FLYING EAGLE.
The Indians, owing to the life they are compelled to lead, and the
education they receive, are of an essentially suspicious character.
Accustomed to be constantly on their guard against everything that
surrounds them, to regard intentions ostensibly the most honest as
concealing treachery and perfidy, they have acquired an uncommon skill
in guessing the projects of persons with whom accident brings them in
contact, and foiling the snares set for them by their enemies.
Mahchsi Karehde, we have already said, was an experienced warrior, as
wise in council as he was valiant in war, and, though still very young,
he justly enjoyed a great reputation in his tribe.
So soon as Marksman had, in the name of Lynch law, pronounced Don
Estevan's sentence, there was a species of disorder among the hunters,
who broke their ranks, and began eagerly conversing together, as
generally happens in such a case. Flying Eagle took advantage of the
general attention being diverted, and no one noticing him, to give
Eglantine, whose eyes were incessantly fixed on him, a signal, which
the young woman understood, and he silently stepped into a thicket,
where he disappeared before anyone noticed his absence.
After walking for about twenty minutes in the forest, the Chief,
probably supposing he was far enough off, stopped, and turned to his
squaw, who had remained a little distance behind the whole time. "Let
the Palefaces," he said, "accomplish their work. Flying Eagle is a
Comanche warrior; he must no longer interfere between them."
"The Chief will return to his village?" Eglantine asked, timidly.
The Indian smiled craftily. "All is not over yet," he replied. "Flying
Eagle will watch over his friends."
The young woman let her head fall, and, seeing that the Indian had
seated himself, prepared to light the campfire; but the Chief stopped
her by a sign. "Flying Eagle does not wish to be discovered," he said.
"Let my sister take her place by his side, and wait; a friend is in
danger at this time."
At this moment a great noise of breaking branches could be heard not
far from the spot where the Redskins had halted. The Indian listened
attentively for a few moments, with his head on the ground. "Flying
Eagle will return," he said, as he rose.
"Eglantine will wait for him," the squaw said, looking at him tenderly.
The Chief laid by her side the weapons that might have impeded him in
the project he meditated; he only kept his reata, which he carefully
coiled round his right hand, and crept in the direction of the sound
he had heard, which every moment grew louder. He had scarce advanced
twenty yards, by forcing his way through the intertwined creepers and
tall grass that barred his passage, ere he perceived, a few paces off,
a magnificent black horse, which, with ears laid back, head extended,
and all four feet fixed on the ground, was snorting in alarm; its
nostrils covered with foam, and its mouth bleeding.
"Wah!" the Chief muttered, stopping short, and admiring the splendid
animal. He drew a few steps nearer, being careful not to startle the
animal more, which followed all his movements with a restless eye; and,
at the instant he saw it bound to escape, he made his reata whistle
round his neck, and threw it with such skill, that the running knot
fell on the horse's shoulders. The latter tried, for three or four
minutes, to regain the liberty so suddenly snatched from it; but soon
recognizing the futility of its efforts, it yielded once again to
slavery, and allowed the Indian to approach, with no further attempts
to maintain the struggle. The animal was not a wild horse, but Don
Estevan's magnificent barb, which he had probably lost during the
fight, when he was wounded. The horse's trappings were partly broken
and torn by the branches; but still they were in a good state of
service.
The Chief, delighted with the windfall accident procured him, mounted
the horse, and returned to Eglantine, who, submissive and obedient as a
true Indian woman, had not stirred since his departure.
"Flying Eagle will return to his village mounted on a horse worthy of
so great a Chief," she said, on noticing him.
The Indian smiled haughtily. "Yes," he answered, "the sachems will be
proud of him."
And with the simple childishness so well suited to the primitive
roughness of these men of iron, he amused himself, for some time,
with making the horse perform the most difficult passes and curvets,
happy at the terrified admiration of the woman he loved, and who could
not refrain from trembling on perceiving him manage this magnificent
animal with such ease. The Chief at length dismounted, and, while still
holding the bridle in his hand, sat down by the young woman's side.
They remained thus for a long time, without exchanging a word. Flying
Eagle seemed to be reflecting deeply; his eyes wandered about in the
darkness, as if wishing to penetrate it, and distinguish some distant
object in the distance. He listened eagerly to the sounds of the
solitude, while playing mechanically with his scalping knife. "There
they are," he suddenly cried, as he rose, as if moved by a spring.
Eglantine looked at him with astonishment.
"Does not my sister hear?" he asked her.
"Yes," she replied in a moment, "I hear the sound of horses in the
forest."
"They are the Palefaces returning to their camp."
"Shall we follow them?"
"Flying Eagle never leaves, without a reason, the path made by his
moccasins. Eglantine will accompany the warrior."
"Does my father doubt it?"
"No; Eglantine is a worthy daughter of the Comanches; she will come
without a murmur. A Paleface, a friend of Mahchsi Karehde, is in danger
at this moment."
"The Chief will save him?"
