THE WAR TRAIL.
The principal sachems of the tribe, collected at the entrance of the
medicine lodge, were present at the departure of the warriors. Two
bands, each composed of twenty braves, were drawn up side by side. At
the head of the first stood the Stag, haughtily bestriding his horse,
which was painted and accoutred in the Comanche fashion, so that it was
quite as difficult to recognize as its rider. An ill-restrained delight
glistened in the chief's fierce eyes. At the head of the second troop,
composed of more aged and calm warriors, were Running Water and White
Crow.
The women, children, and warriors who were to remain at home crowded
the square. A deep silence, apparently caused by the expectation of an
important event, prevailed among them. At the end of an instant the
sachems assembled before the medicine lodge moved on one side, and made
way for a man dressed in garments of strange shape, in which the most
startling and discordant colours were brought together. This man was
the sorcerer, or medicine man, of the tribe.
His step was imposing and haughty; his expressive face displayed
enthusiasm and faith. In one hand he held a clumsy vessel, in which a
tuft of wormwood was soaking; in the other he brandished a scalping
knife. On reaching the centre of the square he stopped at an equal
distance from the two troops, in front of a fire lighted expressly for
the occasion. He stood for a moment motionless, with his head drooping
on his chest, murmuring a few words in a low and indistinct voice;
then he took out the wormwood, and sprinkled the four cardinal points,
exclaiming, as he did so--
"Wacondah! Thou seest these warriors; be favourable to them, blind
their enemies, and remove any snares from their path!"
After uttering these words, he deposited the vessel on the ground, felt
in the parchment bag that hung by his side, and drew out a handful of
moriche, which he dropped slowly into the fire, saying--
"Receive this offering, Wacondah! And let us know thy designs."
And, still continuing to drop the tobacco, he began dancing round
the fire, brandishing his knife, and making strange contortions and
grimaces. By degrees, his features altered, a white foam issued from
the corners of his mouth, his hair stood on end, his eyes seemed ready
to spring from their sockets, and he shouted in a hoarse and panting
voice--
"I see them! I see them!"
"What does my father see?" the Stag asked, with ill-disguised anxiety;
for, in spite of his Mexican education, or, perhaps, owing to it, he
was like all his countrymen, and, perhaps, more than they, accessible
to superstitious terrors.
"I see them," the sorcerer continued; "the combat is obstinate; the
women roll on the ground; they fall into the power of my sons; they
rise again. Why these signs? What mean these demonstrations? Oh, I hear
them!"
"What does my father hear?" the chief asked.
"I hear cries, but the Comanches are implacable. Kill, kill, kill,
I say. Why do you hesitate?" All at once he burst into a convulsive
laugh, "Ah, ah, ah! Yes, that is better," he said, with a shriek, "in
that way the vengeance will be more perfect."
In spite of themselves, the hearers felt terrified by this Satanic
laugh, which echoed in their ears like a funeral knell.
"Do not go," the sorcerer continued; "death is there. Leave that enemy
alone, for it is not he but you who will succumb. But no; go, for you
must; why, Wacondah, why?"
While uttering these words, the sorcerer suddenly stopped; his voice
grew low and unintelligible; he seemed to listen for a moment, uttered
a loud cry, turned round twice or thrice with headlong speed, and fell
all his length on the ground, where he writhed for several moments in
frightful convulsions. The Indians were struck with terror at this
strange scene; the sorcerer's gloomy prediction filled them with
horror, they did not dare communicate their thoughts to one another,
but remained uncertain and alarmed, while watching the man who writhed
before them. At length Running Water broke the charm which held all
these impressionable men enthralled, for he felt the discredit which
would attach to the two expeditions, if the warriors were allowed time
to think.
"Like all the predictions of the medicine man," he said, with a slight
tinge of irony, "this contains both good and bad; still I fancy I
noticed that good prevailed, and that, if we have the misfortune to
lose one or two of our comrades, we shall at least return loaded with
booty, and dragging prisoners after us."
"I believe I understood that too," White Crow said, to back him up;
"the warriors who fall in an expedition are fortunate. The happy
hunting grounds are opened to them, and they are led to them by the
Wacondah."
"Yes," said the Stag, "the prediction is a good one; it announces
success."
