THE HUNTER AND THE MAIDEN.
And still thy mane streams backward
At every thrilling bound,
And still thy measured hoof-stroke
Beats with its morning sound!--Bayard Taylor.
Now he shivers, head and hoof, and the flakes of foam fall off,
And his face grows fierce and thin!
And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go.
Mrs. Browning.
For once Nat Wolfe was disappointed in his best friend--his long-tried,
much-lamented steed, Kit Carson. All the long afternoon he pursued the
northerly course which the bison had taken, and which, he knew, led
to more fragrant streams and better pasturage. The same moon toward
which Elizabeth, riding merrily in the ox-drawn wagon, was looking with
such longing eyes, found him still striding on, throwing keen glances
in every direction, but without having met a living thing of any kind
in his six hours' journey. He was certain that he was on the track of
the herd; and, more than that, frequently, before it grew too dark for
such observations, he detected the print of horse-shoes here and there
along the way. As long as the moon shone he continued to walk; but when
it set, there was nothing to do but to eat his dry biscuit, take a
draught from his canteen and lie down to sleep with a tuft of grass for
a pillow. This he did, still feeling confident that when he awoke it
would be to find Kit grazing quietly by his side.
The first rays of the morning roused him. He had slumbered heavily, for
he was fatigued; and as he tried to shake off the chill and stiffness
of his night's exposure by running swiftly, he remarked to himself:
"Well, I may as well run in the right direction, and that is, toward
the point I started from. Poor Kit's gone forever, I fear. I must get
back to the trail, in order to follow the route to Denver. I'll have to
foot it all the way, unless I overtake some train that'll be willing
to sell me some kind of an animal. I wouldn't have taken a thousand
dollars for Kit Carson! Confound me if I think the girl was worth it!"
Yet, at the recollection of the maiden in whose behalf he had
sacrificed his horse, a sudden warmth thrilled through his veins, very
beneficial in dispelling the effects of the night air; he slackened his
speed insensibly, forgetting his breakfast for some time in visions of
a young, wistful face, with eyes so lustrous and yet melancholy that
they made his heart yearn to fill them with smiles instead of tears to
which they seemed more accustomed.
"It's a burning shame in that shiftless farmer to be dragging that kind
of a child out to Pike's Peak--an infernal hole for men, at the best.
She don't feel at home, poor thing, that's evident! Her place is with
the ladies of the land--instead of being set down in a shanty among
a crowd of rough, swearing miners. She needs a protector, that child
does--blast me if she don't." Here a thought rushed through his mind
which deepened the flush of his sun-burned cheek. Presently he shook
his head, continuing, "No! no! it's too late for that with Nat Wolfe. A
man that's been fooled by a woman as I was, would be a double fool to
trust one of the kind again."
Coming to a pool of water in a deep gully, Nat refreshed himself with
the remains of his dried meat and biscuit, filled his canteen with
water, and pushed on. It was noon when he reached Pike's Peak trail--at
almost the spot where he left it. There were no travelers in sight.
"I must overtake that train again. It's going my way, and--and--I
shan't just feel easy without seeing that girl again. I'm a good match
for an ox-team; but when it has at least twenty miles the start, that
makes it harder. I'll be likely to be hungry before I reach the next
station, if I don't come across a stray buffalo or antelope, and we're
about out of their range now. However, it's too early in the day to
borrow trouble. I've been fifty hours without food, more than once."
With long, steady, gliding steps, which took him over the ground
with surprising rapidity, yet which had not the appearance of haste
or effort, he continued his march, reaching the place at which the
emigrants had stayed the previous night, before sundown. Here he was
fortunate enough to find, among other relics of their encampment, some
of the remains of their breakfasts. He did not pause to scrupulously
examine the nicety of these fragments; for he had eaten nothing since
early morning, and was very glad of these providential crumbs. Having
somewhat rested and refreshed himself, he had about concluded to push
on, until nine or ten in the evening, so as to come up with the train
by evening of the next day. It was now after sunset. As he arose to
resume his journey, he perceived, afar, against the northern hemisphere
of the horizon, a party of horsemen sweeping on; he knew them, even at
that distance, by their attitudes and manner of riding, as a band of
Indians.
"They'd like right well to know I was here, alone and on foot,"
soliloquized Nat, "though I doubt then if they'd care to approach me,
when I was wide-awake and looking out for them. Let 'em come! the
whole snaky set! I suppose it would be just as prudent not to show
myself until they are out of sight; though if they come where I am, I'm
agreeable! I'd like to dislodge a red-skin from one of those horses,
and take his place. Perhaps they'll camp here for the night. Ha! here
they come; I'd better be looking out for a covert."
