HUNTING A TRAIL
On they went, on and on, till beneath the rugged peak of the Cerro de
las Viboras they saw before them a glorious open valley of a thousand
acres, facing the southern sun, and green with young grass.
"This is the Valle Lindito," said the cacique, "and there is our horse
herd." A band of two or three hundred horses and mares were grazing
peacefully in the valley. It was early yet for foals, but a few here and
there were visible, frisking and capering round their dams.
An Indian stallion nickered proudly at the sight of the strangers, and
trotted towards them, high and disposedly, tossing his crest and holding
his head aloft; at the sight of him Morgana whinnied back, and lo! from
a patch of willow brush leaped forth an Indian youth who was on watch;
bareback he came full speed on a flying pony and whirled a lasso round
and round, and chivied the guardian of the herd back to his mates. Then
he rode up to the four and greeted them, and rapid question and answer
ensued. The youth was young Ignacio, son to Josefa's elderly would-be
bridegroom. No, they had seen no Navajos, nor any tracks of any. Nothing
had troubled the herd except that the mountain lions had killed a foal.
The travelling Mexican sheep herds were wandering hither and thither
through the mountains, as usual, seeking their appointed stations for
the lambing month ere it began. The Jicarilla Apaches had been through
not long before and had killed some cattle of the Mexicans--the Indian
laughed as he recounted this--and the Mexicans were very angry, but
could not catch them. He hinted that Mexican beef tasted sweet, and
laughed still more, but the cacique frowned. He did not love the
Mexicans--far from it--but his policy was to keep on good terms with
them. He repeated his questions about the Navajos.
The rest of the Indian herders came up, and now came news. Yes, they had
seen tracks of a travelling party which they supposed to be Indians.
Eleven ponies there were altogether, going north-westward from the Mesa
del Verendo. No, they had seen no one to speak of, and they had seen no
tracks of any party of Mexicans in pursuit. They were astonished when
they heard the tale of the abduction of Manuelita, but they had heard of
the killing of the Navajo by Don Andrés from the shepherds of a flock of
the Preas, which they had met in the Valle Cajon. As for the tracks they
had seen that morning, they might be those of Mahletonkwa and his band,
or they might have been made by some other Navajos or by Jicarillas.
"_Quien sabe?_" But they told the cacique exactly where he would find
them next day and then he could judge for himself.
Three fresh horses were now selected and caught. The cacique's horse and
Stephens's mule were now turned loose in the Indian herd, where the mule
brayed frantically for his beloved Morgana. A hasty meal was eaten, and
with young Ignacio added to their party they set forward once more into
the wilderness.
Ere the sun was an hour high next morning the cacique and Miguel and
young Ignacio were critically examining the eleven ponies' tracks, and
trying to make out whether they were those of Mahletonkwa's band or no.
"Almost certainly, yes," was the verdict, and they followed at once
hotly on the trail. The fact that they were exactly eleven in number
made the probability very great, and the absence of any other later
tracks made it certain that if they had really hit it off they must have
cut the trail in front of the Mexicans.
The cacique crowed triumphantly.
"Did I not tell you, Sooshiuamo, that the Navajos would throw the
Mexicans off the scent on the Mesa del Verendo. You may be very sure
that is what has happened. They all scattered out there on the hard
ground, and then they turned their course from west to north, and then
met again by agreement miles away, and not on the mesa at all, but down
below here. The Mexicans will have wasted half the day yesterday in
trying to follow their tracks on the Mesa del Verendo, and I expect they
are at it yet; while we, you see, who started hours after them, have cut
the trail far ahead. Did I not tell you we were great trailers,
Sooshiuamo?"
Sooshiuamo could not help thinking that the success of which the cacique
was so proud was a good deal due to the information that had been given
them, but he wisely did not say so. And at any rate the cacique was
entitled to the credit of having guessed rightly the route Mahletonkwa
would take, and having steered on his own authority a judicious course
to intercept it. They had left the high upland pastures now, and the
sierra lay behind them; they were heading into a rolling country of dry
grama grass and cedar- and piñon-trees, a warmer country than the
mountains, but not so well watered. Away to the south-west was visible a
lofty conical peak standing by itself; it was an extinct volcano.
