THE MYSTERY OF THE SMOKING RUIN. STALKING A WARRIOR. THE AMBUSH
Now we were past the most dangerous part of our journey, leaving the
Comanche country and entering the domain of the Ute Indians and other
tribes, who were not as brave as the Arapahoes and Comanches. Here our
caravan-formation was broken up and each outfit traveled separately at
its own risk.
The next day we witnessed a most horrible and distressing sight.
Willingly would I surrender several years of my allotted lifetime on
earth if I could thereby efface forever the awful impression of this
pitiful tragedy from my memory. Alas I that I was fated to behold the
shocking sight! For days thereafter we plodded on, a sad-looking,
sober, downhearted lot of men, grieved to distraction, and there I left
the innocence of boyhood--wiser surely, but not better! We neared the
still smoking ruins of what had once been a happy home. As I approached
to gratify my curiosity, I met several of my companions, who were
returning and who implored me not to go nearer. An old Mexican,
ignorant, rough, and callous as he was, begged me, with tears streaming
down his face, to retrace my steps. Alas, when would impulsive youth
ever listen to wise counsel and take heed! I entered the ruins and saw
a dark telltale pool oozing forth from under the door of a cellar. Oh,
had I but then overcome my morbid curiosity and fled! But no! I must
needs open the door and look in. I saw--I saw a beautiful whiskey
barrel, its belly bursted and its head stove in!
The trip across the plains was a very healthful and pleasant experience
to me. During the greatest heat and while the moon favored us, we often
traveled at night and rested in daytime. By foregoing my rest, I found
opportunity to hunt antelope and smaller game. I was very fond of this
sport and indulged in it frequently. One day I sighted a band of
antelope--these most beautiful and graceful animals. I tried to head
them off, in order to get within rifle-shot distance, and drifted
farther and farther away from camp until I must have strayed at least
five miles. Like a rebounding rubber ball, their four feet striking the
ground simultaneously, they fled until at last they faded from sight on
the horizon, engulfed in a shimmering wave of heat, the reflection from
a sun-scorched ground. Reluctantly I gave up the chase, as I could by
no means approach the game, although they could not have winded me.
In order to determine the direction of our camp, I ascended a little
hill, when I suddenly espied an Indian. He was in a sitting posture,
less than a quarter of a mile away. Apparently he was stark naked and
his face was turned away from me, for I saw his broad back where not
covered by his long hair glisten in the hot rays of the sun. His gun
was lying within reach of his right hand, but I could not see what he
was doing. On the impulse of the moment I dropped behind a flowering
cactus for concealment. Then I took counsel with myself and decided
that it would be too risky to return to camp as I had intended to do.
In that direction for a long distance the ground was gently rising and
most likely the Indian would have seen me. I thought it probable that
he had staked his horse out in some nearby gulch, and if seen I would
have been at his mercy, as perhaps he was also in touch with other
Indians of his tribe. I reasoned that I could not afford to make the
mistake of incurring the risk to stake my life on the chance of
escaping his observation. I had started out to hunt antelopes, but now
I coolly prepared myself to stalk an Indian warrior instead. I went
about it as if I were hunting a coyote. First of all, I ascertained the
direction of the wind, which was very light. It blew from the quarter
the Indian was in toward me. Next, lying on my stomach, I dug the large
flowering plant up, and holding it by its roots in front of myself, I
crawled toward my quarry, as a snake in the grass. Cautiously,
stealthily, avoiding the slightest noise, and always on the lookout for
snakes and thorns, I crept slowly on, making frequent halts to rest
myself. Twice the Indian turned his head and looked in my direction,
but apparently he did not perceive me. In this manner I came within
easy gunshot distance. Now I took my last rest, and with my knife dug a
hole in the ground and replanted my cactus shield firmly. Then I placed
my rifle in position to fire and drew a fine bead on the nape of his
neck.
"Adios, Indian brave, prepare thy soul to meet the great Spirit in the
ever grassy meadows of the happy hunting grounds of eternity, for the
spider of thy fate is weaving the last thread in the web of thy doom!"
My finger was coaxing the trigger, when a feeling of intense shame rose
fiercely in my breast. Was I, then, like unto this Indian, to take an
enemy's life from ambush? Up I jumped with a challenging shout, my gun
leveled, ready for the fight. "Por Dios, amigo, amigo!" cried the
frightened Indian, holding up his hands. "No tengo dinero!" (I have no
money. Don't shoot!) he begged, speaking to me in Spanish. Then I went
to him and learned that he belonged to a wagon train, traveling just
ahead of us. He was a full-blood Navajo, who had been made captive in a
Mexican raid into the Navajo country. The Mexicans used to capture many
Navajo pappooses and bring them up as bond servants or peons. This
Indian told me that he had been following the same band of antelopes as
myself, and on passing a beautiful hill of red ants, he yielded to
temptation and thought he would have his clothes examined and laundered
by the ants. These little insects are really very accommodating and
work without remuneration. At the same time he likewise took a sun bath
on the same liberal terms. This episode made me famous with every
Spanish freighter over the Santa Fe trail, from Kansas into New Mexico.
Just before we reached the Cimarron country, which is very hilly and is
drained by the Red River, and where we were out of all danger from
Indians, I had a narrow escape from death. I was in the lead of our
train and had crossed a muddy place in the road. I drove on without
noticing that I was leaving the other teams far behind. A wagon stuck
fast in the mire, which caused my companions a great deal of labor and
much delay. At last I halted to await the coming of the other teams.
Suddenly there fell a shot from the dense growth of a wild sunflower
copse. It missed my head by a very close margin and just grazed the ear
of one of the mules. I believe that if I had attempted to rejoin the
train then I would have been killed from ambush. Instead, I quickly
secured the brake of my wagon, then I unhooked the trace chains of the
mules and quieted them and lay down under the wagon, ready to defend
myself. I was, however, not further molested and my companions came
along after a while. They had heard the shot and thought it was I who
had fired it.