A few days afterward, another adventure befell me; and I began to think
I was destined to become a hero among the "mountain men."
A small party of the traders--myself among the number--had pushed
forward ahead of the caravan. Our object was to arrive at Santa Fé a day
or two before the wagons, in order to have every thing arranged with the
governor for their entrance into the capital. We took the route by
the Cimmaron.
Our road, for a hundred miles or so, lay through a barren desert,
without game, and almost without water. The buffalo had all disappeared,
and deer were equally scarce. We had to content ourselves on the dried
meat which we had brought from the settlements. We were in the deserts
of the artemisia. Now and then we could see a stray antelope bounding
away before us, but keeping far out of range. They, too, seemed to be
unusually shy.
On the third day after leaving the caravan, as we were riding near the
Cimmaron, I thought I observed a pronged head disappearing behind a
swell in the prairie. My companions were skeptical, and none of them
would go with me; so, wheeling out of trail, I started alone. One of
them--for Gode was behind--kept charge of my dog, as I did not choose to
take him with me, lest he might alarm the antelopes. My horse was fresh
and willing; and, whether successful or not, I knew I could easily
overtake the party by camping-time.
I struck directly toward the spot where I had seen the object. It
appeared to be only half a mile or so from the trail. It proved more
distant--a common illusion in the crystal atmosphere of these
upland regions.
A curiously formed ridge, traversed the plain from east to west. A
thicket of cactus covered part of its summit. Toward the thicket I
directed myself.
I dismounted at the bottom of the slope, and leading my horse silently
up among the cactus plants, tied him to one of their branches. I then
cautiously crept through the thorny leaves toward the point where I
fancied I had seen the game. To my joy, not one antelope, but a brace of
those beautiful animals, was quietly grazing beyond; but alas! too far
off for the carry of my rifle. They were fully three hundred yards
distant, upon a smooth, grassy slope. There was not even a sage bush to
cover me, should I attempt to approach them. What was to be done?
I lay for several minutes, thinking over the different tricks, known in
hunter craft, for taking the antelope. Should I imitate their call?
Should I hoist my handkerchief and try to lure them up? I saw that they
were too shy; for, at short intervals, they threw up their graceful
heads, and looked inquiringly around them. I remembered the red blanket
on my saddle. I could display this upon the cactus-bushes, perhaps it
would attract them.
I had no alternative; and was turning to go back for the blanket; when,
all at once, my eye rested upon a clay-colored line, running across the
prairie, beyond where the animals were feeding. It was a break in the
plain, a buffalo road, or the channel of an _arroyo_, in either case,
the very cover I wanted, for the animals were not a hundred yards from
it; and were getting still nearer to it as they fed.
Creeping back out of the thicket, I ran along the side of the slope
toward a point, where I had noticed that the ridge was depressed to the
prairie level. Here, to my surprise, I found myself on the banks of a
broad arroyo, whose water, clear and shallow, ran slowly over a bed of
sand and gypsum.
The banks were low, not over three feet above the surface of the water,
except where the ridge impinged upon the stream. Here there was a high
bluff; and, hurrying around its base, I entered the channel, and
commenced wading upward.
As I had anticipated, I soon came to a bend where the stream, after
running parallel to the ridge, swept around and canoned through it. At
this place I stopped, and looked cautiously over the bank. The antelopes
had approached within less than rifle range of the arroyo; but they were
yet far above my position. They were still quietly feeding, and
unconscious of danger. I again bent down and waded on.
It was a difficult task proceeding in this way. The bed of the creek was
soft and yielding, and I was compelled to tread slowly and silently,
lest I should alarm the game; but I was cheered in my exertions by the
prospect of fresh venison for my supper.
After a weary drag of several hundred yards, I came opposite to a small
clump of wormwood bushes, growing out of the bank. "I may be high
enough," thought I, "these will serve for cover."
I raised my body gradually, until I could see through the leaves. I was
in the right spot. I brought my rifle to a level; sighted for the heart
of the buck, and fired. The animal leaped from the ground, and fell back
lifeless. I was about to rush forward, and secure my prize, when I
observed the doe, instead of running off as I expected, go up to her
fallen partner, and press her tapering nose to his body. She was not
more than twenty yards from me, and I could plainly see that her look
was one of inquiry and bewilderment. All at once, she seemed to
comprehend the fatal truth; and, throwing back her head, commenced
uttering the most piteous cries, at the same time running in circles
around the body.
I stood wavering between two minds. My first impulse had been to reload,
and kill the doe; but her plaintive voice entered my heart, disarming me
of all hostile intentions. Had I dreamed of witnessing this painful
spectacle, I should not have left the trail. But the mischief was now
done. "I have worse than killed her," thought I, "it will be better to
despatch her at once."
Actuated by these principles of common, but to her fatal, humanity, I
rested the butt of my rifle, and reloaded. With a faltering hand, I
again leveled the piece and fired:
My nerves were steady enough to do the work. When the smoke floated
aside, I could see the little creature bleeding upon the grass--her
head resting upon the body of her murdered mate.
I shouldered my rifle, and was about to move forward, when, to my
astonishment, I found that I was caught by the feet. I was held firmly
as if my legs had been held in a vice.
I made an effort to extricate myself; another, more violent, and equally
unsuccessful, and, with a third, I lost my balance, and fell back upon
the water. Half suffocated, I regained my upright position, but only to
find that I was held as fast as ever. Again I struggled to free my
limbs. I could neither move them backward nor forward--to the right nor
the left; and I became sensible that I was gradually going down. Then
the fearful truth flashed upon me--I was sinking in a quicksand! A
feeling of horror came over me. I renewed my efforts with the energy of
desperation. I leaned to one side, then to the other, almost wrenching
my knees from their sockets. My feet remained as fast as ever. I could
not move them an inch.