Presently the trail of the eleven ponies turned towards the conical
peak.
"I knew it," cried the cacique triumphantly again, "I knew how it would
be. The Lava Beds are yonder, and the Navajos are going for them; they
have been making a big circuit to throw the Mexicans off the track, but
now they have turned for the Beds again. They meant to go there all
along. Oh, didn't I know it? Eh, Sooshiuamo?"
Sooshiuamo readily admitted the accuracy with which the Pueblo had
grasped the intentions of the Navajos, and praised his skill. Presently
they came to a place where the party they were pursuing had halted for a
rest and a meal, and here the question as to who they were was decided
beyond all doubt. Among the many moccasin-tracks which ran all about the
little fire they had made, the keen eyes of the Indians detected the
print of a shoe with a heel, the small, dainty shoe of a civilised
woman.
"Look," said Miguel, who found it first, pointing it out to Stephens,
who, keen-sighted though he was, barely distinguished it in the dry,
sandy soil, "there is the foot of the señorita. Look how she is tired
and stiff with riding, and walks with little steps. And here is where
she lay down on a blanket to rest. Oh, she will be very tired."
Literally, these Indians seemed able to tell every single thing she had
done in that camp during the half-hour or hour that had probably been
spent there. It was a camp made late in the afternoon of the day
before, so they settled. "Just when we were at the horse herd in the
Valle Lindito," said the cacique, who seemed to read the signs left by
the different members of the band and by their horses with as much ease
and confidence as Stephens would have shown in gathering the meaning of
a page of a printed book by glancing his eyes over the hundreds of
little black crooked marks on the page, known to civilised beings as
letters. But in the art of reading signs the cacique was a past master,
where Stephens, to follow up the simile, had but just mastered the
alphabet and was struggling with words of one syllable.
Forward once more on the trail, with the increased ardour given by the
certainty that now there could be no mistake. As they drew near the Lava
Beds, and the shades of evening began to fall, the cacique grew anxious.
"The Tinné,"--Tinné was the Navajos' own name for themselves, and the
cacique now began to use it regularly in speaking of them, feeling
himself, as it were, on their ground,--"the Tinné," he said, "are sure
to keep a close watch on the edge of the Beds where their trail goes in,
so as to see who is following them. Let us turn off their trail here and
go aside; there is a spring at the edge of the Beds a little north of
here; we will camp there for the night, we can do nothing in the Beds in
the dark; also if the Mexicans have found the trail again, as they ought
to have done by this time, they may follow it part of the night by
moonlight and be able to overtake us here. It would be well to have them
here before we go into the Beds. Don't you think so, Sooshiuamo?"
Stephens had to agree. It grated on him terribly to leave Manuelita for
a second night in the hands of Mahletonkwa and his band, but it was
more than doubtful whether they could possibly find where they had her
concealed in the gathering darkness, and there was a good chance of
being in a better position to deal with the matter in the morning.
It was already night when the cacique skilfully and cautiously led them
to the little spring he knew of near the Beds; they watered their horses
here, and drank, too, themselves, and camped under a cedar bush not far
away, without a fire lest the light should betray them. They chewed
their tough, dried meat, and ate a little parched corn, and kept watch
by turns in the moonlight over their horses during the first half of the
night. But nothing disturbed them, and Faro gave no sign of suspecting
an enemy at hand when Stephens scouted round with him before moonset,
and after that they slept securely.
He was awakened after dawn by the cacique. Miguel had already scouted
some way on their back trail; there was no sign of the Mexicans coming
up; and the cacique now made a somewhat alarming suggestion. Suppose
that the Mexicans had not lost the trail on the Mesa del Verendo, as he
had conjectured, but had caught the Tinné there and been unlucky enough
to be beaten off by them in a fight. It was a contingency that had not
occurred to Stephens before, and redoubled his anxiety.
The cacique, as usual, had a plan. He declined, with their small party,
to follow the Navajos' trail straight into the Lava Beds. They would be
sure to walk into a trap, and if there had been a fight, and the Tinné
blood was up, they would be shot down mercilessly from an ambush. He
felt sure the Navajos had established themselves on a little oasis there
was in the middle of the Beds, where there was grass for their horses;
and he proposed to enter the Beds more to the north, where he knew of a
practicable place for horses to go in, and so work round to the oasis on
the farther side.
