The savage did not yield himself up without resistance. Resistance with
an Indian is instinctive, as with a wild animal. He flung himself from
his horse, and drawing his knife, with a single cut severed the thong
that bound him.
In another instant, he would have been off among the bushes; but before
he could move from the spot, half-a-dozen strong arms were around him;
and in spite of his struggles, and the dangerous thrusts of his long
Spanish knife, he was "choked" down and held fast.
My followers were for making short work with him. More than one had
bared their blades to finish him upon the spot, and would have done so,
had I not interfered. I was averse to spilling his blood; and by my
intercession, his life was spared.
To prevent him from giving us further trouble, however, we tied him to a
tree in such a manner that he could not possibly free himself.
The mode of securing him was suggested by Stanfield, the backwoodsman:
it was simple and safe. A tree was chosen, whose trunk was large enough
to fill the embrace of the Indian, so that the ends of his fingers just
met when his arms were drawn to their full stretch around it. Upon his
wrists, thongs of raw hide were firmly looped, and then knotted
together. His ankles were also bound by similar cords--the ends of
which were staked, so as to hinder him from worming around the tree, and
perchance wearing off his thongs, or chafing them, so that they might
break.
The ligature was perfect; the most expert jail-breaker could not have
freed himself from such a fastening.
It was our intention to leave him thus, and _perhaps_ set him free upon
our return, if we should return by that way--a doubtful hypothesis.
I thought not at the time of the cruelty we were committing. We had
spared the Indian's life--a mercy at the moment--and I was too much
concerned about the future of others, to waste reflection on his.
We had taken the precaution to leave him at some distance from the place
of his capture; others of his party might come after, and discover him,
soon enough to interfere with our plans. His prison had been chosen far
off in the depth of the woods; even his shouts could not have been heard
by any one passing along the trail.
He was not to be left entirely alone: a horse was to be his companion--
not his own--for one of the rangers had fancied an exchange.
Stanfield--not well mounted--had proposed a "swop," as he jocosely
termed it, to which the savage had no alternative but consent; and the
Kentuckian, having "hitched" his worn-out nag to a tree, led off the
skew-bald mustang in triumph, declaring that he was now "squar wi' the
Indyens." Stanfield would have liked it better had the "swop" been made
with the renegade who had robbed him.
We were about to leave the place and move on, when a bright idea
suddenly came into my head: it occurred to me that I too might effect a
profitable exchange with our new-made captive--a swop, not of horses,
but of men--in short, an exchange of persons--of identities! In truth,
a bright idea it was, and one that promised well.
I have said that I had already conceived a plan for the rescue of my
betrothed: I had done so during the night; and all along the route, in
my mind I had been maturing it. The incident that had just transpired
had given rise to a host of new ideas--one, above all, that promised to
aid me in facilitating the execution of my design. The capture of the
savage, which had at first given me uneasiness, I now regarded in a very
different light--as a fortunate circumstance. I could not help thinking
that I recognised in it the finger of Providence, and the thought
inspired me with hope. I felt that I was not forsaken.
The plan I had proposed to myself was simple enough; it would require
more of courage than stratagem; but to the former I was sufficiently
nerved by the desperate circumstances in which we had become involved.
I proposed to enter the Indian camp in the night--of course, by stealth
and under cover of the darkness--to find the captive, if possible--set
her limbs free--and then trust to chance for the escape of both of us.
If once inside the encampment, and within reach of her, a sudden _coup_
might accomplish all this: success was not beyond possibility, nor
probability neither; and the circumstances admitted of no plan that
promised so fairly.
To have attempted fight with my few followers against such a host--to
have attacked the Indian camp, even under the advantage of an alarm--
would have been sheer madness. It must have resulted not only in our
immediate defeat, but would have destroyed our last chance of rescuing
the captive. The savages, once alarmed and warned, could never be
approached again. Isolina would be lost for ever.
My followers agreed with me upon the imprudence of an attack. Folly
they termed it--and not from any motives of fear: they were willing to
risk all; and had I so ordered, would have charged with me, rifle in
hand, into the very midst of the enemy's lines. I knew they would,
every man of them. Even the voyageur--the least brave of the party--
would not have flinched; for, in the midst of brave men, cowards cease
to be.
But such a course would indeed have been folly--madness. We thought not
of adopting it; all approved of the plan I had formed, and which I had
already laid before them as we tarried by the noon halting-place.
Several had volunteered to be my companions--to venture along with me
into the camp of the savage; to share with me the extreme of the danger;
but for several reasons I was determined to go alone. Should even one
of them be along with me, I saw it would double the risk of detection.
In this matter, stratagem, not strength, was needed, and speed in the
last moments would be worth both.
Of course, I did not think to get the captive clear without being
observed and pursued--such an expectation would have been preposterous;
she would be too well watched by the savages--not only by her jailers,
but by the jealous eyes of those rival claimants of her body.
No; on the contrary, I anticipated pursuit--close and eager. It might
be strife; but I trusted to my own swiftness of foot, and to hers--for
well knew I her bold heart and free limb: it was no helpless burden I
should have to bring away.
I trusted to my being able to baffle their pursuit--to keep them back
while she ran forward. For that purpose, I should take with me my knife
and revolvers--I trusted to these, and much to chance, or, perhaps, I
should rather say, to God. My cause was good--my heart firm and
hopeful.
Other precautions I intended to take: horses ready as near as they might
be brought; men also ready in their saddles, rifle in hand--ready for
fight, or flight.
Such was the enterprise upon which I was resolved. Success or death was
staked upon the issue. If not successful, I cared not to survive it.