BATTLE
We had a good deal of trouble finding the exact spot where we had left
him, for we could get no answer to our calls. He was down in a heap,
covered with blood, and quite dead. The savages had scalped him. In our
long companionship we had grown very fond of him, for he was a merry,
good-natured, willing soul.
"God!" cried Bagsby, deeply moved. "I'll put a ball through the next one
of those devils I meet!"
We returned slowly to the fire, carrying the body, which we laid
reverently one side and covered with a blanket. In all our hearts burned
a fierce, bitter anger. Sullenly we turned to prepare ourselves a meal
from the supplies our hosts offered us.
The latter were the father and five sons of a backwoods family from the
northwest--Pine, by name. They were all tall, heavily built men, slow
moving, slow speaking, with clear, steady eyes, a drawling way of
talking, and the appearance always of keeping a mental reservation as to
those with whom they conversed. I suppose they were ignorant enough men,
as far as education goes, but they always impressed me as being somehow
a superior type. Possibly it was because of the fact that they perfectly
corresponded to their environment, which was the wilderness.
In detail, the old man was upward of sixty, his beard long and grizzled,
his hair about his shoulders. The oldest son would count about thirty,
and the others went down in stepladder fashion to the youngster, a fine,
big, smooth-faced boy of sixteen. They were named after old Pine's
favourite heroes, evidently. There was David Crockett Pine, and Governor
Boggs Pine, and President Tyler Pine, and Daniel Boone Pine, and Old
Hickory Pine, the youngest, an apparent contradiction in terms. They
were called by their odd first names--Governor, President, Old--without
the least humour.
Just now they stood tall and grim behind us as we ate; and the gray dawn
and the rose dawn grew into day. Nobody said anything until we had
finished. Then Yank rose to his full height and faced the attentive men.
"I want vengeance," he announced in an even voice, stretching forth his
long, lean arm. "Those devils have harried our stock and killed our
pardner; and I'm not going to set quiet and let them do it." He turned
to us: "Boys," said he, "I know you're with me thar. But I'm going to
git our friends yere to go with us. Old man," he said to Pine, "you and
yore sons help us with this job, and we'll locate you on the purtiest
diggings in these hills."
"You bet!" agreed McNally.
"You don't need to make my boys no offer," replied Pine slowly. "Those
divils were after our hosses too; and they'd have got them if you hadn't
come along. We'd been told by a man we believe that there wan't no
Injuns in this country, or you wouldn't have seen us sleeping es close
to our fire. Whar do you-all reckon to come up with them?"
Our old trapper interposed.
"Their rancheree is down the valley somewhars," said Bagsby, "and we'll
have to scout for it. We must go back to camp first and get a ready."
McNally and I murmured against this check to immediate action, but saw
the point after a moment. The Pines packed their slender outfit; we
bound the body of our poor friend across his horse, and mournfully
retraced our steps.
We arrived in camp about ten o'clock, to find Johnny and Don Gaspar
anxiously on the alert. When we had imparted our news, their faces, too,
darkened with anger. Of us all Vasquez had been the only man who never
lost his temper, who had always a flash of a smile for the hardest days.
Hastily we threw together provisions for several days, and arranged our
affairs as well as we could. We all wanted to go; and Don Gaspar, in
spite of the remains of his malarial fever, fairly insisted on
accompanying the expedition.
"Senores," he said with dignity, "this was my own man from my own
people."
Nevertheless somebody had to stay in camp, although at first some of us
were inclined to slur over that necessity.
"There's a strong chance that Injuns will drift by and take all our
supplies," Bagsby pointed out.
"Chances are slim--in only a day or so; you must admit that," argued
Johnny. "Let's risk it. We can scratch along if they do take our stuff."
"And the gold?"
That nonplussed us for a moment.
"Why not bury it?" I suggested.
Bagsby and Pine snorted.
"Any Injun would find it in a minute," said Pine.
"And they know gold's worth something, too," put in Yank.
"This is a scout, not a house-moving expedition," said Bagsby decidedly,
"and somebody's got to keep camp."
"I'll stay, fer one," offered old man Pine, his eyes twinkling from
beneath his fierce brows. "I've fit enough Injuns in my time."
After some further wrangling we came to drawing lots. A number of small
white pebbles and one darker were shaken up in a hat. I drew in the
fourth turn, and got the black!
"Hard luck, son!" murmured old man Pine.
The rest were eager to be off. They leaped upon their horses,
brandishing their long rifles, and rode off down the meadow. Old man
Pine leaned on the muzzle of his gun, his eyes gleaming, uttering
commands and admonitions to his five sons.
"You Old," he warned his youngest, "you mind and behave; and don't come
back yere without'n you bring a skelp!"
We spent the next two days strictly in defence, for we dared not stay
long from the stockade. I was so thoroughly downcast at missing the
fight that I paid little attention to Pine's well-meant talk. My
depression was enhanced by the performance of the duty the others had
left to our leisure. I mean the interment of poor Vasquez. We buried him
in a grassy little flat; and I occupied my time hewing and fashioning
into the shape of a cross two pine logs, on the smoothed surface of
which I carved our friend's name. Then I returned to the stockade, where
old man Pine, a picturesque, tall figure in his fringed hunter's
buckskin, sat motionless before the cabin door. From that point of
vantage one could see a mile down the valley, and some distance
upstream; and one or the other of us occupied it constantly.
