Nearly simultaneous with the departure of the two horsemen came the
closing scene of the conflict. Indeed it ended on the instant of their
riding off. For of their comrades left behind there was not one upon
his feet--not one able to fire another shot, or strike another blow.
All lay dead, or wounded, among the waggons; some of the dead, as the
wounded, clasping the handle of a knife whose blade reeked with blood,
or a pistol from whose muzzle the smoke was still oozing.
But soon among the whites there were no wounded, for the hovering host,
having closed in from all sides, leaped from their horses, swarmed over
the barrier between, tomahawking the last that showed signs of life, or
thrusting them with their long lances, and pinning them to the sand.
Through the body of every white man at least a half-dozen spear-blades
were passed, while a like number of savages stood exultingly over, or
danced triumphantly around it.
And now ensued a scene that might be symbolised only among wild beasts
or fiends in the infernal regions. It was a contest for possession of
the scalps of those who had fallen--each of the victors claiming one.
Some stood with bared blades ready to peel them off, while others held
out hands and weapons to prevent it. From the lips of the competitors
came shouts and expostulations, while their eyes flashed fire, and their
arms rose and fell in furious gesticulations.
Amidst their demoniac jargon could be heard a voice louder than all,
thundering forth a command. It was to desist from their threatening
strife and extinguish the flames that still flared up over the waggons.
He who spoke was the one with the red cross upon his breast, its bars of
bright vermilion gleaming like fire against the sombre background of his
skin. He was the chief of the Tenawa Comanches--the Horned Lizard--as
Wilder had justly conjectured.
And as their chief he was instantly obeyed. The wranglers, one and all,
promptly suspended their disputes; and flinging their weapons aside, at
once set to carrying out his orders.
Seizing upon the shovels, late dropped from the hands of their now
lifeless antagonists, and plying them to better purpose, they soon
smothered the flame, and the smoke too, till only a thin drift stole up
through the sand thrown thickly over it.
Meanwhile a man, in appearance somewhat differing from the rest, was
seen moving among them.
Indian in garb and guise, savage in his accoutrements, as the colour of
his skin, he nevertheless, showed features more resembling races that
are civilised. His countenance was of a cast apparently Caucasian, its
lineaments unlike those of the American aboriginal; above all, unlike in
his having a heavy beard, growing well forward upon his cheeks, and
bushing down below the chin.
True, that among the Comanche Indians bearded men are occasionally met
with--_mestizos_, the descendants of renegade whites. But none paraded
as he, who now appeared stalking around the ruined caravan. And there
was another individual by his side, who had also hair upon his cheeks,
though thinner and more straggling; while the speech passing between the
two was not the guttural tongue of the Tenawa Comanches, but pure
Mexican Spanish.
Both were on foot, having dismounted; he with the heavy beard leading,
the other keeping after as if in attendance.
The former flitted from one to another of those who lay slain; in turn
stooping over each corpse, and scrutinising it--to some giving but a
cursory glance, to others more careful examination--then leaving each
with an air of disappointment, and a corresponding exclamation.
At length, after going the complete round of the dead, he faced towards
his satellite, saying,--
"_Por dios_! he don't appear to be among them! What can it mean? There
could be no doubt of his intention to accompany the caravan. Here it
is, and here we are; but where is he? _Carajo_! If he has escaped me,
I shall feel as if I'd had all this trouble for nothing."
"Think of the precious plunder," rejoined the other. "These grand
_carretas_ are loaded with rich goods. Surely they don't count for
nothing."
"A fig for the goods! I'd give more for his scalp than all the silks
and satins that were ever carried to Santa Fe. Not that I'd care to
keep such a trifle. The Horned Lizard will be welcome to it, soon as I
see it stripped from his skull. That's what I want to see. But where
is it? Where is he? Certainly not among these. There isn't one of
them the least like him. Surely it must be his party, spoken of in his
letter? No other has been heard of coming by this route. There they
lie, all stark and staring--men, mules, and horses--all but him."
The smoke has thinned off, only a thin film still wafting about the
waggons, whose canvas tilts, now consumed, expose their contents--some
of them badly burnt, some but slightly scorched. The freebooters have
commenced to drag out boxes and bales, their chief by a stern command
having restrained them from returning to take the scalps of the slain.
All has been the work of only a few moments--less than ten minutes of
time--for it is scarce so much since Wilder and Hamersley, stealing out
between the wheels, rode off under cover of the cloud.
By this he with the beard, speaking Spanish, has ceased to scrutinise
the corpses, and stands facing his inferior, his countenance showing an
air of puzzled disappointment, as proclaimed by his repeated speeches.
Once again he gives speech to his perplexity, exclaiming:
"_Demonios_! I don't understand it. Is it possible that any of them
can have got away?"
As he puts the question there comes a shout from outside, seeming to
answer it. For it is a cry half in lamentation--a sort of wail,
altogether unlike the charging war-whoop of the Comanches. Acquainted
with their signals, he knows that the one he has heard tells of an enemy
trying to escape.
Hurrying outside the corral, he sees two mounted men, nearly a mile off,
making in the direction of the cliffs. And nearer, a score of other
men, in the act of mounting, these being Indians, who have just caught
sight of the fugitives, and are starting to pursue.
More eager than any, he rushes direct to his horse, and, having reached,
bestrides him at a spring. Then, plunging deep the spur, he dashed off
across the plain towards the point where the two men are seen making
away. Who both may be he knows not, nor of one need he care; but of one
he does, feeling sure it is the same for whom he has been searching
among the slain.
"Not dead yet, but soon shall be!"
So mutters he, as with clenched teeth, bridle tight-drawn, and fingers
firmly clasping the butt of a double-barrelled pistol, he spurs on after
the two horsemen, who, heading straight for the cliff, seem as if they
had no chance to escape; for their pursuers are closing after them in a
cloud, dark as the dreaded "norther" that sweeps over the Texan desert,
with shout symbolising the clangour that accompanies it.