The versatile mind of the Indians immediately followed the impulse
the chiefs gave it, and soon all the redskins were persuaded that the
medicine man's predictions were really excellent, and that the two
expeditions started under the most favourable auspices. As for the poor
sorcerer, he lay on the ground in a state of perfect insensibility, and
none of the persons present dreamed of helping him. Then the two bands
started to leave the village, followed by the whole tribe, who made
vows for the success of the expedition, and urged them to show no mercy
to the enemies they were about to fight; the women were especially
distinguished by their ferocious cries and repulsive gestures.
For nearly an hour the two bands rode side by side, the three chiefs
conversing together in a low voice, and the warriors laughing and
smoking, for they were well aware that they had not yet reached the
spot where they would really enter on the war trail and that any
precautions they now took would be useless. At about two p.m., on a
sign from their chief, they halted in a narrow valley, by the side of
a stream, whose banks were overshadowed by small clumps of sumachs,
larches, and Peru trees. The riders dismounted and carelessly lay down
on the ground, leaving to the chiefs the trouble of watching over the
common safety, if they considered it necessary. The latter had lighted
their pipes, and were holding council. After a moment's silence,
Running Water said, in his grave and calm voice--
"We have reached the ford of the Antelope, and it is here that we shall
part. I will go down the river with my braves, while the Stag reenters
the forest with his warriors. Has my son anything further to say to
Running Water and White Crow? They are listening."
"I have nothing more to say to my father Running Water, or to my
brother White Crow, than what they now already know; the expedition
we are attempting is perilous, and must be carried out with prudence,
not so much, perhaps, on account of our enemies themselves, as of the
superstitious terrors with which they inspire our warriors."
"I understand the words of my son," the old chief replied; "they are
serious. Running Water is renowned for his courage among his brothers;
still he would not dare to attack the enemies whom the genius of evil
protects and renders invincible."
The Stag concealed with difficulty a contemptuous smile, which was
checked on his lips by the respect with which his father inspired him.
"Our own weakness partly forms the strength of our enemies," he
replied, shaking his head sorrowfully; "the redskins are brave, but
they are children who put faith in absurd things."
"My son," the old man said, sternly, "contact with the palefaces has
injured you more than you suppose; without suspecting it, you have
come to discuss the belief of your fathers, and turn it into ridicule.
Take care, I repeat, my son; the road you are entering on is a bad
one--it leads to a precipice; it is better to believe in an absurdity
than fall into the contrary excess, and deny all belief. I will not
lead my warriors against the persons whom you so obstinately insist on
attacking."
"I do not ask it of you, father," the Stag replied, biting his lips in
spite; "merely do what we agreed on, and that will be sufficient. I am
willing to assume all the risks and perils of this expedition."
"The Stag is right," White Crow observed; "what danger do we incur
in doing what he asks? Besides, even if we tried to prevent it, our
warriors would not stand before them, but fly. Leave your son to act,
Running Water; if on certain points contact with the whites has been
injurious to him, it is evident that it will prove very useful to him
for many others. He knows better than we do what is best to be done
under the circumstances, and since he consents to assume all the
responsibility, let him act as he pleases."
The old man shook his head several times, as if still far from being
convinced.
"Be it so," he at length said, "since he fancies he has more wisdom
beneath his black scalp than those whose hair has grown white at
the council fire; let him act as he thinks proper. His father will
henceforth be dumb, and will not cast the ice of his experience upon
the fire of his ardent youth. Alas! Old customs are dying out. The
Comanches are no longer worthy of their ancestors! The poison of the
palefaces has penetrated to their villages. May the Wacondah grant that
I have not lived too long, and that I may not see at an early day the
ruin of my nation, as I have witnessed the ruin of its old laws and
wise and simple customs."
While speaking thus, the old chief rose pensively, and walked slowly
toward his horse, which a warrior was holding by the bridle. White Crow
waited till the sachem was out of earshot, and then bent down to the
Stag's ear.
"Brother," he said to him, as he seized his arm, "do not be uneasy. I
only know your plans very imperfectly through the few hints you have
dropped in my presence; but, if I am not mistaken, they are of great
importance. Carry them out, therefore, without fear; if your father
hesitates to support you, I will oblige him not to break the promise he
has made you."
"Thanks, chief," he answered with emotion, "among all our brothers you
alone understand me. Oh, be assured that I shall succeed."
"Yes, I understand you," White Crow said sadly, "perhaps only too
well; but the Wacondah's will be done! He alone can read hearts and
distinguish good from evil. Still, before we part, let me give you one
counsel."