He crept along the ground and dropped down the embankment into the
river-bed. Here he could conceal himself from observation, unless
the party stopped for the night, or came for water. In case he was
discovered before the twilight enabled him to escape, he had only to
depend upon his weapons, and the dauntless courage which had made him
so famous.
It was true that most of these vagrant bands of red-skins were not at
war with the whites; but their natural cruelty and covetousness would
lead them to murder any solitary traveler they might chance upon; and
toward Nat Wolfe they all felt the fury of revenge for the frequent
losses they had sustained from him.
As the tramp of the approaching horses drew nearer, he raised his
head cautiously and reconnoitered. "They're a well-mounted set of
devils--plenty of 'em, too, I'll swear!" he muttered; and seeing a bush
hanging over the bank a little further down, which would afford him a
better chance to make observations, he crawled on his hands and knees
along the yellow clay until he came to the spot over which it grew.
This new position was a safer one in this respect--it was around a
bend of the stream; so that if the Indians came to dip water from the
half-dried pool above him, they would not observe him where he lay,
sheltered by the bend; the ground above, also, shelved over, so that he
stood a good chance of escaping their keen eyes. Looking well to his
trusty rifle, and mechanically feeling the knife and revolvers in his
belt, he pressed as closely as possible under the bank and listened
until the party drew rein, as he had anticipated they would, and
dismounting made preparations for encamping for the night. Nat's trail
was so mixed up with that of the company who had occupied the ground
the previous day that the new-comers perceived nothing to arouse their
suspicions.
It was extremely irksome to Golden Arrow to lie crouched under the bank
all the time the new-comers were kindling their fires, broiling their
venison and feeding their horses such forage as they had; he had rather
have darted upon them like the weapon after which they had named him;
but, brave as he was, he knew that one white man was a poor match for
thirty Indians, and he restrained his hatred and impatience as best
he could; varying the tedium with the rather dangerous amusement of
raising himself to watch them behind the shelter of the bush. The two
hours which they spent, before they finally stretched themselves in a
ring with their feet to the ashes of the fire they had made, seemed to
him endless. They had secured their horses by tying a knot in the end
of the ropes about their necks, and burying these knots in the earth
of the prairie, in lieu of trees to tie them to. Twilight had deepened
into the wan moonlight of a chilly night before all was so quiet as to
warrant Nat's attempt to escape from his present unfriendly proximity.
Quietly creeping along the river-bed, until out of hearing distance
of any wakeful ear, he finally stood up, climbed the bank, and struck
across the desert--as the stream took him away from instead of toward
the track he intended to find and follow.
Nothing interfered with his intentions, and he was soon traveling
briskly along the trail, which the descending moon enabled him to
follow. For an hour he made good progress; but as the moon went down
the wind arose, and soon that terrible tempest which was working such
destruction in the camp of the emigrants came upon him also, defying
his utmost efforts to hold his own against it. Not a rock to shelter
him, not a shrub to cling to, and wrapped in impenetrable darkness, all
he could do was to fling himself flat upon the ground, shut his eyes,
and let the winds trample him at their pleasure. During all the first
fury of the tornado he lay thus; when it had somewhat abated he arose
and struggled on against it. His only guide was the fact that the wind
had come from the direction in which he wished to go; so he now set
his face against it, feeling his way through the starless night. But
the wind has the reputation of being fickle, and it is not surprising,
therefore, that when the wished-for morning began to break, Nat Wolfe
found himself, instead of several miles on the way toward friends, back
in the camp of the enemy.
The Indians were already stirring, on the alert to discover what losses
they had sustained by the storm. Nat, fearing discovery on the open
plain, again took to his hands and knees, creeping along to seek for
some shelter in the bed of the stream until the party should have
mounted and ridden off. Scarcely had he gained a secure position, with
a friendly shrub again giving him an opportunity to reconnoiter, when
he perceived another band of mounted men swiftly approaching from the
west, along the Denver trail. That these, too, were red-skins, and
a part of the former party, he at once decided; but great was his
surprise to perceive that one of the savages rode his own lost steed,
Kit Carson.
His astonishment was swallowed up in a still greater emotion the next
instant; trained as he was to the suppression of all outward signs of
excitement, he could scarcely repress a cry, at perceiving, bound to
a pony, which was led by the rider of his own horse, a white captive
whom he recognized as the very young girl whom he had rescued from the
bisons. The east was now golden with the coming sunrise, and as the
party drew nearer he plainly observed the face of the captive--that
young, beautiful face--now so pale with terror and fatigue, as to
excite his deepest pity. The storm had blown the polished braids of
her hair into streaming tresses which rippled about her form in dark
waves. She was quiet, for her hands were tied, and effort was hopeless;
but her features had an expression of dread and anguish impossible to
depict. Nat remembered her pitiful avowal to him of her extreme horror
of Indians, and his stern heart shook with sympathy, as he noted the
still despair--aversion of her look. The one who led her pony Nat
recognized too--a dirty, repulsive savage upon whose face he had once
inflicted a wound, in a battle between the settlers and red-skins
years ago, and who had since concealed the marks of his disgrace
with a bandage. This fellow evidently knew that he was riding Golden
Arrow's horse; he was in high spirits, as he galloped along, forcing
the smaller pony which he led, into doing its best to keep up with him.
