I kept the telescope to my eye not half so long as I have taken in
telling of it. Quick as I saw that the men stirring around the waggon
were Indians, I thought only of screening my person from their sight.
To effect this, I dropped down from the summit of the rock--on the
opposite side from that facing toward the savages. Showing only the top
of my head, and with the glass once more levelled up the valley, I
continued the observation. I now became assured that the victim of the
ensanguined skull was a white man; that the other prostrate forms were
also the bodies of white men, all dead--all, no doubt, mutilated in a
similar manner?
The tableau told its own tale. The presence of the waggon halted, and
without horses--one or two dead ones lying under the tongue--the ruck of
Indians clustering around it--the bodies stretched along the earth--
other objects, boxes, and bales, strewed over the sward--all were
significant of recent strife. The scene explained what we had heard
while coming up the canon. The fusillade had been no fancy, but a
fearful reality--fearful, too, in its effects, as I was now satisfied by
the testimony of my telescope. The caravan had been attacked, or, more
likely, only a single waggon that had been straggling in the rear? The
firing may have proceeded from the escort, or the armed emigrants?
Indians may have fallen: indeed there were some prostrate forms apart,
with groups gathered around them, and those I conjectured to be the
corpses of red men. But it was evident the Indians had proved
victorious: since they were still upon the field--still holding the
place and the plunder.
Where were the other waggons of the train? There were fifty of them--
only one was in sight! It was scarcely possible that the whole caravan
had been captured. If so, they must have succumbed within the pass? A
fearful massacre must have been made? This was improbable: the more so,
that the Indians around the waggon appeared to number near two hundred
men. They must have constituted the full band: for it is rare that a
war-party is larger. Those seen appeared to be all warriors, naked from
the breech-clout upward, their skins glaring with pigments. Neither
woman nor child could I see among them. Had the other waggons been
captured, there would not have been so many of the captors clustered
around this particular one. In all likelihood, the vehicle had been
coming up behind the others? The animals drawing it had been shot down
in the skirmish, and it had fallen into the hands of the successful
assailants?
These conjectures occupied me only a moment. Mingled with them was one
of still more special import: to whom had belonged the abandoned waggon?
With fearful apprehension, I covered the ground with my glass--
straining my sight as I gazed through it. I swept the whole surface of
the surrounding plain. I looked under the waggon--on both sides of it,
and beyond. I sought amidst the masses of dusky forms I examined the
groups and stragglers--even the corpses that strewed the plain. Thank
Heaven! they were all black, or brown, or red! All appeared to be
_men_--both the living and the dead--thank Heaven! The ejaculation
ended my survey of the scene: it had scarcely occupied ten seconds of
time.
It was interrupted by a sudden movement on the part of the savages.
Those on horseback were seen separating from the rest; and, the instant
after, appeared coming on in the direction of the butte! The movement
was easily accounted for. My imprudence had betrayed our presence. I
had been seen while standing on the summit of the mound! I felt regret
for my own rashness; but there was no time to indulge in the feeling,
and I stifled it. The moment called for action--demanding all the
firmness of nerve and coolness of head which, fortunately, I had
acquired by the experience of similar arises. Instead of shouting to my
comrades--as yet unconscious of the approaching danger--I remained upon
the summit without uttering a word, or showing a sign that might alarm
them. My object in so acting was to avoid the confusion, consequent
upon a sudden panic, and keep my mind free to think over some plan of
escape. The Indians were still five miles off. It would be some
minutes at least before they could attack us. Two or three of these
could be spared for reflection. After that, it would be time to call in
the counsel of my companions.
I am here describing in detail, and with the tranquillity of closet
retrospect, thoughts that follow one another with the rapidity of
lightning flashes. To say that I reflected coolly, would not be true: I
was at that moment too much under the influence of fear for tranquil
reflection. I perceived at once that the situation was more than
dangerous: it was desperate. Flight was my first thought, or rather my
first instinct: for, on reflection, it failed. The idea was to fling
off the packs, mount the two pedestrians upon the mules, and gallop back
for the canon. The conception was good enough, if it could have been
carried out, but of this there was no hope. The defile was too distant
to be reached in time. The two who might ride the mules could never
make it--they must fall by the way. Even if all four of us should
succeed in getting back to the canon, what then? Was it likely we
should ever emerge from it? We might for a time defend ourselves within
its narrow gorge; but to pass clear through and escape at the other end
would be impossible. A party of our pursuers would be certain to take
over the ridge, and head us below. To anticipate them in their arrival
there, and reach the woods beyond, would be utterly out of our power.
The trail through the canon was full of obstacles, as we had already
discovered--and these would delay us. Without a prospect of reaching
the forest below it would be of no use attempting flight. In the valley
around us there was no timbered tract--nothing that deserved the name of
a wood: only copses and groves, the largest of which would not have
sheltered us for an hour.