This seemed so reasonable that Stephens saw nothing for it but to
accede, and accordingly, after watering their stock, they at once
proceeded to put it in action.
The Lava Beds were an awful country for horses. From the old volcano an
immense mass of lava had flowed over all this part of the country, like
a broad river, twenty or thirty feet deep and miles in width. It was a
mass of perfectly naked rock, and was incredibly cracked and fissured.
The change to it from the open country was instant and abrupt. You could
gallop over rolling pasture-lands right to the edge of the Beds, where
you must dismount and advance on foot, stepping warily from rock to
rock, and choosing carefully a route that it was possible for a
sure-footed horse to pick his way over.
After a tedious and toilsome progress of this sort, they came at last to
a little opening, a sort of island, as it were, in the lava flow, only
that it was lower, most of it, than the actual surface of the flow. Here
was a patch of grass, and the cacique suggested that Stephens should
remain here with the horses while he and his young men scouted on foot
in the direction of the larger opening, or oasis, where he suspected
that the Navajos had established themselves.
Stephens was very unwilling to stay behind, but he had to admit that the
scouts would probably get on better without him. Accordingly he
consented, and stretched himself on his blanket on the ground, holding
the end of the mare's lariat in his hand, while the Indians, drawing
their belts tighter and grasping their guns, started off in the new
direction indicated by the cacique.
Long he lay there waiting; an eagle-hawk, attracted by the sight of the
horses, swung lazily through the blue sky overhead, and seeing nothing
there to interest him sailed off majestically to a richer hunting-ground
beyond the barren lava flow. Many thoughts coursed through the mind of
the impatient man. He was disappointed that the Mexicans had not come
up, and he was impressed by the intense watchfulness and seriousness of
the cacique. The Pueblo chief clearly felt himself now in enemies'
country, and knew that they were face to face with the chances of a
desperate struggle. Any mistake now might land them instantly in a
fight, with the odds more than two to one against them; to say nothing
of the additional peril this would bring upon Manuelita. Yet something
must be done for her, and that without delay. Stephens could not endure
the thought of leaving her another day and night in the power of those
savages. He had been partly reassured by the cacique's account of the
superstitious influence of Whailahay in protecting women, but still--the
possibilities that presented themselves to his mind were too awful. No,
come what would, whether the Mexican party arrived in time or not, when
he found the Navajos something should be done. And then his eye lit on
the figure of the cacique bounding from block to block of the Lava Beds,
and coming towards him with manifest excitement in his air.
The Navajos were found.
"We've caught up with them at last," said the Pueblo chief in an excited
half-whisper. "All the Tinné are camped in a hollow just beyond there,"
and he pointed eagerly to a rise in the lava bed that bounded their view
to the immediate front.
"And the girl?" queried the American hoarsely. "Is she there too? Have
any of you seen her?"
"Oh, she's sure to be there," said the cacique. "She can't fail to be
there. No, we didn't any of us positively set eyes on her, but Miguel,
who got into the best position to spy on them, was able to count their
horses; the whole lot of them, all the eleven, are there in the
'abra,'--the opening or oasis in the Lava Beds,--so of course she must
be there."
"True," answered Stephens somewhat doubtfully. "That is, I suppose, you
argue that if the horses are there she must be so, too; because if they
had taken her elsewhere they'd have had to take a horse to carry her.
But," he added, "as Miguel even didn't actually see her, might she not
perhaps have escaped on foot?"
The Indian gave a smothered laugh of derision. "She escape?" he said;
"escape from the Tinné! Never. No captive ever escapes. Too well
watched."
Miguel himself, with Alejandro and young Ignacio, now came up and joined
them, and Stephens closely examined them as to what they had seen. They
confirmed unanimously the conclusions that the cacique had arrived at.
Manuelita was certainly there. Whether the Navajos were aware of their
presence or not, was, however, uncertain. All they could say was that
they had been most careful not to give the Tinné a chance by exposing
themselves to view, and that therefore the probability was that they
were still in ignorance. But they might have spotted the Pueblos in
spite of all their care, and be simply lying low in order to entrap
them.
