The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

“He has been true to his trust? He has protected her?” Under the influence of singular emotions did these questions escape me.

“Seguramente, amigo!” replied the Mexican, with an ingenuousness calculated to allay my unpleasant fancies, “the Utah chief is a noble fellow —un hombre de bien– besides, he would have done anything for his old friend – whose death greatly grieved him. That is just why you see him here in such haste. It was not to avenge your wrongs that they danced their war-measure – but the death of Don José. All the same to you, however: since your compañeros are likely to have the advantage of it. As for the Americana,” continued he, before I had time to make rejoinder, “Virgen santissima! such a maiden was never seen in these parts. Such a shot! Not a marksman in the mountains could match with her, except Don José himself, who taught her; and as for hunting —la linda cazadora! she can steal upon the game like a couguar. Ah! she can protect herself. She has done so. But for her spirit and rifle, the Red-Hand would have ruined her.”

“But how? you have not told me – ”

“True, cavallero! I have yet to answer number three. Bueno! As I said, it was near the Big Timbers, where she got into the hands of the Arapahoes. There was only a small band of the robbers, with Red-Hand at their head. He wanted to play the brute with her. She kept him off with her rifle, and a big dog you have seen. Red-Hand became angry, and had her strapped to a tree – where the monsters threatened to shoot their arrows into her body. Whether they intended to kill her, or only to terrify the poor girl, is not known; but if the former was their design, they were hindered from putting it into execution. Just at that moment, Don José came upon the ground with a party of trappers from the rendezvous on Cuerno Verde. They were strong enough to beat off the red-skinned ravishers and save the Americana. That is how she was taken from the Rapahoes.”

“A brave deed! But how did she chance to be there? Since Bent’s Port was abandoned, there is no white settlement near the Big Timbers.”

“Ah! señor! that is the strangest part of the whole story. It was told me by Don José himself, while we were compañeros on a trapping expedition – just after he had saved the girl. Carrambo! – a strange tale!”

“Have you any objection to tell it to me? I feel a singular interest in this young girl.”

“Sin duda! Of many a mountain-man, the same might be said; and many an Indian too. Hum! cavallero! you would not be flesh and blood, if you didn’t.”

“Not that, I assure you. My interest in her springs from a different source. I have other reasons for inquiring into her history.”

“You shall have it, then, cavallero– at least so much as I know of it myself: for it is reasonable to suppose that Don José did not tell me all he knew. This much: the niña was with a caravan that had come from one of your western states. It was a caravan of Mormons. You have heard of the Mormons, I suppose – those hereticos who have made settlements here beyond?”

“I have.”

“Well – one of these Mormons was the husband of the girl, or rather ought to have been – since they were married just at starting. It appears that the young woman was against the marriage – for she loved some one more to her choice – but her father had forced her to it; and some quarrel happening just at the time with the favourite lover, she had consented – from pique, sin duda– to accept the Mormon.”

“She did accept him?”

“Yes – but now comes the strange part of the story. All I have told you is but a common tale, and the like occurs every day in the year.”

“Go on!”

“When she married the Mormon, she did not know he was a Mormon; and it appears that these hereticos have a name among your people worse than the very Judios. It was only after the caravan had got out into the plains, that the girl made this discovery. Another circumstance equally unpleasant soon came to her knowledge; and that was: that the man who pretended to be her husband was after all no husband – that he did not act to her as a husband should do – in short, that the marriage had been a sham – the ceremony having been performed by some Mormon brother, in the disguise of a clerico!”

“Was the girl’s father aware of this deception!”

“Don José could not tell. He may have known that the man was a Mormon; but Don José was of opinion that the father himself was betrayed by the false marriage – though he was present at it, and actually bestowed the bride!”

“Strange!”

“Perhaps, cavallero! the strangest is yet to come. For what purpose, do you suppose, was this deception practised upon the poor girl?”

“I cannot guess – go on!”