As the party swept by within two rods of where he crouched, Nat's eyes
almost met those of Elizabeth, who turned an eager piercing gaze at the
bush, as if her mind or senses had detected the presence of a friend.
The two companies now met; the new arrivals would not dismount, making
such gestures toward the girl, and the path they had come over, that
Nat easily understood they were afraid of pursuit, and were resolved
to press on to some more distant ground, before pausing for rest. The
others, acquiescing in this, mounted their horses, only pausing to
water them at the stream. During this brief interval of grace Nat Wolfe
had to make up his mind whether or not there was any thing to be done
for the salvation of that poor child whose beauty and distress alike
appealed to all the bravery, all the daring and chivalry of his nature.
It was one man, on foot, against forty mounted devils, who, however
cowardly some of them might be under equal chances, would be fired
with exultant ferocity by the advantages of the occasion. And, however
willing he might be to throw away his own life in the effort to
preserve the maiden, he felt that any failure on his part would only
hasten her fate. All these thoughts rushed through his brain in the
brief time he was given for reflection; but his pulse remained as
steady, his eyes as cool and quick as ever in his life; indeed, all his
faculties, while they intensified in power, gathered to his aid like
soldiers rushing to the call of their leader.
If he could have given Elizabeth warning of his proximity, so that
she would have been prepared to take advantage of any momentary
opportunity, it would have been increasing the chances of success, but
she was too lost in dread and too hopeless of succor, to be on the
look-out for friends in this unlikely spot. She did frequently turn
her head and gaze off over the track they had passed, as if with some
hope of the emigrants sending aid, and after such a fruitless search
over the desert road, would drop her head despairingly. Once, while all
the Indians were busy among themselves, and she seemed to be looking
toward the bush behind which he knelt, he ventured to raise his hand
an instant. Whether she perceived the signal he could not decide; she
certainly started, lifting her head with so eager a motion that her
savage captor turned toward her sharply, when she immediately resumed
her drooping attitude.
The one narrow chance which Nat saw, was to kill the rider and secure
his horse, who, he knew, would bound to him at the first call. If he
could do this before they wreaked a sudden revenge upon the girl, he
hoped to seize her and to fight his way free of the band. It would be
as good as a miracle if they should indeed get away without injury from
the shower of shot which would be poured upon them, as the Indians,
more than half of them, had guns.
"Kit knows I'm somewhere about," muttered the hunter, as his horse
began to grow restive--so restive that the red robber could hardly
retain his seat in the saddle. "I wouldn't give that horse for all the
human friends you could give standing-room on this prairie."
That instant the animal made a plunge which compelled his rider to
loosen his hold upon the pony's rein or lose his own equilibrium--he
dropped his hold upon the captive, and in three seconds Nat had pulled
trigger upon him. Simultaneously with the crack of his rifle the shriek
of the dying savage rung upon the air as he leaped from the saddle,
and fell headlong to the earth. Before the astonished enemy could
comprehend what had happened, with a sharp, low cry to his steed,
Golden Arrow sprung full into sight, appearing to their superstitious
gaze to have dropped from the sky. Kit needed no second signal. With
a joyous whining he bounded to meet his master, who was upon his back
before one of the savages had presence of mind to attempt retaliation.
In half a moment more he had snatched the girl from the rope which
bound her to the pony, flung her across his horse's neck, to whom he
gave an encouraging whistle, and turned to fly, with the whole pack,
now yelling with hate and fury, upon his track. Into the bed of the
stream Nat guided his horse, whose immense leaps, doubly burdened as he
was, showed his almost human sagacity in the consciousness of deadly
peril. More than twenty bullets whistled above and around them. Nat
felt one cut the rim of his cap, while another grazed his leg as it
plowed through his leather breeches. Whether any struck the frail form
hanging over his saddle-bow, he had no time to see--only there was
neither motion or cry. A few rods more placed them under the protection
of a rise in the bank, from whence he could act upon the defensive;
here, sheltered from their aim, he wheeled in the saddle and shot down
his nearest pursuer. Three or four more came recklessly on, but as many
shots from his revolver sent them dead to the earth, or wounded and
yelling back again. Finally the whole troop paused and backed out of
rifle-range, where they seemed to be holding a consultation. With all
possible speed Nat reloaded his rifle--he had yet two charges in his
revolver--then, patting his horse, gave him rein, and with a shout of
triumph, flew off over the plain in the direction of the trail to the
West. He feared nothing now, for he had a little the start, and there
was no animal in the group behind that could distance Kit Carson. Of
this the red-skins were as well aware as he; looking back, he perceived
they were not attempting pursuit, but were sullenly gathering about
their killed and wounded companions.