The soft, clingy sand already overtopped my horse-skin boots, wedging
them around my ankles, so that I was unable to draw them off; and I
could feel that I was still sinking slowly but surely, as though some
subterraneous monster was leisurely dragging me down. This very thought
caused me a fresh thrill of horror, and I called aloud for help. To
whom? There was no one within miles of me--no living thing. Yes! the
neigh of my horse answered me from the hill, mocking me in my despair.
I bent forward as well as my constrained position would permit; and,
with frenzied fingers commenced tearing up the sand. I could barely
reach the surface, and the little hollow I was able to make filled up
almost as soon as it had been formed. A thought occurred to me. My rifle
might support me, placed horizontally. I looked for it. It was not to be
seen. It had sunk beneath the sand. Could I throw my body flat, and
prevent myself from sinking deeper? No! The water was two feet in depth.
I should drown at once. This last hope left me as soon as formed. I
could think of no plan to save myself. I could make no further effort. A
strange stupor seized upon me. My very thoughts became paralyzed. I knew
that I was going mad. For a moment I was mad.
After an interval, my senses returned. I made an effort to rouse my mind
from its paralysis, in order that I might meet death, which I now
believed to be certain, as a man should. I stood erect. My eyes had sunk
to the prairie level, and rested upon the still bleeding victims of my
cruelty. My heart smote me at the sight. Was I suffering a retribution
of God? With humbled and penitent thoughts, I turned my face to heaven,
almost dreading that some sign of omnipotent anger would scowl upon me
from above. But no! The sun was shining as bright as ever; and the blue
canopy of the world was without a cloud. I gazed upward with earnestness
known only to the hearts of men in positions of peril like mine.
As I continued to look up, an object attracted my attention. Against the
sky, I distinguished the outlines of a large bird. I knew it to be the
obscene bird of the plains, the buzzard vulture. Whence had it come? Who
knows? Far beyond the reach of human eye, it had seen or scented the
slaughtered antelopes; and, on broad, silent wing was now descending to
the feast of death. Presently another, and another, and many others,
mottled the blue field of the heavens, curving and wheeling silently
earthward. Then the foremost swooped down upon the bank, and, after
gazing around for a moment, flapped off toward its prey. In a few
seconds, the prairie was black with filthy birds, who clambered over the
dead antelopes, and beat their wings against each other, while they tore
out the eyes of the quarry with their fetid beaks. And now came gaunt
wolves, sneaking and hungry, stealing out of the cactus thicket; and
loping, coward-like, over the green swells of the prairie. These, after
a battle, drove away the vultures, and tore up the prey, all the while
growling and snapping vengefully at each other. "Thank heaven! I shall
at least be saved from this."
I was soon relieved from the sight. My eyes had sunk below the level of
the bank. I had looked my last on the fair, green earth. I could now see
only the clayey wall that contained the river, and the water that ran
unheeding past me. Once more I fixed my gaze upon the sky, and, with
prayerful heart, endeavored to resign myself to my fate. In spite of my
endeavors to be calm, the memories of earthly pleasures, and friends,
and home, came over me, causing me, at intervals, to break into wild
paroxysms, and make fresh, though fruitless struggles. And I was
attracted by the neighing of my horse. A thought entered my mind,
filling me with fresh hope. "Perhaps my horse--" I lost not a moment. I
raised my voice to its highest pitch, and called the animal by name. I
knew that he would come at my call. I had tied him but slightly. The
cactus limb would snap off. I called again, repeating words that were
well known to him. I listened with a bounding heart. For a moment there
was silence. Then I heard the quick sounds of his hoof, as though the
animal was rearing and struggling to free himself; then I could
distinguish the stroke of his heels, in a measured and regular gallop.
Nearer came the sounds; nearer and clearer, until the gallant brute
bounded out on the bank above me. There he halted, and, flinging back
his tossed mane, uttered a shrill neigh. He was bewildered, and looked
upon every side, snorting loudly.
I knew that, having once seen me, he would not stop until he had pressed
his nose against my cheek--for this was his usual custom. Holding out my
hands I again uttered the magic words. Now looking downward he perceived
me, and, stretching himself, sprang out into the channel. The next
moment, I held him by the bridle. There was no time to be lost. I was
still going down, and my arm-pits were fast nearing the surface of the
quicksand. I caught the lariat, and, passing it under the saddle-girths,
fastened it in a tight, firm knot. I then looped the trailing end,
making it secure around my body. I had left enough of the rope, between
the bit-ring and the girths, to enable me to check and guide the animal,
in case the drag upon my body should be too painful.
All this while the dumb brute seemed to comprehend what I was about. He
knew, too, the nature of the ground on which he stood, for, during the
operation, he kept lifting his feet alternately to prevent himself from
sinking. My arrangements were at length completed, and, with a feeling
of terrible anxiety, I gave my horse the signal to move forward. Instead
of going off with a start, the intelligent animal stepped away slowly,
as though he understood my situation. The lariat tightened, I felt my
body moving, and the next moment experienced a wild delight, a feeling I
can not describe, as I found myself dragged out of the sand. I sprang to
my feet with a shout of joy. I rushed up to my steed, and, throwing my
arms around his neck, kissed him with as much delight as I would have
kissed a beautiful girl. He answered my embrace with a low whimper, that
told me that I was understood.
I looked for my rifle. Fortunately, it had not sunk deeply, and I soon
found it. My boots were behind me, but I staid not to look for them,
being smitten with a wholesome dread of the place where I had left them.
I was not long in retreating from the arroyo; and, mounting, I galloped
back to the trail. It was sundown before I reached the camp, where I was
met by the inquiries of my companions. I answered all their questions by
relating my adventures, and, for that night, I was again the hero of the
camp-fire.