“Carrai! it was a hellish purpose; but you shall hear it. These Mormons have at their head a great chief priest —una propheta, as they call him. He is a polygamist – a perfect Turco – and keeps a harem of beautiful niñas, who pass under the name of ‘spiritual wives.’ It was only after the young Americana had got far out upon the plains – indeed, to the Big Timbers, where she escaped from him – that she found out the terrible fate for which her false husband had designed her. She learnt it from the other women who accompanied the caravan; and who, base wretches that they were! rather envied her the honour by which she was to be distinguished! Por Dios! a terrible fate for a young creature innocent and virtuous like her!”

“Her fate? Quick – tell me! for what had the villain destined her?”

“Virgen Santa! for the harem of the Mormon prophet!”

“Mira!” exclaimed the Mexican, almost in the same breath – “Mira! the signal-smoke of Wa-ka-ra! To horse! to horse! mueran los Arapahoes!”

It was not the signal that called from my lips a convulsive exclamation. It was wrung from my agony, ere the smoke had been descried. It was drowned amidst the shouts of the savage warriors, as they crowded forward out of the chasm. Leaping down from the ledge, and flinging myself on the back of my horse, I mingled in the mêlée.

As we swept from the gorge, I cast a glance behind. The sound of female voices caused me to look back. The Utah women, mounted on mules and horses, were coming down the cañon, with the white huntress at their head! I wished a word with her; but it was too late. I dared neither pause nor go back. My Utah allies would have branded me as a coward – a traitor to my own cause! I did not hesitate a moment; but, joining in the “Ugh-aloo,” I dashed into the midst of the dusky host, and galloped onward to the charge.

Chapter Seventy Seven

The Surprise

The white cloud – a puff of powder-smoke – had scarcely scattered in the air, when a dark mass appeared upon the plain, emerging from the sulphureous vapour. It was a troop of horsemen – the warriors of Wa-ka-ra. On giving the signal they had issued forth from the lower cañon, and were coming up the valley at a gallop. They were too distant for us to heat their charging cheer; but from right and left proceeded a double shout – a war-cry answering to our own; and, the moment after, a stream of dusky forms was seen pouring down each bluff, through the sloping gorges that led to the plain.

We could hear the shout that announced the astonishment of the Arapahoes. It betokened more than astonishment; there was terror in its wild intonations. It was evident that they had been taken altogether by surprise; having no suspicion that an enemy was near – least of all the dreaded foes who were now rushing forward to surround them.

The red men are rarely betrayed into a panic. Accustomed from earliest youth to war, with all its wiles, they are always prepared for a stampede. It is the system they themselves follow, and are ever expecting to be practised against them. They accept the chances of attack – no matter how sudden or unforeseen – with all the coolness of a contest premeditated and prearranged. Even terror does not always create confusion in their ranks – for there are no ranks – and in conflicts with their own race, combinations that result from drill and discipline are of little consequence. It is usually a fight hand to hand, and man to man – where individual prowess prevails, and where superior personal strength and dexterity conduct to conquest. It is for this reason that the scalp-trophy is so highly prized: it is a proof that he who has taken it must have fought to obtain it. When “hair is raised” in a night attack – by the chance of an arrow or a bullet – it is less esteemed. By the laws of Indian warfare the stratagem of assassination is permissible, and practised without stint. But a coup of this kind is far less glorious, than to slay an enemy, in the open field, and under the broad glare of the sunlight. In conflicts by day, strategy is of slight advantage, and superior numbers are alone dreaded.

It was the superior numbers of their Utah enemies that caused dismay in the ranks of the Arapahoes. Otherwise, they would not have regarded the mode of attack – whether their assailants advanced upon them in a single body, or in four divisions, as they were doing. Indeed it was merely with a view of cutting off their retreat, that the Utah chieftain had adopted the plan. Had he not taken the precaution to approach from all sides at once, it would have been necessary for him to have waited for the night, before an attack could have been made. In daylight it would have been impossible to get even within shot-range of the enemy. The Arapahoes were as well-mounted as the Utahs; and perceiving their inferiority in numbers, they would have refused to fight, and ridden off, perhaps, without losing a man.

