"The huntress has returned soon?" said the chief, interrogatively, as
the girl glided up to him. "She brings strange game!" added he, with a
smile. "Who is the young warrior with the white circle upon his breast?
He is a pale-face. It is not the custom of our white brothers to adorn
themselves in such fashion?"
"The painting is not his," replied the girl. "It has been done by the
hands of his enemies--by red men. The white circle was designed for a
mark, at which many bullets have been fired. The red streaks you see
are blood, that has streamed from wounds inflicted on the stranger's
body! When Wa-ka-ra shall know who caused that blood to flow, he will
hasten to avenge it."
"If it be the wish of the white huntress, Wa-ka-ra will avenge the
blood--even though his own people may have spilled it. Speak,
Ma-ra-nee! You say that red men have done this--were they Utahs?"
"No; but the enemies of the Utahs."
"The Utahs have many enemies--on the north, south, east, and west they
have foes. Whence comes the stranger? and who has been spilling his
blood?"
"From the east--from the _Arapahoes_."
"Ugh!" exclaimed the chief, with a start, his countenance suddenly
becoming clouded with an angry expression. "Arapahoes! Where has the
pale-face encountered the Arapahoes?"
"On the Huerfano."
"Good; the white huntress brings news that will gladden the hearts of
the Utah warriors! Arapahoes on the Huerfano! who has seen them there?"
The huntress replied by pointing to me. "He has been their captive,"
she added, "and has just escaped from them. He can guide Wa-ka-ra to
their camp, where the Utah chief will find his deadliest enemy--
Red-Hand."
At the mention of this name, the cloud that was gathering upon the brow
of the Utah chief became darker by several shades, and the mild
expression was no longer observable. In its place was a look of fierce
resolve, blended with glances that spoke a savage joy. Some old and
terrible resentment was rekindled by the name--with a hope, no doubt, of
its being gratified?
The chief now entered upon a series of interrogatories directed to
myself. He spoke English--thanks to his trapper associations: and it
was in this language he had been conversing with the huntress. His
inquiries were directed to such particulars as might put him in
possession of the necessary knowledge for an attack upon the Arapahoes.
As concisely as possible, I made known their position and numbers--with
other circumstances calculated to aid in the design. The account I gave
seemed to gratify him. As soon as our dialogue was ended, I had the
satisfaction to hear him declare his intention of proceeding at once to
the valley of the Huerfano! To me it was joyful news: my comrades might
yet be rescued from the hands of the Arapahoes?
"Ma-ra-nee!" said he, again addressing himself to the huntress, "conduct
the stranger to your tent! Give him food. And you, _Cojo_!" he
continued, turning to the little Mexican, "you are skilled in medicine--
look to his wounds! He can repose while we are preparing. Ho! sound
the signal of _assembly_! Summon our braves to the war-dance!"
The last words were addressed to an Indian who was standing close behind
him. Quickly succeeding the order, the notes of a bugle burst upon the
air--strange sounds in an Indian camp! But the white man's music was
not the only sign of civilised life to be observed among the tents of
the Utahs. The guns and pistols--the spurs, lances, and saddles--the
shakos and helmets--all spoke of the spoiled _presidios_ on the Mexican
frontier; while fair-skinned _doncellas_ of Spanish race were seen
mingling with the copper-coloured squaws--aiding them in their domestic
duties--captives to all appearance contented with their captivity! None
of this was new to me. I had witnessed similar scenes in the land of
the Comanche. They are of daily occurrence along the whole frontier of
Spanish America: where the red man constantly encroaches--reclaiming the
country of his ancestors, wrested from him three centuries ago by the
cupidity of the _Conquistadores_.
Upon the side of the Indian now lies the strength--if not in numbers--at
least in courage and war-prowess. The horse he once dreaded has become
his dearest friend; and he can manage him with a skill scarcely equalled
by his pale-faced adversary. The lance and fire-weapon are in his
hands; the spirit-thunder no longer appals him: he knows its origin and
nature, and uses it in the accomplishment of a terrible retaliation! On
the northern continent, Utah and Yaqui, Kiowa and Comanche, Apache and
Navajo, have all proved their superiority over the degenerated
descendants of Cortez: as in the south have Cuncho and Cashibo, Goajira
and Auracanian, over those of the ruthless Pizarro. The red man no
longer goes to war as a mere savage. He has disciplined his strength
into a perfect strategy; and possesses a military system as complete as
that of most civilised nations. The Comanche cavalry charges in line,
and can perform evolutions to the call of the bugle! So can the Utah,
as I had evidence at that moment. Before the trumpet-notes had ceased
to reverberate from the rocks, five hundred warriors had secured their
horses, and stood beside them armed and ready to mount. A regiment of
regular dragoons could not have responded to "Boots and saddles" with
greater expedition!
Peg-leg took possession of me. "Senor Pintado!" said he, speaking in
Spanish, and after having examined my wounds, "the best medicine for you
will be your breakfast; and while your _conpaisana_ is preparing it, you
can come with me, and have a little water thrown over you. This
painting does not improve your looks; besides, if it get into your
wounds, they will be all the more difficult to make a cure of. _Nos
vamos_!"
The huntress had retired to a tent that stood near that of the chief,
and a little to the rear of it. I followed the Mexican, who, in a
hobbling gait, proceeded towards the stream. The cold bath, assisted by
some Taos brandy from the gourd _xuage_ of the trapper, soon restored my
strength; and the hideous pigment, lathered with the bruised roots of
the _palmilla_--the soap-plant of the New Mexicans, soon disappeared
from my skin. A few slices of the _oregano_ cactus applied to my
wounds, placed them in a condition to heal with a rapidity almost
miraculous; for such is the curative power of this singular plant. My
Mexican _medico_ was yet more generous, and furnished me with a handsome
Navajo blanket, which served as a complete covering for my shoulders.
"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed he, as he tendered the garment, "take it,
_Americano_! You maybe able to repay me when you have recovered your
possible-sack from the Arapahoes. _Mira_!" he added, pointing towards
the tents--"your breakfast is ready: yonder the _senorita_ is calling
you. Take heed, _hombre_! or her eyes may cause you a more dangerous
wound than any of those you have received from the bullets of the
Arapahoes. _Vaya_!"
I resisted an inclination to make inquiries: though the hint of the Taos
trapper half furnished me with an excuse. My "countrywoman," he had
called her. No doubt he knew more of her history; but I questioned him
not. Remembering her promise, I had hopes that I might soon learn it
from her own lips.