The Indian smiled. "Yes," he said; "or, if I arrive too late for that,
I will at least avenge him, and his soul will quiver with joy in the
blessed prairies, on learning from his people that his friend has not
forgotten him."
"I am ready to follow the Chief."
"Let us go, then; it is time."
The Indian leaped into his saddle at a bound, and Eglantine prepared
to follow on foot. Indian squaws never mount the warhorse of their
husbands or brothers. Condemned, by the laws that govern their tribe,
to remain constantly bowed beneath a yoke of iron, to be reduced to
the most complete abjectness, and devote themselves to the harshest
and most painful tasks, they endure everything without complaining,
persuaded that it must be so, and that nothing can save them from the
implacable tyranny that weighs on them from their birth to their death.
In compelling his wife to follow him on foot, through a virgin forest,
by impracticable roads, rendered more difficult through the darkness,
Flying Eagle was convinced that he was only doing a very simple and
natural thing. Eglantine, for her part, understood it so, for she did
not make the slightest remark.
They set out, then, turning their back on the noise, and proceeding
towards the clearing. For what object did the Chief retrace his steps,
and return to the spot he had left an hour previously, in order to get
rid of the Gambusinos? We shall probably soon learn.
When about a hundred yards from the clearing, they heard a shot. Flying
Eagle stopped. "Wah!" he said, "what has happened? Can I be mistaken?"
Immediately dismounting, he gave his wife his horse to hold, bidding
her follow him at a distance; and, gliding through the grass, he
advanced hurriedly toward the clearing, feeling much alarmed by the
shot, which he could not account for, as the idea did not for a moment
occur to him that Don Estevan had fired it with the intention of
killing himself. The Chief was convinced that a man of that stamp would
never give the game up, however desperate it was. His appreciation was
not entirely false.
Persuaded of this, Flying Eagle, fearing a mishap, the possibility of
which he seemed to have foreseen, hastened to reach the clearing, in
order to settle his doubts, and trembling to see them converted into a
certainty.
On reaching the skirt of the clearing, he stopped, removed the branches
cautiously, and looked out. The darkness was so dense, that he could
distinguish nothing; a funereal silence prevailed over this portion
of the forest. Suddenly the bushes parted, a man, or rather a demon,
bounded out like a jackal, passed him with extreme velocity, and was
soon lost in the darkness.
A sad presentiment contracted the Redskin's heart; he made a movement
to rush after the stranger, but altered his mind almost in the same
moment. "Let us look here first," he muttered, "I am certain of finding
that man again when I please."
He entered the clearing. The deserted fires no longer gave out any
light. All was shadow and silence. The Chief walked rapidly toward
the spot where the grave had been dug. It was empty, Don Estevan had
disappeared. On the slope formed of the earth thrown out of the hole, a
man lay, motionless.
Flying Eagle bent over him, and examined him attentively for some
seconds. "I knew it," he muttered, as he drew himself up with a smile
of disdain; "that must happen, the Palefaces are gossiping old women.
Ingratitude is a white vice--vengeance a red virtue."
The Chief stood thoughtfully, with his eyes fixed on the wounded man.
"Shall I save him?" he at length said. "For what good? It is almost
better to let the coyotes tear him limb from limb; the red warriors
laugh at their fury. This man," he added, "was, yet, one of the best of
those plundering Palefaces who come to drive us from our last refuge.
Wah! what do I care our races are hostile, the wild beasts will finish
him--to each his prey."
And he made a move to withdraw. Suddenly he felt a hand laid on his
shoulder, and a soft voice muttered gently in his ear,--"This Paleface
is the friend of the grey head who delivered Eglantine. Is my father
ignorant of it?"
The Chief started at this question, which answered so truly his
innermost thoughts; for, while speaking to himself, and tying to prove
that he did right in abandoning the wounded man, the Indian knew
very well that the deed he premeditated was reprehensible, and that
honour commanded him to help the man stretched out at his feet. "Does
Eglantine know this hunter?" he answered evasively.
"Eglantine saw him for the first time two days ago, when he so
courageously saved the friend of the Chief."
"Wah!" the Indian muttered, "my sister speaks true. This warrior is
brave, his heart is large, he is the friend of the Redskins. Flying
Eagle is a Chief renowned for his goodness of soul, he will not abandon
the Paleface to the hideous coyotes."
"Mahchsi Karehde is the greatest warrior of his nation, his head is
full of wisdom. What he does is well."
Flying Eagle smiled with satisfaction at this compliment. "Let us
examine this man's wounds."
Eglantine lighted a branch of ocote, which she made into a torch. The
two Indians bent down over the wounded man, who still lay motionless,
and by the oscillating light of the torch examined him more attentively.
Brighteye had only a slight wound, produced by the butt of the pistol
by which he had been struck; the force of the blow, by producing an
abundant hemorrhage, had caused a stunning sensation, followed by a
syncope. The wound was narrow, of no great depth, and on the upper
part of the forehead between the eyebrows. Don Estevan had tried to
kill the worthy hunter in the same way as the bulls in the corridas.