The strategic manoeuvre of the Utah was meant to force the Red-Hand to a conflict. This was its purpose, and no other. It was likely to be successful. For the Arapahoes, there appeared no alternative but stand and fight. The attack, coming from four points at one and the same time, and by superior numbers must have caused them fear. How could it be otherwise? It failed, however, to create any remarkable confusion. We could see them hurrying around the butte, in the direction of their cavallada: and, in an incredibly short space of time, most of the warriors had leaped to their horses, and with their long spears towering high above their heads, had thrown themselves into an irregular formation.

The plain at this moment presented an animated spectacle. He upon the summit of the butte, if still alive, must have viewed it with singular emotions. The painted Arapahoes clustered around their chief, and for the moment appearing in a close crowd, silent and immobile: from north, south, east, and west, the four bands of the Utahs approaching in rapid gallop, each led by its war-chief; while the “Ugh! aloo!” pealing from five hundred throats, reverberated from cliff to cliff, filling the valley with its vengeful echoes! The charge might have been likened to a chapter from the antique – an onslaught of Scythians! Would the Arapahoes await the shock of all four divisions at once? All were about equally distant, and closing in at equal speed. Surely the Red-Hand would not stay to be thus attacked.

“Carrambo! I wonder they are not off before this!” shouted Archilete, who was galloping by my side. “Ha, yonder!” added he, “a party on foot making from the grove of alamos! They are waiting for those to come up – that’s what’s been detaining them. Mira!”

As the Mexican spoke, he pointed to a small tope of cotton-woods, which grew isolated about three or four hundred yards from the mound. Out of this was seen issuing some fifteen or twenty Arapahoes. They were on foot – except three or four, who appeared to be carried by the others.

“Their wounded!” continued the trapper. “They’ve had them under the bushes to keep the sun off them, I suppose. Mira! they are meeting them with horses! They mean flight then.”

A party with led-horses were seen galloping out from the base of the butte, evidently to take up the men on foot – who were still hurrying towards their mounted comrades, as fast as the nature of their duty would permit them. There were several groups of the Indians on foot – each no doubt in charge of a disabled comrade. One crowd appeared to encircle a man who was not borne upon their shoulders, but was moving forward on his own feet. The violent gesticulations of those who surrounded him drew our attention. The man was evidently being menaced and urged forward – as if he went against his will!

“Carrai!” exclaimed the Mexican, “he is not one of their wounded. A captive! One of your camarados, I dare say?”

“No doubt of it,” I replied, at that moment equally guided to the conjecture.

“Wagh!” exclaimed the trapper, “the poor fellow’s scalp is in danger just now. I wonder they take all that trouble to get him away alive! – that puzzles me, amigo! I think it high time they looked to their own lives, without being so particular about that of their prisoner. Santissima Virgen! As I live, there’s a woman among them!”

“Yes – I see her – I know her. Her presence explains why they are taking him alive.”

“You know her?”

“And him too. Poor fellow! I hope she will befriend him; but – ”

I was hindered from continuing the explanation. Just at that moment, the led-horses were rushed up to: and those in charge of the wounded were seen to spring to their backs. Here and there, a double mount proclaimed that the disabled men were still capable of making a last effort for their lives. All had got upon their horses, and in a straggling crowd were making to join the main band; when, just at that moment, one of the horses that carried two men was seen to swerve suddenly from the line, and, heading up the valley, come galloping in our direction. The horse appeared to have taken fright, and shied away from the others; while the men upon his back were tossing and writhing about, as if trying to restrain him! At the same instant, half-a-dozen mounted Arapahoes were seen shooting forth from the crowd, and with loud yells galloping in pursuit of the runaway! The double-loaded steed – a powerful animal – kept on his course; but, not until he had approached within three or four hundred paces of our own front, could I account for this strange manoeuvre. Then was I enabled to comprehend the mysterious escapade. The rider upon the croup was Frank Wingrove! He upon the saddle was a red Arapaho. The bodies of the two men appeared to be lashed together by a raw-hide rope; but, in front of the Indian, I could perceive the muscular arms of the young backwoodsman tightly embracing the chest of the savage, while with the reins in his fingers he was guiding the gallop of the horse! With a shout of joy I hailed the escape of my comrade, now no longer problematical. In a score of seconds more, we should meet.