"I will receive it gladly, chief."
"Perhaps so; still I think it my duty to give it you, whether you like
it or not. Here it is, and you can act as you please. The man who
wishes to attain a high position among his people must be careful not
to substitute private or personal interests for the public interests
intrusted to him. You are too intelligent to fail to understand me.
Trust to me. Farewell for the present."
And after discharging this Parthian arrow, the chief went off,
apparently not noticing the Stag's confusion. The latter stood for a
moment as if stunned by this clear-sighted apostrophe.
"¡Voto a brios!" he muttered in Spanish, "Have I been so maladroit as
to let these crafty men read my secret thoughts? Oh, it is impossible!
Still--nonsense," he added, as he haughtily raised his head, and looked
defiantly around him, "what do I care after all? If I succeed, each
will acknowledge me to be right. Does not success justify the most
desperate enterprises, and this is far from being one."
These reflections seemed to restore him all the confidence and audacity
which his father's remarks and White Crow's malice had momentarily
shaken, and he walked with a calm look and careless demeanour toward
the two chiefs, who were mounting at the moment, as he wished to take
leave of them before starting. The compliments were short and cold on
both sides, for these three men were eager to separate. Brought up in
a different medium, and in ideas diametrically opposed, the Stag and
his two comrades could not understand each other, and the sachems even
involuntarily felt an antipathy for their young colleague.
Running Water was right in the remonstrance which he addressed to
his son. Paternal love on one side, on the other his hatred of the
Mexicans, rendered him clear-sighted. A man, however firm his character
may be, does not adopt with impunity the customs and habits of men
in a more advanced stage of civilization than himself, and pass his
childhood and youth in the midst of the comfort and luxury ignored in
savage life, which, while freeing man from physical apprehensions,
enlarge his ideas, by giving him the leisure to think and live, no
longer through the senses, but through the heart.
The Stag, destined by his father to serve as the instrument of the
revenge which he wished to take on Don Aníbal de Saldibar and his
family, had been so well trained by Running Water, that his entrance
to the hacienda met with no difficulty. The boy had begun by playing a
long studied part, then, by degrees, without knowing how or why it took
place, the fiction was converted into a reality, and the Comanche grew
to regard almost with terror the moment when he would be compelled to
return to the independent life of the prairies, and resume the nomadic
existence of his tribe. This repugnance for the customs of his fathers
emanated neither from any gratitude he felt for Don Aníbal's constant
kindness to him, nor from friendship he felt for those who brought him
up.
Sotavento was naturally ungrateful, moreover he cordially hated white
men generally, and his benefactor particularly; but he had quickly
grown accustomed to the life he led; it seemed to him a real paradise
in comparison with what awaited him in the desert. By degrees
the faith of his tribe was effaced in his heart, to make room for
another that was wider, and more in accordance with his instincts and
appetites; and he regarded the mission with which he had been intrusted
as a heavy burden from which he would be delighted to be delivered. No
man is perfect; however strong he may be, he cannot continually have
the same idea of pursuing the same object.
His father's implacable hatred of the white men, which was
comprehensible in the medium in which the chief lived, was not so for
his son; it was only at intervals, when he witnessed an insult dealt
to a man of colour, that his Indian blood was revealed in him, and
his hatred was re-kindled. Sotavento was vexed at this indifference;
he tried to overcome it by all means, and when he was among his own
people, his protestations were made in good faith, for he then believed
what he said, so much did he desire in his heart that it should be
true. Unfortunately for him, he had scarce returned to the hacienda,
ere his ideas completely changed, his resolutions evaporated, and he
felt himself beneath a far more powerful influence, an influence whose
strength was gradually revealed in him, and eventually overpowered
whatever efforts he might attempt to escape from it.
Under the pressure of the new feeling which mastered him, the Indian
felt all the ferocious instincts of the race to which he belonged
aroused in him; from this moment, forgetting all other interests, he
had but one thought--it was to employ, in carrying out successfully the
daring plan he had formed, the confidence he enjoyed among the chiefs
and the forces of which he could dispose at a given moment. The hour
which the Indian had selected for the realization of his project and
the execution of his bold plans had arrived, and he audaciously set
to work, without hesitation or without scruple, caring little about
marching over corpses, provided that these corpses were so many steps
of a ladder enabling him to attain the extraordinary result he desired.