IN THE DESERT.
The news Black-deer brought must be very important, for, in spite of
that stoicism which the Indians regard as a law, the Chief's face was
imprinted with the most lively anxiety. After sitting down at an equipal
to which Loyal Heart pointed, instead of speaking, as he had been
invited to do, he remained gloomy and silent The hunters looked at him
curiously, waiting with impatience till he thought proper to explain. At
length Loyal Heart, seeing that he obstinately remained silent, resolved
to address him.
"What is the matter, Chief?" he asked him. "Whence comes the anxiety I
see on your features? What new misfortune have you to announce?"
"An enormous misfortune," he answered, in a hollow voice; "the prisoner
has escaped."
"What prisoner?"
"The son of Blue-fox."
The hunters gave a start of surprise.
"It is impossible," Loyal Heart said; "did he not surrender himself as a
hostage? Did he not pledge his word? And an Indian warrior never breaks
that; only white men do so," he added, bitterly.
Black-deer looked down in embarrassment.
"Come," Loyal Heart went on, "let us be frank, Chief; tell us clearly
what things happened."
"The prisoner was bound and placed in the great medicine lodge."
"What!" Loyal Heart exclaimed, in indignation; "A hostage bound and
imprisoned! You are mistaken, Chief, the Sachems have not done such a
thing, or thus insulted a young man protected by the law of nations."
"I relate things exactly as they happened, Loyal Heart."
"And who gave the order?"
"I," the Chief muttered.
"The hatred you feel for Blue-fox led you astray, Black-deer; you
committed a great fault in despising the word pledged by this young man;
by treating him as a prisoner you gave him the right to escape; the
opportunity offered itself, he profited by it, and acted rightly."
"My young men are on his trail," the Chief said, with a hateful smile.
"Your young men will not capture him, for he has fled with the feet of
the gazelle."
"Is the misfortune irreparable, then?"
"Perhaps not. Listen to me: one way is left us of capturing our enemy
again. The Pale hunters, my brothers, have asked my help in the war the
Whites are carrying on at this moment against each other; ask of the
council of the Chiefs one hundred picked warriors, whom I will command,
and you can accompany me; tomorrow at sunset we will set out; the
Apaches are burning to take their revenge for the defeat we inflicted on
them, so be assured that ere we join our brothers the Palefaces, we
shall see our road barred by Blue-fox and his warriors. This is the only
chance left us to finish with this implacable enemy--do you accept it?"
"I do accept it, Loyal Heart; your medicine is good, it has never
deceived you, the words your chest utters are inspired by the Wacondah!"
the Chief said, eagerly, as he rose. "I am going to the council of the
Chiefs, will you accompany me?"
"What to do? It is better that the proposition should come from you,
Black-deer, for I am only an adopted son of the tribe."
"Good, I will do what my brother desires; I will return shortly."
"You see, my friend," Loyal Heart said to Tranquil, when the Chief had
left, "that I have not delayed in fulfilling my promises; perhaps, of
the hundred warriors we take with us one half will remain on the way,
but the survivors will not be the less of great assistance to you."
"Thanks, my friend," Tranquil answered; "you know that I have faith in
you."
As Loyal Heart had foreseen, the Indian warriors sent in pursuit of the
prisoner returned to the village without him; they had beaten up the
country in vain, the whole night through, without discovering any trace
of his passage. The young man had disappeared from the medicine lodge,
and it was impossible to find out what means he had employed to effect
his escape. The only remark the Comanches made--but it had considerable
importance--was that, at a spot in the forest exactly opposite to that
where the battle with the Apaches had taken place, the soil was trampled
and the bark of the trees nibbled, as if several horses had been
standing there for some time, but there was no mark of human feet.
The warriors, consequently, returned completely disappointed, and thus
augmented the anger of their countrymen. The moment was well selected
for the request Black-deer wished to make of the Council of Sachems. He
requested the expedition projected by Loyal Heart, not as an
intervention in favour of the Whites, for that was only secondary, but
as an experiment he desired to attempt, not merely to recapture the
fugitive, but his father, who, doubtless, would be posted in ambush at a
little distance from the village. As the question thus brought before
them was acceptable, the Sachems authorised Black-deer to select one
hundred of the most renowned warriors of the nation, who would make the
expedition under his orders and those of Loyal Heart.
