It was not the emphatic tone in which this announcement was made that
produced within me conviction of its truth; I should have been convinced
without that. I was better than half prepared for the intelligence thus
rudely conveyed; for I was myself not altogether unskilled in that art
of which my trapper-companions were masters.
I had observed the sudden convergence of the horse-tracks; I had noticed
also, that, after coming together, the animals had proceeded at a slow
pace--at a walk. I needed only to perceive the hoof of the steed among
the others, to know that he no longer ran free--that he was a captive.
This the tracker had found; hence the decisive declaration that the
Indians had "roped" him--in other words, had caught him with their
lazoes.
"Sartint they've tuk 'im," asserted Rube, in answer to an interrogatory:
"sartint sure; hyur's his track clur as daylight. He's been led hyur at
the eend o' a laryette; he's been nigh the middle o' the crowd--some in
front--some hev been arter 'im--thet's how they've gone past hyur.
Wagh!" continued the speaker, once more turning his eyes upon the trail,
"thur's been a good grist on 'em--twunty or more; an ef this child don't
miskalkerlate, thet ain't the hul o' the niggurs; _it_ ain't! 'Tur only
some o' 'em as galliped out to rope the hoss. I'd lay my rifle agin a
Mexican blunderbox, thur's a bigger party than this nigh at hand
somewhur hyur. By Geehosophat, thur's boun to be, sartint as sun-up!"
The suspicion that had half formed itself in my mind was no longer
hypothetical; the sign upon the trail had settled that: it was now a
positive intelligence--a conviction. The steed had been taken; he and
his rider were captive in the hands of the Indians.
This knowledge brought with it a crowd of new thoughts, in which
emotions of the most opposite character were mingled together.
The first was a sensation of joy. The steed had been captured, and by
human beings. Indians at least were men, and possessed human hearts.
Though in the rider they might recognise the lineaments of their
pale-faced foes--not so strongly neither--yet a woman, and in such a
dilemma, what reason could they have for hostility to her?
None; perhaps the very opposite passion might be excited by the
spectacle of her helpless situation. They would see before them the
victim of some cruel revenge--the act, too, of their own enemies; this
would be more likely to inspire them with sympathy and pity; they would
relieve her from her perilous position; would minister to her wants and
wounds; would tenderly nurse and cherish her: yes; of all this I felt
confident. They were human; how could they do otherwise?
Such was the first rush of my reflections on becoming assured that the
steed had been captured by Indians--that Isolina was in their hands. I
only thought of her safety--that she was rescued from pain and peril,
perhaps from death; and the thought was a gleam of joy.
Alas! only a gleam; and the reflections that followed were painfully
bitter.
I could not help thinking of the character of the savages into whose
hands she had fallen. If they were the same band that had harried the
frontier town, then were they southern Indians--Comanche or Lipan. The
report said one or other; and it was but too probable. True, the
remnant of Shawanos and Delawares, with the Kickapoos and Texan
Cherokees, sometimes stray as far as the banks of the Rio Grande. But
the conduct was not theirs: these tribes, from long intercourse with
whites, have been inducted into a sort of semi-civilisation; and their
hereditary hostility for the pale-face has died out. Pillage and murder
are no longer their trade; it could not have been they who had made the
late foray. It might have been "Wild Cat" with his wicked Seminoles,
now settled on the Texan frontier; but the act was more in keeping with
the character of the mezcal-eating Apaches, who of late years had been
pushing their expeditions far down the river. Even so--it mattered
little; Apaches are but Comanches, or rather Comanches Apaches, and
whether the Indians on whose trail we were standing were one or the
other--whether Apache, Lipan, Comanche, or their allies Caygua, Waco, or
Pawnee-Pict, it mattered not; one and all were alike; one or other of
them, my reflections were bitterly the same. Well understood I the
character of these red men of the south; so far differing from their
kindred of the north--so far different from that ideal type of cold
continence, it has pleased the poet and the writer of romance to ascribe
to them. The reverse of the medal was before my mind's eye; the memory
of many a scene was in my thoughts, of many a tale I had heard,
illustrating the uxorious disposition, the wild unbridled wantonness of
these lords of the southern plains.
Not then did I dwell long on such thoughts; for they had their influence
in urging me onward, and onward I spurred.
There was another reason for our rapid advance: all of us were under the
extreme agony of thirst--literally gasping for water; and thus physical
suffering impelled us to ride forward as fast as our jaded horses could
carry us over the ground.
Timber was at length before our eyes--green foliage--looking all the
fresher and brighter from contrast with the black plain which it
bounded. It was a grove of cottonwoods, skirting a prairie-stream; and
beyond this the fire had not extended.
Wild joyous cries escaped from men and horses, as their eyes rested upon
the limpid stream.
The men galloped over the bank, leaped out of their saddles, and without
a thought of drowning, plunged breast-deep into the water. Some lifted
the crystal liquid in their palms; others, more impatient, bent down,
and ducking their faces in the flood, drank _a la mode du cheval_.
I noticed that the trappers behaved less recklessly than the rest;
before going down to drink, the eyes of both were directed, with
instinctive caution, along the banks, and into the timber.
Close to where we had halted, I observed a crossing, where numerous
tracks of animals formed in the soil a deep, well-beaten path. Rube's
eyes were upon it, and I saw that they were glistening with unusual
excitement.
"Told 'ee so!" cried he, after a short survey: "yanner's thur
trail--_war-trail_, by the Eturnal!"