APACHES AND COMANCHES.
At daybreak some forty horsemen, at whose head rode Bloodson, Don
Miguel Zarate, and General Ibañez, started in the direction of the
Comanche village, guided by Unicorn. In the midst of the band rode
Ellen, closely watched, and Harry, who would not leave her for a moment,
galloped by her side.
The maiden had guessed, in spite of the attentions offered her, or
perhaps through them, that she was regarded rather as a prisoner than a
friend by the men who surrounded her. Hence, on leaving the Teocali, she
had given Harry a suppliant glance to remain by her side. The hunter had
understood this glance, and, in spite of all that Bloodson urged to
induce him to ride with him at the head of the party, he obstinately
remained by Ellen's side.
By a strange coincidence, at the very moment when the partisans, guided
by Unicorn, were leaving the Teocali to go in search of news of their
friends at the Comanche village, the latter were executing their
miraculous flight, had left the islet on which they had defended
themselves so bravely, and, after boldly crossing the Apache camp, were
also proceeding, though by a different route, to the same village.
The march of a numerous party in the desert is generally less rapid than
that of a few men, and it is easy of explanation. Two or three men
proceeding together pass without difficulty anywhere, gliding through
the chaparral, and following the track of wild beasts; but some forty
persons compelled to adopt the Indian file, that is to say, march one
after the other, along these problematical paths, scarce wide enough for
one horseman, are constrained to cheek their pace, and advance with
extreme precaution, especially on an expedition of the sort the
partisans were now undertaking.
Hence, in spite of all the diligence they displayed, they advanced but
slowly. The ruddy disc of the sun was rapidly descending on the horizon,
the shadow of the lofty trees was lengthening more and more, the evening
breeze was beginning to sough through the virgin forest, which extended
for an enormous distance on the right of the travellers, while on the
riverbank the alligators were clumsily leaving the bed of mud in which
they had been slothfully wallowing, and were regaining the deep waters
of the Gila.
The horses and riders, harassed by the fatigues of a long journey, were
slowly dragging along, when Unicorn, who was about one hundred yards
ahead, suddenly turned back and rejoined his comrades, who at once
halted.
"What is the matter?" Bloodson asked, so soon as the chief found him;
"Has my brother seen anything that alarms him?"
"Yes," the Indian laconically replied.
"I am waiting for my brother to explain."
"The desert is not quiet," the chief went on in a grave voice; "the
vultures and white-headed eagles are flying in long circles, the deer
and buffaloes are restless, the asshatas are bounding in every
direction, and the antelopes flying with all the speed of their limbs
northward."
Bloodson frowned and waited a moment ere he replied. The Mexicans
examined him anxiously, but at length he raised his head.
"What do you conclude from these signs?"
"This: the Apaches are crossing the prairie; they are numerous, for the
desert is disturbed for a very considerable extent."
"Why the Apaches sooner than others?" Bloodson answered. "Cannot wood
rangers have produced the excitement you have noticed, as well as the
Indians?"
The Comanche warrior shook his head in contradiction.
"They are Apaches," he said, peremptorily. "This is not the season of
the great hunts, the animals are not troubled by man at this period of
the year. They know it, and do not desperately fly from him, as they are
certain of not being pursued. The wood rangers march alone, or only
three or four together, employing precautions not to startle the game.
But the Apaches are ignorant dogs, who, like the coyotes they resemble,
continually assemble in large parties, and, instead of marching like men
or warriors, pass like a hurricane over the prairie, burning,
destroying, and devastating everything in their passage."
"That is true," Bloodson muttered; "your sagacity has not deceived you,
chief; only the Apaches can be near here."
"Good; and what will my brother do?" the Comanche asked.
The stranger's eye flashed fire.
"We will fight them," he said.
The Indian gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.
"No," he said; "that is no good; we must not fight at this moment."
"Speak then, in the devil's name," the stranger exclaimed, impatiently,
"and explain your plan to us."
The Indian smiled.
"My brother is quick," he said.
Bloodson, ashamed of having given way to his temper, had already
regained his coolness.
"Pardon me, chief; I was wrong."
And he held out his hand, which Unicorn took and pressed warmly.
"My brother is wise," he replied; "I know that he did not wish to insult
a friend."
"Speak, chief; time is slipping away; explain your plan to me."
"Behind that hill is Unicorn's village; the warriors will remain here
while he advances alone, in order to know what is going on."
"Good; my brother can go; we will wait."
In the desert, long conversations are not the fashion; moments are too
precious to be lost in words. The Indian set spurs to his horse and went
off, and he soon disappeared from their sight.
"What do you think of what the chief has just told us?" the general
asked.
"It is very serious," the stranger answered. "The Indians have an
extraordinary skill for discovering what goes on in the desert--they
have an infallible instinct which never deceives them. This man is one
of the most intelligent I know. I am only acquainted with two men in the
world capable of contending with him--that frightful scoundrel, Red
Cedar, and Don Valentine, that French hunter whom the Indians themselves
have surnamed the Trail-Hunter."
"Ah!" Don Miguel said, "Then your opinion is--"
"That we must await the result of the step Unicorn is taking at this
moment; his village is only an hour's march at the most from the spot
where we now are."
"But, in that case, why stop us?"
"An Indian never returns home till he has assured himself that all is in
order. Who can foresee what has happened during his absence?"
"That is true; let us wait, then," the hacendero said, stifling a sigh.
Nearly an hour passed thus. All the partisans seated on their horses,
with their finger on the trigger of their rifle, remained motionless as
bronze statues. In the meanwhile the sun had set in a mist of vapour, the
shadow spread gradually over the desert like a thick winding sheet, and
the stars were slowly lit up in the dark blue sky. Still Unicorn did not
return.