The pursuers – satisfied that his recapture was hopeless without risking their own scalps – had already turned with a despairing shout, and were galloping back. Wingrove was near enough to hear the cry of encouragement that passed from my lips; and, soon recognising me, despite the disguise of the serapé, headed his horse directly towards us.

“Hooraw, capt’n!” cried he, as he came up. “Hev you e’er a knife to cut me clar o’ this Indjun? Durn the niggur! I’ve got him in a leetle o’ the tightest fix he’s been in for a while, I reck’n. Dog-gone ye! keep still, ye skunk, or I’ll smash every rib in yur body! Quiet now!”

During all this time, the Indian was making the most strenuous efforts to free himself from the grasp of his powerful adversary – now endeavouring to throw himself down from the horse, anon trying to turn the animal in an opposite direction. But the thongs intended to secure his captive – and which had no doubt been wound around both of them by a third hand – had become bonds for himself. Wingrove, who had by some means wrenched his wrists free from their fastenings, had turned the tables upon his captor, by transforming him into a captive! I chanced to be without a knife; but the Mexican was supplied with the necessary implement; and, drawing it from its sheath, shot past me to use it. I thought he intended to cut the thongs that bound the two men together. So did he: but not till after he had performed another operation – which consisted in plunging his blade between the ribs of the Arapaho! At the stab, the Indian gave utterance to his wild death-shout. In the same instant his head coggled over upon his shoulder, his body relaxed its muscular tension, and hung limp over the raw-hide rope. A snig of the red blade severed the thong; and the Indian’s body sliding down from the withers of the horse, fell with a dull dead sound upon the turf.

“Here Americano!” cried the trapper, holding out the ensanguined knife to Wingrove; “take this weapon for want of a better. Let us on! See! the picaros are making off. Vamos! nos vamonos!”

The incident had delayed us but for a very short while – perhaps not half a minute; but as we returned to the charging gallop, most of our party had passed us; and the foremost were already within rifle range, and opening fire upon the Arapahoes.

Chapter Seventy Eight

The Charge

The horsemen who had forged ahead, for a while, hindered me from seeing the enemy. The Utahs had halted, and were discharging their guns. The smoke from their shots shrouded both allies and enemies; but, from the fact of a halt having been made, I presumed the Arapahoes were making stand by the butte. It was not so. After the first round of shots, the firing ceased; and the Utahs again went charging onward.

The Arapahoes had given way, and were fleeing down the valley. There they must meet Wa-ka-ra. And this or something like it, was their intention. With the four divisions closing upon them from all sides at once, they saw there was no chance of saving themselves – except by making a desperate charge on some one singly, in the hope of causing it to yield, and thus open for them a way of escape. They had no difficulty in making choice of which they should meet. The band of Wa-ka-ra was between them and their own country. It was the direction in which they must ultimately retreat; and this decided them to take down the valley.

A slight swell in the plain, which we were at that moment crossing, gave me a view of the retreating Arapahoes. In the distance, I could see the band of Wa-ka-ra advancing towards them at full speed. In a few seconds would meet in shivering charge these mortal foes.

The Utahs of our party were urging their horses to utmost speed. Well-mounted as were myself and companions, we were unable to overtake them. Those that came from right and left had suddenly swerved from their course; and in two converging lines were sweeping down the valley to the assistance of their chief. We passed close under the edge of the butte. In the excitement of the chase, I had almost forgotten to look up – when a shrill shout recalled to my memory the captive on the cross. The cry came from the summit – from Sure-shot himself. Thank Heaven! he lived!

“Hooza! hoozay!” shouted the voice. “Heaving speed yees, whos’ever ye be! Hooza! hoozay! Arter the verming, an’ gie ’em goss! Sculp every mother’s son o’ ’em. Hooza! hoozay!”

There was no time to make reply to these cries of encouragement. Enough to know that it was our old comrade who gave utterance to them. It proved he was still living; and, echoing his exulting shout, we galloped onward.