The experienced Espadas often amuse themselves by killing the animals
in this fashion, in order to display their skill before the assembled
spectators. This blow, though dealt with a firm hand, was too hurried,
and had not been calculated with sufficient precision to be mortal.
Still it is evident that if the Indian Chief had not succoured him
before daybreak, the hunter would have been devoured alive by the wild
beasts prowling about in quest of prey.
All Indians, when travelling, carry by a sling a parchment bag, which
they call the medicine bag. It contains the simples these primitive
men employ to cure the wounds they receive in combat, their surgical
instruments, and the powders intended to get rid of fevers.
After examining Brighteye's wound, the Chief tossed his head with
pleasure, and immediately set about dressing. With a sharp instrument,
made of an onyx, and with the edge of a razor, he first cleared off the
hair round the wound; then he felt in his medicine bag, pulled out a
handful of oregano leaves, which he carefully pounded and mixed up with
Catalonian refino. We will remark here, that in all Indian medicaments
spirits play a great part. He added to this mixture a little water and
salt, formed the whole into a thick paste, and, after washing the wound
twice with spirits and water, he applied this species of cataplasm to
it, fastening it on with abanigo leaves. This simple remedy produced an
almost instantaneous effect; within ten minutes the hunter gave a sigh,
opened his eyes, and sat up, looking round him like a man suddenly
roused from a deep sleep, and who does not completely recognize
external objects.
Brighteye, however, was a man endowed with far too powerful an
organization for this state to last long; he soon managed to restore
order in his ideas, recalled what had passed, and the treachery dealt
him by the man he had saved. "Thanks, Redskin," he said, in a still
weak voice, and holding out his hand to the Indian, who pressed it
cordially.
"My brother feels better?" he asked, with solicitude.
"I feel as well as if nothing had happened to me."
"Wah! my brother will then avenge himself on his enemy."
"Trust me for that; the traitor shall not escape me, so truly as my
name is. Brighteye," the hunter answered energetically.
"Good! my brother will kill his enemy, and hang up his scalp at the
entrance of his wigwam."
"No, no, Chief; that revenge may suit a Redskin, but it is not that of
a man of my race and colour."
"What will my brother do, then?"
The hunter smiled cleverly, but after a few moments continued the
conversation, though not in answer to the Indian's questions. "How long
have I been here?" he said.
"About an hour."
"No longer?"
"No."
"Heaven be praised. My assassin cannot be gone far."
"Och! An evil conscience is a powerful spur," the Indian observed,
sententiously.
"That is true."
"What will my brother do?"
"I do not know yet; the position I am in is very delicate," Brighteye
answered, thoughtfully, "Urged by my heart, and the memory of a service
done me long ago, I committed an action which may be interpreted in
various ways. I now perceive that I was wrong; still, I confess to you,
Redskin, that I do not at all wish to be exposed to the reproaches of
my friends. It is hard for a man of my age, whose hair is white, and
who must possess experience, to have it said that he has acted like a
child, and is an old fool."
"Still, you must make up your mind."
"I know it. That is the thing which torments me; the more so as it is
urgent that Don Miguel and Don Mariano should be warned as speedily as
possible of what has happened, in order to remedy the consequences of
my folly."
"Listen," the Chief remarked. "I understand how repugnant the
confession you have to make will be to you. It is excessively painful
for an old man to bow his head under reproaches, however well deserved
they may be."
"Well!"
"If you consent, I will do what you have so much difficulty in
resolving on. While you accompany Eglantine, I will go to your friends,
the Palefaces; I will tell them what has happened. I will put them on
their guard against their enemy, and you will have nothing to fear from
their anger."
At this proposition, an indignant flush suffused the hunter's face.
"No," he exclaimed, "I will not add cowardice to my fault. I will
endure the consequences of my deed,--all the worse for myself. I thank
you, Chief; your proposition comes from a good heart, but I cannot
accept it."
"My brother is the master."
"Let us make haste," the hunter continued; "we have lost too much time
already. Heaven alone knows what may be the consequences of my deed,
and the misfortunes that will probably spring from it. It is impossible
for me to prevent them, it is my duty to do everything to lessen their
effect. Come, Chief, follow me; let us proceed to the camp without
further delay."
While uttering these words, the hunter rose with feverish impatience.
"I am unarmed," he said; "the villain has stripped me."
"Let my brother not feel vexed at that," the Indian answered; "he will
find the needful arms at the camp."
"That is true. Let us go and look for my horse, which I left a few
yards off."
The Indian stopped him. "It is useless," he said.
"Why so?"
"That man has taken it."
The hunter struck his brow in his discouragement. "What shall I do?" he
muttered.
"My brother will take my horse."
"And you, Chief?"
"I have another."
At a sign from Flying Eagle, Eglantine led up the horse. The two men
mounted; the Chief took his squaw up behind him, and leaning over the
necks of their horses, they started at full gallop in the direction of
the Gambusino camp, which they reached about an hour later without any
fresh incident.