"What's the best move now?" said Stephens.
"It will be better if we return back some way," said the cacique. "The
Mexican party may come up to-day, and then we can join forces with them.
But if the Mexicans don't come, then, when night falls, we must go
forward again on foot and creep up close to their camp and see if we get
a chance to do anything. If they haven't seen us, maybe we might get a
chance to steal her away from them."
"But if they have seen us?" said Stephens.
"Then," returned the cacique, "they are going to try to creep on us
certainly, perhaps kill us, perhaps in the dark steal our horses; the
Tinné men are wonderful clever horse-thieves."
Stephens meditated. By the Indian scouts' account it seemed to be about
an even chance whether the Navajos had discovered them or not. But,
according to his view of the matter, if they had, all idea of keeping
concealed from them any longer was ridiculous; and their wide-awake
enemies would be free to attack them if they chose, or else to decamp in
the night, taking their prisoner with them, and very possibly taking
their pursuers' horses as well. Here, to his mind, was a strong argument
against waiting.
True, there was the other side of the question to be considered:
supposing that the Navajos had not detected their presence, it was not
impossible that his Pueblo friends, if their pluck was equal to their
undeniable skill, might haply be successful in effecting the girl's
release by some stratagem. But, after all, it was only a chance, and a
slim chance at that, he thought; and, moreover, there was one point
about this latter scheme which he found it hard to digest--he would
himself assuredly be asked to stay behind again. He was perfectly well
aware by this time that if they wanted to creep on the Navajo camp for
the purpose of rescuing the girl by stealth, his Indian friends would
not want to have him accompany them, on the ground that as a white man
he was unable to move about with the silent, snake-like litheness of a
redskin. And they would be right, from their point of view; so much he
could not refuse to admit to himself in his secret heart; he could not
but recognise his inferiority in this qualification, knowing as he did
the red men's great gifts. But from his own point of view this would not
do at all. The simple fact was that he did not trust their resolution
unless he himself were actually with them to keep them up to the mark.
They had just made one reconnaissance by themselves, leaving him behind,
and it struck him that they had not pushed it very vigorously. One of
them, Miguel, had advanced far enough to be able to count the Navajo
ponies. That really was all the information they had brought back.
Now suppose they were to start out again to-night, by themselves, after
her; and suppose they failed to get her out of the Indian camp, while he
had remained at the rear and never even made so much as one try at it
personally himself; why, he would feel bitter humiliation all his life
long in consequence, and the unhappy girl would be dragged away to
suffer fresh miseries in a new hiding-place. That was what really galled
him. That they would kill her he did not now think, because he was
convinced that the cacique was right in saying that what they were after
was Don Nepomuceno's money. But that she was safe from violence in their
hands he was far less certain. Whailahay's supernatural influence might
not prove to be the safeguard the cacique had represented it to be; and
in that case her lot might be, nay, surely would be, that of the
miserable victim of the Sioux. This waiting was becoming detestable. One
solution presented itself with overwhelming urgency to his mind, a
solution which imperiously closed these dull debates and tedious,
hesitating delays. There was one phrase of General Grant's--Grant was an
Ohio man like himself, and his ideal hero,--it occurred in a summons
that Grant once sent to an enemy to surrender, and it ran, "I propose to
move immediately upon your works." That was the right sort of talk. That
was the sort of thing he would like to say to the Navajos, and, as they
wouldn't surrender, then do as Grant would have done, "advance
immediately." Yes, he would propose an immediate advance to his four
Pueblo companions; if they rejected his proposal then he would take his
own line.
"Look here, Cacique," he said firmly, "we've had enough of this creeping
and crawling around. Let's wade right in. Come on. You stick by me, and
we'll go right at them, and we'll lick spots out of 'em." His eyes
flashed, and his powerful frame seemed to dilate and grow as the fire of
battle kindled in him. The Pueblo chief smiled on him as one might on an
impatient child.
"No sense in that talk," he said with calm superiority. "Don't you see?
they're eleven and we're five; as soon as you begin to shoot, they'll
kill that girl quick, so that all of them may be free to fight us. Then
I think they'll kill us, too. They're too many"; and he counted the
whole eleven over on his fingers, and shook his head impressively and
ominously.