It was a fearful sight to behold the two dark bands as they dashed forward upon one another – like opposing waves of the angry ocean. Through the horsemen in front of me, I could see the meeting, and hear the shock. It was accompanied by wild yells – by voices heard in loud taunting tones – by the rattling of shields, the crashing collision of spear-shafts, and the sharp detonations of rifles. The band of Wa-ka-ra recoiled for a moment. It was by far the weakest; and had it been left to itself, would have sustained defeat in this terrible encounter. But the Utahs were armed both with rifles and pistols; and the latter, playing upon the ranks of the Arapahoes, were fast thinning them. Dusky warriors were seen dropping from their horses; while the terrified animals went galloping over the field – their wild neighs adding to the uproar of the fight. There was but one charge – a short but terrible conflict – and then the fight was over. It became transformed, almost in an instant, to a disorderly flight. When the hot skurry had ended, the remnant of the prairie-horsemen was seen heading down the valley, followed by the four bands of the Utahs – who had now closed together. Pressing onward in the pursuit, they still vociferated their wild Ugh! aloo! – firing shots at intervals, as they rode within reach of their flying foemen.

Neither Wingrove nor I had an opportunity of taking part in the affray. It was over before we could ride up; and, indeed, had it been otherwise, neither of us could have been of much service to our allies. Painted as both were, and in full war-costume – in other words, naked to the breech-clout – we could not have distinguished friends from foes! It was partly this consideration that had occasioned us to halt. We drew up on the ground where the collision had occurred with the band of Wa-ka-ra. We looked upon a spectacle that might at any other time have horrified us. A hundred bodies lay over the sward, all dead. There were Utahs as well as Arapahoes; but, though we could not distinguish the warriors of the two tribes in the confusion of the fight, there was no difficulty in identifying their dead. There was a signal difference in the aspect of the slain Indians. Around the skulls of the Utahs, the thick black tresses were still clustering; while upon the heads of the Arapahoes there was neither hair nor skin. Every one of them had been already scalped. Wounded men were sitting up, or propped against dead bodies – each with two or three comrades bending over him. Horses were galloping around, their lazos trailing at will; while weapons of every kind – spears, shields, bows, quivers, and arrows – were strewed over the sward.

A group of about a dozen men appeared at some distance, clustered around a particular object. It was the dead body of a man – a chief, no doubt? Not without feelings of apprehension did I approach the spot. It might be the noble Wa-ka-ra? I rode up, and looked over the shoulders of those who encircled the corpse. A glance was sufficient to put an end to my apprehensions. The body was covered with blood, and pierced with many wounds. It was frightfully mutilated; but I was able to identify the features as those of Red-Hand, the chief of the Arapahoes! Scarred and gashed though it was, I could still trace those sinister lines that in life had rendered that face so terrible to behold. It was even more hideous in death; but the Utahs who stood around no longer regarded it with fear. The terror, which their dread foeman had oft inspired within them, was now being retaliated in the mockery of his mutilated remains! The Mexican had ascertained that Wa-ka-ra was still unhurt, and heading the pursuit. Having myself no further interest in the scene, I turned away from it; and, with Wingrove by my side, rode back towards the butte.

Chapter Seventy Nine

Tragic and Comic

Some words passed between us as we went. For my companion, I had news that would make him supremely happy. Our conversation turned not on that. “Soon enough,” thought I, “when they shall come together. Let both hearts be blessed at the same time.” Ah! how my own was bleeding. Little suspected the Spanish hunter how his tale had tortured me!

Wingrove, in brief detail, gave me the particulars of his escape. Like myself, he had been captured without receiving any serious injury. They would have killed him afterwards, but for the interference of the Chicasaw, who, by some means, had gained an ascendancy over the Red-Hand! In the breast of this desperate woman burned alternately the passions of love and revenge. The former had been for the time in the ascendant; but she had saved the captive’s life, only in the hope of making him her captive. She had carried him to the copse, where he had passed the night in her company – one moment caressed and entreated – in the next reviled, and menaced with the most cruel death! In vain had he looked for an opportunity to get away from her. Like a jealous tigress had she watched him throughout the live-long night; and it was only in the confusion, created by our sudden approach, that he had found a chance of escape from the double guardianship in which he had been held. All this was made known to me in a few hurried phrases.