I had a reflection. Happy am I now, and proud, that I had the virtue to
stifle it. For myself, escape by flight might not have been so
problematical. A steed stood near that could have carried me beyond all
danger. It only needed to fling myself into the saddle, and ply the
spur. Even without that impulsion, my Arab would, and could, have
carried me clear of the pursuit. Death was preferable to the thought.
I could only indulge it as a last resort--after all else had failed and
fallen. Three men were my companions, true and tried. To all of them,
I owed some service--to one little less than my life--for the bullet of
the eccentric ranger had once saved me from an enemy. It was I who had
brought on the impending attack. It was but just I should share its
danger; and the thought of shunning it vanished on the instant of its
conception. Escape by flight appeared hopeless. On the shortest survey
of the circumstances I perceived that our only chance lay in defending
ourselves. The chance was not much worth; but there was no alternative.
We must stand and tight, or fall without resisting. From such a foe as
that coming down upon us, we need expect no grace--not a modicum of
mercy. Where was our defence to be made? On the summit of the butte?
There was no better place in sight--no other that could be reached,
offering so many advantages. Had we chosen it for a point of defence,
it could not have promised better for the purpose. As already stated,
the cone was slightly truncated--its top ending in a _mesa_. The table
was large enough to hold four of us. By crouching low, or lying flat
upon it, we should be screened from the arrows of the Indians, or such
other weapons as they might use. On the other hand, the muzzles of four
guns pointed at _them_, would deter them from approaching the base of
the butte. Scarcely a minute was I in maturing a plan; and I lost less
time in communicating it to my companions. Returning to them, as fast
as I could make the descent, I announced the approach of the Indians.
The announcement produced a surprise sufficiently unpleasant, but no
confusion. The old soldiers had been too often under fire to be
frightened out of their senses at the approach of an enemy; and the
young hunter was not one to give way to a panic. All three remained
cool and collected, as they listened to my hurried detail of the plan I
had sketched out for our defence. There was no difficulty in inducing
them to adopt it. All agreed to it eagerly and at once: in short, all
saw that there was no alternative. Up the mound again--this time
followed by my three comrades--each of us heavily laden. In addition to
our guns and ammunition, we carried our saddles and mule-packs, our
blankets and buffalo-robes. It was not their intrinsic value that
tempted us to take this trouble with our _impedimenta_: our object was
to make with them a rampart upon the rock. We had just time for a
second trip; and, flinging our first loads up to the table, we rushed
back down the declivity. Each seized upon such objects as offered
themselves--valises, the soldiers' knapsacks, joints of the antelope
lately killed, and the noted meal-bag--all articles likely to avail us
in building our bulwark.
The animals must be abandoned--both horses and mules. Could we take
them up to the summit? Yes, the thing could be accomplished, but to
what purpose? It would be worse than useless: since it would only
render them an aim for the arrows of the enemy, and insure their being
shot down at once. To leave them below appeared the better plan. A
tree stood near the base of the mound. To its branches their bridles
had been already looped. There they would be within easy range of our
rifles. We could shelter them so long as there was light. To protect
them might appear of little advantage; since in the darkness they could
be easily taken from us. But in leaving them thus, we were not without
some design. We, too, might build a hope on the darkness. If we could
succeed in sustaining the attack until nightfall, flight might _then_
avail us. In truth, that seemed the only chance we should have of
ultimately escaping from our perilous situation. We resolved,
therefore, to look well to the safety of the animals. Though, forced to
forsake them for a time, we might still keep the enemy off, and again
recover them? The contingency was not clear, and we were too much
hurried to dwell long upon it. It only flitted before our minds like a
gleam of light through, the misty future.
I had just time to bid farewell to my Arab--to run my fingers along his
smooth arching neck--to press my lips to his velvet muzzle. Brave
steed! tried and trusty friend! I could have wept at the parting. He
made answer to my caresses: he answered them with a low whimpering
neigh. He knew there was something amiss--that there was danger. Our
hurried movements had apprised him of it; but the moment after, his
altered attitude, his flashing eyes, and the loud snorting from his
spread nostrils, told that he perfectly comprehended the danger. He
heard the distant trampling of hoofs: he knew that an enemy was
approaching. I heard the sounds myself, and rushed back up the butte.
My companions were already upon the summit, busied in building the
rampart around the rock. I joined them, and aided them in the work.
Our _paraphernalia_ proved excellent for the purpose--light enough to be
easily handled, and sufficiently firm to resist either bullets or
arrows. Before the Indians had come within hailing distance, the
parapet was completed; and, crouching behind it, we awaited their
approach.