It was well for the escaped whites that this was the result. For a
while, Kit galloped on with fierce energy; but suddenly, and while they
were yet almost within sight of the enemy, he began to fail and stagger.
"What is it, Kit? What is it, my beauty?" questioned his owner,
stroking his neck, and speaking as softly as to a lady. "He is
hurt--bleeding--poor Kit!" he cried, as, stooping, he perceived for the
first time the life-blood flowing from a wound in the chest received
by the noble animal. "We must dismount and see what we can do for him."
The slackened speed and the voice of her preserver aroused Elizabeth;
she lifted herself from the neck to which she was clinging, and
comprehending what had happened, slid to the ground. Nat, with evident
distress, dismounted and examined the wound.
"Poor Kit, we can do nothing for you," he cried.
"Take this--perhaps you can stanch the blood," said his companion,
taking off her apron.
He tried to bind up the wound, but his efforts were of no avail--he had
only time to relieve him of the saddle before the faithful steed sunk
shivering upon his knees and rolled over upon his side.
"We have not even a drop of water for him," said Nat, in despair.
With a most pitiful, touching look of affection, the dying eyes of
the horse were fixed upon those of his master, who knelt beside him,
caressing and talking fondly to him. In a few moments all was over--Kit
Carson was dead.
The grief of his master was such as Elizabeth had not expected in so
hardy and self-possessed a character. With his face bowed upon the
proudly-arched neck now stiffening in death, Nat Wolfe remained silent,
lost in sorrow, not even looking back to be sure of his own safety from
lurking enemies. She saw how manfully he strove to restrain himself,
but how, in despite of his efforts, the breath came harder and more
labored until great sobs shook the breast of the brave stranger who had
twice periled life in her defense, and whose loss and trouble now had
been occasioned by his rescue of herself.
A little while Nat's face was hidden, ashamed of the tears which
flowed as a tribute to the memory of a friend the noblest and truest,
whose life had been given a sacrifice to crown years of faithful and
intelligent servitude--a little while, and then his face was lifted up
by a pair of small, soft hands; eyes glistening with tears of sympathy
met his, and a kiss fell upon his forehead. As she would have comforted
her uncle had she seen him in distress, the innocent child, moved by
pity, remorse and gratitude, strove to comfort the person she had
brought into this trouble--only the shyness, the sweet modesty which
she herself scarcely understood, made her actions the more lovely.
The timid touch and kiss, the sight of the fair face full of womanly
solicitude, thrilled the hunter's heart with a fire which his companion
little dreamed of kindling. It was a propitious moment for a new
feeling to steal in and usurp the place of the desolate, friendless
sense of loss which afflicted him. The little brown hand crept into his.
"It is all my fault. If it had not been for me, he would not have been
killed," said Elizabeth, sadly. "I am so sorry--so sorry--and yet--ah,
sir, if you had not come what would have been my--" she could not
finish the sentence--a shudder shook every fiber of her frame.
"He could not have died in a better cause. I would have sacrificed
Kit twice over to save you, so you must not blame yourself," he said,
becoming in his turn the comforter. "We are hardly safe yet," he added,
looking uneasily to the east. "If those prowling scoundrels should
discover our loss, they would be after us with a vengeance. I will look
well to my arms, and then we will take up our march without delay. Poor
child! how do you think you can stand thirst, hunger and fatigue? I
will try to shoot some stray game before night; but it's scarce here,
I can tell you, and we may not find a drop of water till we get to the
next station."
"I do not fear any thing in the world but those hateful Indians," was
the reply. "I had rather starve to death in the desert, than to ever
see one again. Oh, sir, let us get as far from them as we can."
He laughed at the beautiful, frightened eyes, lifted so confidingly and
appealingly to his own.
"I don't wonder they make you nervous, little girl. Wait until I cut a
lock of hair from Kit Carson's mane, and we will speed along. Poor Kit,
good-by!"
"Cut a lock for me, too," whispered Elizabeth.
Tears were in the eyes of both as they took their last look at their
murdered friend; but the presence of still imminent danger, and the
necessity of losing no time in seeking their party before their
strength should be exhausted, admonished them to linger no longer.
Under a burning sky, across the desolate, hot, unsheltered desert,
without food or water to refresh them, they took up their march.