With Colonel Armstrong's voice in tone of heartrending anguish, goes up
that of Dupre calling the names "Helen! Jessie!"
Neither gets response. They on whom they call cannot hear. They are
too far off; though nearer, it would be all the same; for both are at
the moment hooded like hawks. The serapes thrown over their heads are
still on them, corded around their necks, so closely as to hinder
hearing, almost stifle their breathing.
Since their seizure nearly an hour has elapsed, and they are scarce yet
recovered from the first shock of surprise, so terrible as to have
stupified them. No wonder! What they saw before being blinded, with
the rough treatment received, were enough to deprive them of their
senses.
From the chaos of thought, as from a dread dream, both are now gradually
recovering. But, alas! only to reflect on new fears--on the dark future
before them. Captive to such captors--red ruthless savages, whose naked
arms, already around, have held them in brawny embrace--carried away
from home, from all they hold dear, into a captivity seeming hopeless as
horrid--to the western woman especially repulsive, by songs sung over
her cradle, and tales told throughout her years of childhood--tales of
Indian atrocity.
The memory of these now recurring, with the reality itself, not strange
that for a time their thoughts, as their senses, are almost paralysed.
Slowly they awake to a consciousness of their situation. They remember
what occurred at the moment of their being made captive; how in the
clear moonlight they stood face to face with Fernand, listened to his
impertinent speeches, saw the savages surrounding them; then, suddenly
blinded and seeing no more, felt themselves seized, lifted from their
feet, carried off, hoisted a little higher, set upon the backs of
horses, and there tied, each to a man already mounted. All these
incidents they remember, as one recalls the fleeting phantasmagoria of a
dream. But that they were real, and not fanciful, they now too surely
know; for the hoods are over their heads, the horses underneath; and the
savages to whom they were strapped still there, their bodies in
repulsive contact with their own!
That there are only two men, and as many horses, can be told by the
hoof-strokes rebounding from the turf; the same sounds proclaiming it a
forest path through thick timber, at intervals emerging into open
ground, and again entering among trees.
For over an hour this continues; during all the while not a word being
exchanged between the two horsemen, or if so, not heard by their
captives.
Possibly they may communicate with one another by signs or whispers; as
for most part the horses have been abreast, going in single file only
where the path is narrow.
At length a halt; of such continuance, as to make the captives suppose
they have arrived at some place where they are to pass the remainder of
the night. Or it may be but an obstruction; this probable from their
hearing a sound, easily understood--the ripple of running water. They
have arrived upon the bank of a river.
The San Saba, of course; it cannot be any other. Whether or not, 'tis
the same to them. On the banks of the San Saba they are now no safer,
than if it were the remotest stream in all the territory of Texas.
Whatever be the river whose waters they can hear coursing past, their
guards, now halted upon its bank, have drawn their horses' heads
together, and carry on a conversation. It seems in a strange tongue;
but of this the captives cannot be sure, for it is in low tone--almost a
whisper--the words indistinguishable amid the rush of the river's
current. If heard, it is not likely they would understand. The two men
are Indians, and will talk in the Indian tongue. For this same reason
they need have no fear of freely conversing with one another, since the
savages will be equally unable to comprehend what they say.
To Helen this thought first presents itself; soon as it does, leading
her to call, though timidly and in subdued tone, "Jess!"