THE SNARE.
Running Water and White Crow placed themselves at the head of their
warriors, who marched in Indian file, and forded the river. The
redskins who remained in the valley watched them cross and disappear in
the windings of the track they were following. The Stag remained for
nearly an hour at the spot where his band had halted, and it was not
until the sun had begun to descend on the horizon that he gave orders
to mount. The warriors at once quitted the protecting shade which had
sheltered them for several hours, and in a twinkling were ready to
start.
Among the warriors who accompanied the Stag were six with whom he
was very intimate; they several times entered the Mexican territory
under different disguises, and had even got as far as the Hacienda
del Barrio, where the majordomo received and sheltered them without
exciting the slightest suspicion, so cleverly did they play the part of
Indios mansos. Of these six warriors four had been employed for several
months as vaqueros to guard the ganado.
The Stag had stipulated that this should be so, because, as he remarked
at the council, a day might come when it would be well for him to have
men ready at hand who were sufficiently acquainted with the customs of
the redskins, to aid the tribe in carrying out the revenge which had so
long been preparing. The council assented to the proposition, and the
majordomo neglected nothing that his friends might make rapid progress
in their knowledge of Mexican customs.
Sotavento had an object, but it was very different from the one
which he suggested to the Comanches. Success had not only crowned
the Indian's efforts, but exceeded all his expectations, and his six
warriors assumed in a very short time the manners of Mexican peons.
Everybody knows the aptitude of redskins for doing or imitating what
they please when they suppose they can derive any eventual profit by
it, so what we state here will not arouse any surprise.
After recommencing his march, the Stag called up to him these six
warriors, and began giving them confidential instructions in so low
a voice that they had a difficulty in catching and understanding his
remarks. It appeared as if the revelations he made to these men were
serious, for, in spite of the mask of stoicism with which Indians
habitually cover their face, their features suddenly displayed a
surprise which soon assumed a distinct character of horror. But the
Stag did not give way; on the contrary, he redoubled his efforts,
heaped promise on promise, flattery on flattery; in short, he managed
so cleverly, that he ended by convincing them, or at least it seemed
so, for, after a lengthened hesitation, they gave a nod of assent. The
chief shook his head.
"Wah!" he said in a louder voice. "My brothers are men of loyal hearts
and iron arms. I believe in their word, but they have not sworn by the
sacred totem of the tribe, and as they have not promised by word of
mouth, it is possible that the Wacondah may not remember their promise."
The warriors began laughing.
"The opossum is very crafty," one of the Indians said, "but the Stag
joins to the cunning of the opossum that of the guanaco."
"Wah!" said another, "The palefaces have taught the Stag all the
cleverness of the Yoris."
"Well," he answered laughingly, "that of the Comanches is greater
still; for is not the Comanche nation the Queen of the Prairies? Who
would dare, without leave, to traverse our hunting grounds. Will my
brothers swear by the totem?"
"We will," said the one who spoke first, "because we love our brother,
and know that his intentions are good."
"Yes, that is true; we believe in you, chief."
At these words the seven men stopped, and let their comrades pass them.
When the latter had disappeared in the windings of the track, and were
so far that they could neither see nor hear what was taking place, the
Stag made a sign, and the six warriors formed a circle round him. Then
the chief drew his scalping knife from his belt, opened his hunting
shirt, and placing the point of the blade against his heart, on which
was drawn in red the totem, or emblem of his tribe, that is to say, a
buffalo, he raised his right hand to the setting sun, and uttered the
words of the oath, the only one, perhaps, sacred to the Indians, as
there is no instance known of it having been broken.
"I, a great man of the Comanche nation, a son of the Red Buffalo
tribe, swear, in the presence of the sun, the visible representative
of the invisible Wacondah, the powerful master of life, to accomplish
without hesitation everything which my master, the Stag, may demand of
me, consenting that the blade of my hunting knife, the point of which
is at this moment resting on the image of the totem of my tribe, may
be buried to the hilt in my heart, were I to break my oath which I
now voluntarily take. I also consent to submit to the most terrible
punishment the powerful Wacondah, the master of life, may deign to
inflict on me. Hence, may the Wacondah remember my oath, in order to
reward or punish me, according to my conduct."
The six warriors, following their chief's example, drew their scalping
knives, put the point on their heart, and repeated after him in a
solemn voice, and an accent of conviction, the words he pronounced.
"I thank my brothers," he said, "they are truly great braves; the tails
of red wolves which hang from their heels do not speak falsehood."