"They'll not kill her," said Stephens, "she's worth too much to them.
And as for their killing us--well, two can play at that game." He patted
the Winchester fondly as he spoke. "Come on, Cacique, and show yourself
a man. Five brave men can lick a dozen cowards any day. Buck up,
Cacique. Why, you told me that you yourself with only one pard killed
seven Navajos by catching them off their guard. Suppose now that these
chaps haven't seen us, why shouldn't we do as well?"
"Ah," said the other, "but these Navajos are well posted in their
stronghold. My partner and I caught ours in a trap. But if we wait maybe
we might get the chance to catch these ones in a trap, too."
The American argued the point a little longer, with no effect, however,
for the cacique's prudent decision remained immovable. But Stephens had
hardened his heart to the sticking-point, and he refused to wait. He
would go forward alone. He drew a deep breath as he turned his eyes from
the black Lava Beds around, and looked at the distant hills, dotted over
with dark piñon, shining in the sunlight far away, and then up at the
great overarching vault of blue above. Death had no morbid attraction
for him; he was a lover of life, and the air of heaven tasted good as he
drew it in. But he wanted no life that was disgraced in the sight of his
own soul. He had come out to rescue this girl, and he would do it or
die. These red men shilly-shallied; their one idea was to employ feints
and stratagems, and take no risks. They must act according to their
lights; his own course was clear.
"Then, Salvador," said he, looking the cacique hard in the eyes, "since
you won't come on there's only one thing left to be done, and that is
for me to try the thing by myself. What will you do if I go ahead
alone?"
The cacique made no direct reply, but turned hastily to his three
companions, and some rapid remarks were interchanged between them.
Quickly he produced a grey powder of some unknown kind from a little
pouch, and he shared it out among his three fellow-tribesmen. They all
of them bared their tawny breasts and rubbed it over their hearts,
speaking magic words the while. The silent American gazed at them, half
in wonder, half in scorn.
"What's all that amount to?" he asked.
"Strong medicine, Sooshiuamo, to make our hearts brave," answered all of
them together.
"Then I'd rather you'd got a little sand in your craws," muttered
Stephens in English. He had hardened his heart for a desperate venture,
and their reluctance to follow him vexed him sorely. "There isn't one of
them, not one, I don't believe, that's got any sand," he repeated. To
have "sand," means to be willing to fight to the death when called upon,
and that was just what these men were not willing to do. Then aloud in
Spanish: "What's the good of all that tomfool business?" he asked.
"You're only humbugging yourselves about it. You don't really mean
fight." There was bitter scorn in his tones.
"Oh, yes, we can fight," retorted the Pueblo chief, not a little nettled
at the American's words, "but we're not fools--at least not such fools
as to want to get killed. But we've got a very good place to fight from
here. If you go forward by yourself, and they shoot at you, then we'll
be able to shoot at them from behind these rocks. First-class shelter
here."
"Oh, it's A1," said Stephens sarcastically; "it's a splendid place to
shoot from at people who are four hundred yards away, and out of sight."
He gave a laugh of contempt. "Well, don't you make any cursed error,
though, and shoot me in the back by mistake," he went on, while buckling
his belt a couple of holes tighter, and securing his pistol holster at
the back of his right hip so that it should not work round to the front
of his body when he stooped and bent down to creep, as he must needs do,
in the course of his advance on the Navajo camp. He saw to it that the
buckskin strings which secured his moccasins were securely knotted,
studiously attending to each detail with the tense nerves of the man who
says to himself at every little bit of preparation, "_Now_ may be the
very last time I shall ever do that." To his revolver and rifle he
needed not to look; they were freshly cleaned and oiled, and full of
cartridges; both would go like clockwork, and he knew it. He handed the
riata of the mare to the cacique. "You look after her for me, Salvador,"
he said; "I don't know that I'll be needing her again, but I guess if I
leave her with you I'll know where to find her if I do."
"Come on, Faro," said he to the dog, patting his head and raising a
warning finger to bid him come quietly, as if it had been for a stalk on
some unsuspecting stag, and turning his back on the four Indians the
white man went forward alone.