharge of a gun. The savages had returned to their cruel sport. Too clearly did I comprehend the signs of that fiendish exhibition. After regarding the crucifix for awhile, I noted a circumstance that enabled me to decide which of my comrades was undergoing the terrible ordeal. To a certainty, Sure-shot was the sufferer. The Red-Hand had fulfilled his threat; and my brave preserver was now promoted to my place. The circumstance that guided me to this knowledge was sufficiently definite. I could tell it was Sure-shot by his height. I remembered that my own crown scarcely reached the top of the upright post. That of him now enduring the torture rose above it – by the head. Under the bright sunbeam, there was a sheen of yellow hair. That of Wingrove would have appeared dark. Beyond doubt, Sure-shot was the martyr now mounted upon that dread cross!

I viewed the spectacle with feelings not to be envied. My soul chafed at the restraint, as it burned with bitter indignation against these demons in human form. I should have rushed forward to stay the sacrifice, or, if too late, to satisfy the vengeance it called forth; but I was restrained by reflecting on the impotency of the act. The prudent chief who commanded the Indians would not move, till the smoke-signal should be given; and videttes had climbed far up on the cliff, to watch for and announce it. It was not anticipated that we should have long to wait. Our party had moved slowly down the defile; and the time consumed in our advance was considerable – almost enough to have enabled the others to get to their respective stations. This thought – along with my experience of the ball-practice of the Arapahoes – in some measure reconciled me to the delay. If he upon the cross was still living, his chances of escape were scarcely problematical. Another shot or two from such marksmen would be neither here nor there. If the unfortunate man were already dead, then was the delay of less consequence: we should still be in time to avenge him. But he was not dead. The evidence that he was living was before my eyes; though, in the confusion of the moment, I had no sooner perceived it. Above the top of the post appeared the head held stiffly upright. This proved that the body still lived. Had it been otherwise, the head would have been drooping?

Chapter Seventy Six

The History of the Huntress

I had just made these observations as the Mexican clambered up the rock, and took stand by my side.

“Hijo de Dios!” exclaimed he, as his eyes fell upon the cross, “la crucifixion! What a conception for savages! Mira!” he continued, as another white cloud puffed out from behind the sloping side of the mound, and the report of a musket came booming up the valley, “Santissima! they are firing at the unfortunate!”

“Yes,” said I; “they are playing with one of my comrades, as they did yesterday with myself.”

“Ah, mio amigo! that is an old game of the Arapahoes. They used to practise it with their arrows, and for mere sport. Now that they have taken to guns, I suppose they combine instruction with amusement, as the books say. Carrambo! what cruel brutes they are! They have no more humanity than a grizzly bear. God help the poor wretch that falls into their clutches! Their captive women they treat with a barbarity unknown among other tribes. Even beauty, that would soften a savage of any other sort, is not regarded by these brutal Arapahoes. Only think of it! They were about to treat in this very fashion the beautiful Americana– the only difference being that they had strapped her to a tree instead of a crucifix. Carrai-i!”

“The beautiful Americana?”

“Yes– she who brought you to the camp.”

“What! She in the hands of the Arapahoes?”

“Sin duda; it was from them she was taken.”

“When, and where? How, and by whom?”

“Hola! hombre– four questions at once! Muy bien! I can answer them, if you give me time. To the first, I should say about six months ago. To the second, near the Big Timbers, on the Arkansas. My reply to the third will require more words; and before giving it, I shall answer the fourth by saying that the girl was taken from the Rapahoes by Don José.”

“Don José – who is Don José?”

“Oh! perhaps you would know him by his American name – Oaquer?”

“Walker, the celebrated trapper? Joe Walker?”

“The same, amigo. Oaquara, the Utahs pronounce it. As you perceive, their young chief is named so, and after him. The trapper and he were sworn friends – brothers – or more like father and son: since Don José was much the older.”

“Were friends. Are they not so still?”

“Valga me dios! No. That is no longer possible. Don José has gone under – was rubbed out more than three months ago, and by these very Rapahoes! That is why your fair conpaisana is now with the Utahs. The old trapper left her to his namesake Oaquara – under whose protection she has been ever since.”