About three o'clock of the second day Pine remarked quietly:
"Thar they come!"
I was instantly by his side, and we strained our eyesight in an attempt
to count the shifting figures. Pine's vision was better and more
practised than mine.
"They are all thar," said he, "and they're driving extry hosses."
Ten minutes later the cavalcade stopped and the men dismounted wearily.
They were, as the old man had said, driving before them a half dozen
ponies, which Governor Boggs herded into the corral. Nobody said a word.
One or two stretched themselves. Johnny seized the cup and took a long
drink. Yank leaned his rifle against the wall. Old man Pine's keen,
fierce eye had been roving over every detail, though he, too, had kept
silent.
"Well, Old," he remarked, "I see you obeyed orders like a good sojer."
The boy grinned.
"Yes, dad," said he.
And then I saw what I had not noticed before: that at the belt of each
of the tall, silent young backwoodsmen hung one or more wet, heavy, red
and black soggy strips. The scalping had been no mere figure of speech!
Thank heaven! none of our own people were similarly decorated!
So horrified and revolted was I at this discovery that I hardly roused
myself to greet the men. I looked with aversion, and yet with a certain
fascination on the serene, clear features of these scalp takers. Yet,
since, in the days following, this aversion could not but wear away in
face of the simplicity and straightforwardness of the frontiersmen, I
had to acknowledge that the atrocious deed was more a product of custom
than of natural barbarity.
Old Pine, of course not at all affected, bustled about in the more
practical matter of getting coffee and cutting meat; and after a moment
I aroused myself to help him. The men lay about on the ground exhausted.
They drank the coffee and ate the meat, and so revived, little by
little, arrived at the point of narration.
"It's sure one hell of a ride down there," remarked McNally with a sigh.
"Good deal like the foothills of th' Snake Range, pop," put in President
Tyler Pine.
"We been riding purty nigh every minute sence we left here," agreed
Bagsby. "That rancheree was hard to find."
Little by little the tale developed. No one man, in the presence of all
the others, felt like telling us the whole story. We gathered that they
had ridden the canon for several hours, past our first camping grounds,
and finally out into the lower ranges. Here they lost the trail left by
the Indians when they had first visited our camp; but in casting in
circles for it had come on fresher pony tracks. These they had followed
persistently for many miles.
"_I_ couldn't see the sign of a track for a mile at a time, on that
hard ground," interpolated Johnny.
At length the tracks had struck into a beaten trail.
"And then we knew we were on the way to the rancheree," said Bagsby.
The village they found located in a flat by the side of a stream, and
they halted to determine just what to do. It was finally decided that
while an attack on horseback would undoubtedly strike more instant
terror, yet the difficulty of shooting accurately from a gallop would
more than offset this effect. Therefore nine of the party crept up
afoot, leaving three to lead forward the horses some distance in the
rear.
"I was one of them," said Johnny. "They evidently have seen me shoot. I
seem to be always out of it."
The men had wormed their way to within a hundred yards of the flimsy
huts, or tepees, when they were discovered by the dogs. The Indians
immediately rushed out pell-mell, in a crowd, and were met by a deadly
volley from the white men's rifles. Caught absolutely by surprise, they
turned and fled. Some few loosed random arrows. Their horses coming up
at a run in convoy of the rear guard, each man threw himself into his
saddle and started in pursuit, shooting right and left with the Colt's
revolvers whenever they caught up with the fugitives. Johnny told
admiringly how the backwoodsmen had reloaded their rifles while
galloping.
"All I could do to shoot mine off, let alone loading!" he confessed.
There was no resistance, and little mortality after the first volley.
The Indians bolted like rabbits into the brush. The white men then
returned leisurely to the village, which they proceeded to burn to the
ground.
"It made a grand bonfire," interrupted Johnny. "Went up like gunpowder.
And the Indians yelled and howled at us from the sidehills all the
time."
The raiders had fired a few defiant and random shots in the direction of
the howling, and then, after collecting the ponies that had not
stampeded, rode slowly back the way they had come.
"Didn't see anything of our three horses?" I asked.
"Nary hoss," said Buck Barry. "I figger they jest nat'rally stampeded
off when the row started."
"Are you sure those were the same Indians?" I asked.
A long silence fell.
"Well, what if they wasn't--and that's by no means sure," demanded Buck
Barry at last, a little defiantly. "The whole lot is thieves and
murderers; and if they'd had a chance at us, you bet they'd have taken
it. And we showed the red devils they can't monkey with us!"
I looked toward the cross over Vasquez, murdered as wantonly as ever man
was murdered for plunder, and could find nothing to say. Whatever the
eternal equities of the case may be--and long since I have given up
trying to guess what they are--the cold, practical fact remains, that
never during our stay on the Porcupine did any Indian come near us
again. And I am convinced that if the initial stealing of horses and
murder had gone without reprisal, we should have been a second time and
more boldly attacked. But if that was the wrong village, what a train of
reprisals and reprisals again in turn we may have laid!
"Only we didn't start it, and never would have!" persisted Johnny
stoutly.