Black-deer spoke to the hachesto, who mounted on the roof of a calli and
immediately convened the members of the tribe. When the braves knew that
an expedition was meditated, under the command of two such renowned
Chiefs, they eagerly offered to join the war party, so that the Chief
really had a difficulty in selection. Shortly before sunset one hundred
horsemen, armed with lances, guns, axes, and knives, wearing their war
moccasins, from the heel of which hung numerous coyote tails, and having
round their neck their long ilchochetas, or war whistles, made of a
human thigh bone, formed one imposing squadron, drawn up in the finest
order on the village square, in front of the ark of the first man. These
savage warriors, with their symbolic paint and quaint dresses, offered a
strange and terrific appearance.
When the white hunters ranged themselves by their side they were greeted
with shouts of joy and unanimous applause. Loyal Heart and Black-deer
placed themselves at the head of the band, the oldest Sachems advanced
and saluted the departing warriors, and at a signal from Loyal Heart the
troop defiled at a walking pace before the members of the council and
quitted the village.
At the moment when they entered the plain the sun was setting in a mass
of purple and golden clouds. Once on the war trail the detachment fell
into Indian file, the deepest silence prevailed in the ranks, and they
advanced rapidly in the direction of the forest. The Indians, when they
start on a dangerous expedition, always throw out as flankers
intelligent men, ordered to discover the enemy and protect the
detachment from any surprise. These spies are changed every day, and,
though afoot, they always keep a great distance ahead and on the flanks
of the body they have undertaken to lead. Indian warfare in no way
resembles ours; it is composed of a series of tricks and surprises, and
Indians must be forced by imperious circumstances to fight in the open;
attacking or resisting without a complete certainty of victory is
considered by them an act of madness. War, in their sight, being only an
opportunity for acquiring plunder, they see no dishonour in flight when
they have only blows to gain by resisting, reserving to themselves the
right of taking a brilliant revenge whenever the chance may offer.
During the first fortnight the march of the Comanches was in no way
disquieted, and the scouts, since they left the village, had discovered
no human trail. The only individuals they met were peaceful hunters,
travelling with their squaws, dogs, and children, and returning to their
village; all agreed with the statement that they had seen no suspicious
trail. Two days after, the Comanches entered on Texan territory.
This apparent tranquillity greatly perturbed the two Chiefs of the
detachment; they fancied themselves too well acquainted with the
vindictive character of the Apaches to suppose that they would let them
travel thus peacefully without attempting to check them. Tranquil, too,
who had long known Blue-fox, completely shared their opinion. One
evening the Comanches, after making a long day's march, bivouacked on
the banks of a small stream upon the top of a wooded hill which
commanded the course of the river and the surrounding country. As usual,
the scouts had returned with the assertion that they had discovered no
sign; when supper was over, Loyal Heart himself stationed the sentries,
and each prepared to enjoy, during a few hours, a repose which the
fatigues of the day rendered not only agreeable, but necessary.
Still, Tranquil, agitated by a secret presentiment, felt a feverish and
apparently causeless anxiety which robbed him of sleep; in vain did he
close his eyes with the firm intention of sleeping, they opened again in
spite of his will; wearied with this sleeplessness, for which he could
find no plausible reason, the hunter rose, resolved to keep awake and
take a turn in the neighbourhood. The movement he made in picking up his
rifle woke Loyal Heart.
"What is the matter?" he asked at once.
"Nothing, nothing," the hunter answered, "go to sleep."
"Then why do you get up?"
"Because I cannot sleep, that's all, and intend to profit by my
wakefulness to take a walk round the camp."
These words completely aroused Loyal Heart, for Tranquil was not the man
to do anything without powerful reasons.
"Come my friend," he said to him, "there is something, tell me.
"I know nothing," the hunter answered, "but I am sad and restless; in a
word, I know not what I fancy, but I cannot help thinking an approaching
danger menaces us; what it is I cannot say, but I noticed today two
flocks of flamingoes flying against the wind, several antelopes, deers,
and other animals running madly in the same direction; the whole day
through I have not heard a single bird sing, and as all that is not
natural, I am alarmed."
"Alarmed?" Loyal Heart said with a laugh.
"Alarmed of a snare, and that is why I wish to make a round; I suppose I
shall discover nothing, I believe and hope it, but no matter, I shall at
any rate be certain that we have nothing to fear."
Loyal Heart, without saying a word, wrapped himself in his zarapé and
seized his rifle.
"Let us go," he said.
"What do you mean?" the hunter asked.
"I am going with you."
"What nonsense, my undertaking is only the fancy of a sick brain; do you
remain here and rest yourself."
"No, no," Loyal Heart answered with a shake of his head, "I think
exactly the same as you have just told me; I also feel anxious, I know
not why, and wish to be certain."