The Indians bowed, and he continued--
"My brothers will leave me here, and go straight to the Elk's cavern;
they have just time to get there, and prepare to carry out my orders:
have my brothers thoroughly understood?"
"We have understood," they answered.
"In that case, my brothers will make their mustangs feel the whip; the
sun is rapidly descending, it is nearly level with the grass, and it
will soon be night."
The warriors took leave of their chief, and turning to the right,
vigorously lashed their horses, and disappeared in a whirlwind of dust.
The Stag looked after them pensively; when he lost them out of sight,
he whistled to his horse, and rejoined at a gallop his warriors, who,
during the scene we have just described had continued their march, and
were some considerable distance ahead.
We will leave the Comanche warriors for a while, and let them glide
like snakes through the prairie grass, and cross the Río Grande del
Norte to enter Mexican territory. We will take up our narrative again a
few hours later, at the moment when Doña Emilia, her daughter, and Don
Melchior, attracted by the firing of Running Water's warriors, rushed
into the canyon, and by their mere presence caused the Indians that
inconceivable panic which made them fly in every direction, and abandon
their coveted prey when they were on the point of grasping it. After
pursuing for some time the fugitives, to whom terror seemed to give
wings, Doña Emilia prepared to return to the count and his comrades,
when all at once she fancied she heard desperate cries in a wood a
little distance off, which she had passed unnoticed in the heat of the
pursuit.
"What is the meaning of that?" Doña Emilia asked, as she checked her
steed. "Can there be any unhappy white men engaged with these demons on
this side?"
At the same moment the wind bore down to them the sound of several
shots.
"It appears like a serious action," Don Melchior answered. "Still I
cannot understand the cause, for, with the exception of the count,
there are not, to my knowledge, any white men travelling at present on
this border."
"You must be mistaken, my friend, and hark, the noise is increasing;
forward, forward; who knows whether we may not have the good fortune
to save the life of some poor wretch. Those red demons fled so rapidly
that we could not catch up a single one."
"Mother," Doña Diana timidly observed, "would it not be better, before
venturing again among the savages, to make certain with whom we have to
deal, and the number of foes we may have to confront?"
"What good will that do, daughter?" Doña Emilia answered drily; "Those
men are savages, I think that we do not require to know more."
"Permit me to insist, mother; I know not why, but for some days past,
sad forebodings involuntarily pursue me; I fear that we have traitors
about us, and that they are watching us. I am afraid! Alas! Is it
fitting for women," she murmured feebly, "to wage war thus?"
Doña Emilia gave the maiden an angry glance. "Pigeon heart," she said
with feverish energy, "who keeps you here? return to the hacienda; I
will be sufficient."
"I fear a snare, mother."
"A snare? Do you forget the terror with which my presence inspires
these Pagans? You have long had a proof of it," she continued with a
contemptuous smile; "but come, daughter, accompany me this time, and I
swear that I will not again force you to serve my hatred."
The young lady let her head drop but said nothing, and the three riders
started at full gallop in the direction of the shots, which became more
frequent the nearer they approached. They were soon close enough to
distinguish all the details of the drama which was being performed but
a few paces from them. At the top of a small mound, several Europeans,
who could be easily recognized by their dress, ambuscaded behind their
horses, whose throats they had cut to form them into a barricade, were
defending themselves like lions against twenty Indian warriors, who
surrounded and tried to capture them.
"Well?" Doña Emilia asked her daughter, as she pointed to this fight,
whose incidents were growing more and more striking, "Is that a snare?"
"I am wrong, mother, I see," the young lady murmured; "and yet, I
repeat, I am afraid."
"Forward!" Doña Emilia cried.
The three riders passed like a hurricane through the midst of the
redskins, throwing down and trampling on all who tried to oppose their
passage. But then a strange and terrible thing took place. Several
shots, doubtless badly aimed and fired from the top of the mound where
the Europeans were entrenched, struck in the head the horses of Doña
Emilia and her daughter, who rolled on the ground unable to rise; at
the same moment an Indian warrior dashed at Don Melchior, brandishing
his lasso over his head. All at once the young man felt a frightful
shock, was lifted from the saddle by an irresistible force, and
dragged along the ground. Don Melchior had been lassoed. In spite of
the horrible suffering he endured, though half strangled by the slip
knot which squeezed his throat, though wounded by roots and stones
over which his pitiless conqueror dragged him, the young man did not
lose his presence of mind; by an extraordinary and superhuman effort,
which only the certainty of a horrible death would give him the courage
to attempt, Don Melchior clutched the fatal lasso with one hand, and
with the other seizing the sharp knife which every Mexican carries in
his boot, as a last resource, he succeeded in drawing it out, and,
after two fruitless attempts, collecting all his strength for a final
effort, he managed to cut the lasso; then, without calculating the
consequences of his deed, but preferring to run the chances of an
immediate death, however terrible it might be, to falling alive into
the hands of his ferocious enemies, he recommended his soul to heaven
in a mental prayer, and rolled down the incline of a precipice which
yawned a couple of yards from him.
