The blue dawn of morning was glinting among the rocks when I awoke. On
the crest of the cliff was a streak of amber-coloured light, that
betokened the rising of the sun and warned me that it was time to be
stirring. I had no toilet to make--no breakfast to eat: nothing to do
but mount my horse and move onward. I continued up the lateral ravine--
since there was no path leading out from it; and to return to the
Huerfano, would have been to ride back into the teeth of danger. I
still felt faint. Though less than twenty-four hours since I had eaten,
I hungered acutely. Was there nothing I could eat? I looked
inquiringly around. It was a scene of sterility and starvation. Not a
symptom of life--scarcely a sign of vegetation! Rocks, bare and
forbidding, formed two parallel facades grinning at each other across
the gorge--their rugged features but little relieved by the mottling of
dark junipers that clung from their clefts. There appeared neither root
nor fruit that might be eaten. Only a chameleon could maintain
existence in such a spot!
I had scarcely made this reflection, when, as if to contradict it, the
form of a noble animal became outlined before my eyes. Its colour,
size, and proportions, were those of a stag of the red deer species; but
its spiral horns proclaimed it of a different genus. These enabled me
to identify it as the rare mountain-ram--the magnificent _ammon_, of the
Northern Andes. It was standing upon a salient point of the cliff--its
form boldly projected against the purple sky, in an attitude fixed and
statuesque. One might have fancied it placed there for embellishment--a
characteristic feature of that wild landscape. The scene would have
been incomplete without it. From my point of observation it was five
hundred yards distant. It would have been equally safe at five: since I
had no means of destroying it. I might easily have crept within
shot-range--since a grove of cotton-woods, just commencing where I had
halted, extended up the bottom of the ravine. Under these I could have
stalked, to the base of the cliff on which the animal stood--a sort of
angular promontory projecting into the gorge. This advantage only
rendered the sight more tantalising: my gun was empty, and I had no
means of reloading it. Was it certain the piece was empty? Why should
the Indian have believed it to be loaded? Up to this moment, I had not
thought of examining it. I drew the ramrod, and inverted it into the
barrel. The head struck upon a soft substance. The screw stood four
fingers above the muzzle: the gun was charged! There was no cap upon
the nipple. There had been none! This accounted for the piece having
missed fire. In all likelihood, I owed my life to the circumstance of
the savage being ignorant of the percussion principle!
I was now indebted to another circumstance for a supply of caps. The
locker near the heel of the stock had escaped the attention of the
Indians. Its brass cover had passed for a thing of ornament. On
springing it open the little caps of corrugated copper gleamed before my
eyes--an abundance of them. I tapped the powder into the nipple;
adjusted a cap; and, dismounting, set forth upon the stalk. The
spreading tops of the cotton-woods concealed me; and, crouching under
them, I made my approaches as rapidly as the nature of the ground would
permit. It grew damper as I advanced; and, presently, I passed pools of
water and patches of smooth mud--where water had recently lain. It was
the bed of an intermittent stream--a hydrographic phenomenon of frequent
occurrence in the central regions of North America. The presence of
water accounted for that of the cotton-wood trees--a sure indication of
moisture in the soil.
The water was a welcome sight. I was suffering from thirst even more
than from hunger; and, notwithstanding the risk of losing my chance of a
shot, I determined to stop and drink. I was creeping forward to the
edge of one of the ponds, when a sight came under my eyes that
astonished me; and to such a degree, as to drive both thirst and hunger
out of my thoughts--at least for the moment. In the margin of sandy mud
extending along the edge of the water, appeared a line of tracks--the
tracks of human feet! On crawling nearer, I perceived that they were
mocassin-tracks, but of such tiny dimensions, as to leave no doubt as to
the sex of the individual who had made them. Clearly, they were the
imprints of a woman's feet! A woman must have passed that way! An
Indian woman of course!
This was my first reflection; and almost simultaneous with it arose
another half-interrogative conjecture: was it Su-wa-nee? No. The foot
was too small for that of the forest maiden. I had a remembrance of the
dimensions of hers. The tracks before my eyes were not over eight
inches in length: and could only have been made by a foot slender, and
of elegant shape. The imprint was perfect; and its clear outline
denoted the light elastic tread of youth. It was a _young_ woman who
had made those footmarks.
At first, I saw no reason to doubt that the tracks were those of some
Indian girl. Their size would not have contradicted the supposition.
Among the aboriginal belles of America, a little foot is the rule--a
large one the exception. I had tracked many a pair much smaller than
those; but never had I seen the footprints of an Indian with the _toes
turned out_; and such was the peculiarity of those now before me. This
observation--which I did not make till after some time had elapsed--
filled me with astonishment, and something more. It was suggestive of
many and varied emotions. The girl or woman who had made these tracks
could never have been strapped to an Indian cradle. She must be white!