The hunters did not exchange a word; each, persuaded in his heart that
the position was a serious one, was reflecting deeply. Not a sound was
audible, save the hoarse and continuous rustling of the Rio Gila over
the pebbles and rocks that border its banks.
Suddenly, Bloodson, whose eye had been obstinately fixed in the
direction where the Comanche Chief had disappeared, gave a slight start
and whispered in Don Miguel's ear:
"Here he is."
In fact, the gallop of a horse was heard gradually drawing nearer till
the chief reappeared.
"Well?" the stranger shouted to him.
"Koutonepi and the pale virgin are in the village," he said; "the hunter
has delivered the maiden."
"May Heaven be praised!" Don Miguel said, fervently.
Unicorn looked at him sadly.
"The Apaches are pursuing them," he added; "at this moment the village
is being attacked, but our friends defend themselves bravely."
"Let us fly to their help," the Mexicans shouted.
Bloodson turned to them.
"Patience," he said; "let the chief explain."
"My pale brother," the Comanche continued, "with one-half of the
warriors, will turn the hill and enter the village by the north, while
I, with the other half, will enter by the south."
"Good," said Bloodson; "but we are far off yet; perhaps our friends will
be unable to hold out till our arrival."
Unicorn smiled scornfully.
"The Apaches are cowardly dogs," he said. "The Comanches will defend
themselves: they know not flight."
Without replying, the partisan divided his band, taking the command of
one party, and entrusting the other to the Comanche warrior. All these
men were Indians, long habituated to a war of ambushes and surprises:
this bold stroke was a Godsend to them: with flashing eyes and quivering
lips, though apparently unmoved, they impatiently awaited the signal for
departure.
"Let us go," Bloodson vociferated, brandishing his rifle over his head.
All bent over their horses manes and started forward. On reaching the
foot of the hill one band went to the right, the other to the left,
Ellen remaining behind, under the guard of a few warriors and the
Canadian hunter, who would not leave her. This little band moved forward
gently as a rearguard.
In the meanwhile, the partisans reached the village at headlong speed;
and it was high time for them to arrive, for the huts, enveloped in
flames, resembled a volcano. By the gleam of the fire, shadows could be
seen darting hither and thither; and shouts of pain and rage, mingled
with the discharge of firearms, incessantly rose from this burning mass.
The partisans rushed into this horrible furnace, uttering their war yell
and brandishing their arms, and the medley became frightful. The
Apaches, thus attacked on two sides simultaneously, underwent a
momentary stupor, which soon changed into a panic and utter rout, at the
sight of these new opponents, who seemed to rise from the ground to
crush them, and change their triumph into a defeat.
But flight was not easy. The entire population of the village was under
arms: women and children, electrified by their example, and joining the
warriors, rushed madly on the Apaches, who, seeing their surprise
foiled, only tried to reach the open country again.
For a quarter of an hour the massacre was fearful. At length the
Apaches, led by Stanapat and Black Cat, who vainly performed prodigies
of valour in order to restore the chances of the fight, succeeded in
clearing a gap through their enemies, and rushed in every direction,
closely followed by the Comanches, who felled them with their war clubs
and pitilessly scalped them.
Only one band still resisted.
Leaning against the palisades, which they had not yet found time to
cross, the pirates, bearing in their midst the body of their beloved
Gazelle, had recoiled inch by inch before the enemies who enveloped them
on all sides, dashing forward every now and then, and compelling their
foes to give ground in their turn.
But the struggle was too unequal, and a long resistance soon became
impossible. The pirates, skilfully profiting by a moment of disorder,
started to fly each in a different direction, hoping to escape more
easily in this way. Sandoval had taken on his robust shoulders the body
of the girl, and with an extraordinary effort, which despair alone made
successful, had leaped out on the plain, where he hoped to conceal
himself in the grass.
He would have probably succeeded in this, but he had to do with four
men, who seemed to have made up their minds to hunt him down. At the
moment he drew himself up after his leap, Valentine and his comrades
threw themselves upon him, without giving him time to defend himself,
and, in spite of his desperate resistance and furious yells, tied him
securely.
The old pirate, on finding himself a prisoner, let his head sink on his
chest, and giving a sad glance at the girl he had been unable to save,
he gave vent to a deep sigh, and a burning tear silently coursed down
his furrowed cheeks. At the same moment Ellen entered the village, in
the middle of her escort: on seeing her, Valentine started.
"Oh!" he muttered; "Where is Doña Clara?"
"My daughter, my daughter!" the hacendero exclaimed, suddenly appearing
before the hunter, with his clothes disordered and his brow pale with
fear. The unhappy father, since he had entered the village, had only
attended to one thing--seeking his daughter.
Followed step by step by the general, he entered the thickest of the
fight, asking after his daughter of all those he met, thrusting aside
the weapons that menaced him, and not thinking of the death which at
every moment rose before him, under every shape. Protected, as it were,
by an invisible talisman, he had traversed the whole village and entered
every hut the fire had spared, Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, having
only one object--that of finding his child. Alas! His search had been
in vain.
Doña Clara had disappeared: although Valentine had intrusted her to
Shaw, no one knew what had become of her. The hacendero fell into his
friend's arms, and burst into heartrending sobs.
"My daughter," he groaned. "Valentine, restore my daughter to me!"
The hunter pressed him to his manly breast.
"Courage, poor father," he said to him. "Courage!"
But the hacendero no longer heard him; grief had at length overpowered
him, and he fainted away.
"Oh!" Valentine said, "Red Cedar, you viper, shall I never succeed in
putting my heel on your chest!"
Aided by the general and Don Pablo, he carried Don Miguel to the
medicine lodge, which the flames had not reached, and laid him a bed of
dry leaves.