"In that case come along; perhaps, after all, it will be the better
course."
The two men quitted the bivouac. The night was fresh and light, the
atmosphere extremely transparent, the sky studded with stars, the moon
seemed floating in æther, and its light, combined with that of the
stars, was so great, that objects were as visible as in open day. A
profound calm brooded over the landscape, which the hunters could
perfectly survey from the elevation on which they were standing; at
times a mysterious breath passed over the leafy tops of the trees, which
it bent with a hoarse murmur. Tranquil and Loyal Heart carefully
examined the plain which stretched an enormous distance before them.
Suddenly the Canadian seized his friend's arms, and by a sharp and
irresistible movement, drew him behind the trunk of an enormous larch
tree.
"What is it?" the hunter asked eagerly.
"Look!" his comrade answered laconically, as he stretched out his arm in
the direction of the plain.
"Oh, oh, what does that mean?" the young man muttered a moment later.
"It means that I was not mistaken, and that we shall have a fight, but
fortunately this time again it will be diamond cut diamond; warn John
Davis, and let him take the villains in the rear, while we face them."
"There is not a moment to be lost," Loyal Heart muttered, and he bounded
toward the camp.
The two experienced hunters had noticed a thing which would certainly
have been passed over by the eyes of men less habituated to Indian
customs. We have said that at intervals a capricious breeze passed over
the tops of the trees; this breeze blew from the South West over the
plain for a distance of some few hundred yards, and yet the same breeze
ran along the tall grass, incessantly approaching the hill where the
Comanches were encamped, but, extraordinary to say, it blew from the
North East, or a direction diametrically opposed to the former. This was
all the hunters had perceived, and yet it sufficed them to guess the
stratagem of their foes, and foil it.
Five minutes later, sixty Comanches, commanded by Tranquil and Loyal
Heart, crawled like serpents down the sides of the hill, and on reaching
the plain stood motionless, as if converted into statues. John Davis,
with the rest of the band, turned the hill. All at once a terrible cry
was heard--the Comanches rose like a legion of demons, and rushed
headlong on their enemies. The latter, once again surprised when they
hoped to surprise, hesitated for a moment, and then, terrified by this
sudden attack, they were seized by a panic terror, and turned to fly,
but behind them rose suddenly the American's band.
They must fight, or surrender to the mercy of an implacable foe; hence
the Apaches closed up shoulder to shoulder, and the butchery commenced.
It was horrible, and lasted till day. These deadly enemies fought
without uttering a cry, and fell without giving way to a sigh. As the
Apaches fell, their comrades drew closer together, while the Comanches
contracted the circle of steel in which they were enclosed.
The sun, on rising, illuminated a horrible scene of carnage; forty
Comanches had fallen, while of the Apaches ten men, all more or less
severely wounded, alone stood upright. Loyal Heart turned away in sorrow
from this fearful sight, for it would have been useless for him to
interfere to save the last victims. The Comanches, intoxicated by the
smell of blood and powder, furious at the resistance their enemies had
offered, did not listen to his orders, and the remaining Apaches were
killed and scalped.
"Ah!" Black-deer exclaimed, pointing with a gesture of triumph to a
mutilated and almost unrecognizable corpse, "the Sachems will be
pleased, for Blue-fox is dead at last."
In truth, the formidable Chief lay on a pile of Comanche corpses; his
body was literally covered with wounds, and his son, a poor lad scarce
adolescent yet, was lying at his feet. Curiously enough, for the Indians
only take the scalps of their enemies usually, a fresh cut-off head was
fastened to the Chiefs girdle--it was that of Fray Antonio. The poor
Monk, who had quitted the village a few days before Tranquil, had
doubtless been surprised and massacred by the Apaches.
So soon as the carnage, for we cannot call it a battle, was over, the
Indians prepared to pay the last rites to those of their friends who had
found death in this sanguinary struggle. Deep graves were dug, and the
bodies were thrown in without the usual funeral ceremonies, which
circumstances prevented, still they were careful to bury their arms with
them, and then stones were piled on the graves to defend them from wild
beasts. As for the Apaches, they were left at the spot where they had
fallen. After this, the war party, diminished by nearly one-half,
started again sadly for Texas.
The victory of the Comanches was complete, it is true, but too dearly
bought for the Indians to think of rejoicing at it. The massacre of the
Apaches was far from compensating them for the death of forty Comanche
warriors, without counting those who, in all probability, would perish
on the journey from the wounds they had received.