At the moment when the energetic and courageous young man, who risked
this desperate chance, probably in the hopes of escaping to save his
companions, disappeared down the abyss, the Indian warrior who had
dragged him from his horse, perceiving that he had contrived to cut
the lasso, galloped up at full speed in order to prevent his flight.
The Indian, who was no other than the Stag, fell into an indescribable
passion on seeing his foe escape him. He bent over the abyss, trying
to sound the darkness, and listening to the noises which rose from
the bottom of the precipice; then, after a moment's hesitation, he
resolutely dismounted, abandoned his horse, and clinging with feet and
hands to branches and roots, he descended the quebrada in his turn.
The Stag understood of what importance the capture of Don Melchior was
to him. The consequences of his flight might be immense, and make him
lose the fruits of the bold stroke he had attempted; hence, without
reflecting further, he rushed in pursuit of him. After a considerable
loss of time and unheard of efforts, he at length reached the bottom of
the precipice. He then began seeking for his enemy with the tenacity
and skill of a wild beast, not leaving a single bush uninspected.
But all was in vain; he found no trace of Don Melchior. The Indian had
one hope; it was that the Mexican, dragged down by the rapidity of
his descent, had rolled into the deep, though narrow stream, which
ran through the bottom of the quebrada, and had been drowned, ere he
sufficiently regained his senses and strength to avoid this mortal
fall. But if nothing contradicted this hope, nothing, on the other
hand, corroborated it, and the Comanche chief was constrained to quit
the spot, suffering from a doubt a thousand times more terrible than
the most frightful certainty. After exploring the canyon for some time
with that wild beast's instinct which redskins possess so thoroughly,
the chief succeeded in discovering a narrow path made by antelopes,
which wound round the sides of the precipice. He hastily ascended it,
feeling anxious about what had occurred among his warriors during his
absence.
Let us now return to Doña Emilia and her daughter, whom we left in an
extremely critical situation. The two ladies had been hurled to the
ground in such a way that it was impossible for them to rise without
assistance. Their horses had been scarce shot ere the fight, which
appeared so obstinate between the white men and redskins, suddenly
ceased as if by enchantment, and friends and foes on the best possible
terms approached the two prisoners, for they may be regarded as such.
The first Indians who arrived near enough to Doña Emilia to recognize
her features, stopped in horror and fell back a few paces, saying to
their comrades, "The Queen of the Savannah! It is the Queen of the
Savannah!"
A very decided retrograde movement then began among the Indians; they
stopped and formed a wide circle about twenty yards from the two
ladies; it was probable that not one of them was anxious to venture
within reach of a woman whom all regarded as the evil genius of their
nation. The white men, or at least those who wore that dress, were
alone bold enough to approach her, which they did not do, however,
without very marked hesitation.
At last, after exchanging a few words in a low voice, two of the
bravest of them ventured to assist the unhappy ladies, while the
others, who stopped a few yards off, kept their finger on the trigger,
ready to fire at the slightest suspicious movement on the part of the
prisoners. But they had nothing to fear from them; their fall had
crushed them; they were nearly fainting, and could scarce keep up.
"If you are Christians," Doña Emilia murmured, in a faint voice, "help
my daughter, my poor child; she is dying."
They made no reply, but after raising the two ladies with a species
of sorrowful pity, they transported them to the top of the hill, and
laid them on furs near a fire, which the Indians had lit while they
were being brought up. Doña Diana then noticed that the horses lying
on the ground, behind which the defenders of the mound had sheltered
themselves, were not killed, as her mother had supposed, but merely
bound so that they could not stir.
"Oh, my presentiments!" she murmured feebly, as she raised her eyes to
heaven.
And she fainted, succumbing as much to the grief that filled her heart,
as to the physical suffering she experienced.