Some words passed between us as we went. For my companion, I had news
that would make him supremely happy. Our conversation turned not on
that. "Soon enough," thought I, "when they shall come together. Let
both hearts be blessed at the same time." Ah! how my own was bleeding.
Little suspected the Spanish hunter how his tale had tortured me!
Wingrove, in brief detail, gave me the particulars of his escape. Like
myself, he had been captured without receiving any serious injury. They
would have killed him afterwards, but for the interference of the
Chicasaw, who, by some means, had gained an ascendancy over the
Red-Hand! In the breast of this desperate woman burned alternately the
passions of love and revenge. The former had been for the time in the
ascendant; but she had saved the captive's life, only in the hope of
making him _her_ captive. She had carried him to the copse, where he
had passed the night in her company--one moment caressed and entreated--
in the next reviled, and menaced with the most cruel death! In vain had
he looked for an opportunity to get away from her. Like a jealous
tigress had she watched him throughout the live-long night; and it was
only in the confusion, created by our sudden approach, that he had found
a chance of escape from the double guardianship in which he had been
held. All this was made known to me in a few hurried phrases.
Sure-shot! we were within speaking distance; but who could have
identified the Yankee in such a guise? The tricoloured escutcheon I had
myself so lately borne--the black face, shoulders, and arms--the white
circle on the breast--the red spot--all just as they had painted me!
"Jehosophet an' pigeon-pie!" cried he, as he saw us approach; "air it
yeou, capting? an' Wingrove, teoo!"
"Yes, brave comrade! Your shot has saved us all. Patience! we shall
soon set you free!"
Leaping down from our horses, we hurried up the sloping path. I was
still anxious about Sure-shot's safety; but in another moment, my
anxiety was at an end. He was yet unscathed. Like myself, he had
received some scratches, but no wound of a dangerous character. Like
myself, he had died a hundred deaths, and yet lived! His gleesome
spirit had sustained him throughout the dread ordeal. He had even joked
with his cruel tormentors! Now that the dark hour was past, his _jeux
d'esprit_ were poured forth with a continuous volubility. No; not
continuous. At intervals, a shadow crossed his spirit, as it did that
of all of us. We could not fail to lament the fate of the unfortunate
Hibernian.
"Poor Petrick!" said Sure-shot, as we descended the slope, "he weer the
joyfulest kimrade I ever hed, an' we must gi' him the berril o' a
Christyan. I wonder neow what on airth them verming lies done wi' him?
Wheer kin they have hid his body?"
"True--where is it? It was out yonder on the plain? I saw it there:
they had scalped him."
"Yees; they sculped him at the time we weer all captered. He weer lying
jest out theer last night at sundown. He ain't theer now; nor ain't a
been this mornin', or I'd a seed him. What do ees think they've done
wi' him anyhow?"
The disappearance of the body was singular enough. It had undoubtedly
been removed from the spot where it had lain; and was now nowhere to be
seen! It was scarcely probable that the wolves had eaten it, for the
Indians had been all night upon the ground; and their camp-fires were
near. True, the _coyotes_ would have cared little for that; but surely
the brutes could not have carried the body clear away? The bones, at
least, would have remained? There were none--not a trace either of body
or bones! We passed around the butte, and made search on the other
side. There was no dead body there--no remains of one. Ha--the river!
It swept past within fifty yards of the mound. It would account for the
disappearance of the corpse. Had the Indians thrown it into the water?
We walked towards the stream, half mechanically. We had little
expectation of finding the remains of the unfortunate man. The current
rushed rapidly on: the body would have been taken along with it?
"Maybe it mout hev lodged somewheres?" suggested Sure-shot. "Ef we shed
find it, capting, I'd like to put a sod over him, for old times' sake.
Shell we try down the stream?"
We followed the bank downward. A little below grew willows, forming a
selvedge to the river's edge. Their culms curved over, till the long
quivering leaves dipped into the water. Here and there were thickets of
them extending back into the plain. Only by passing through these could
the bank of the river be reached. We entered among the willows,
Wingrove going in the advance.
I saw him stoop suddenly, as if to examine the ground. An exclamation
escaped him, and the words:
"Someb'dy's crawled through hyar, or been dragged through--one o' the
two ways."
"No!" added he, after a moment, "he's not been dragged; he's been
creepin' on his hands an' knees. Look thar! the track o' a knee, as
clar as daylight; an', by the tarnal! it's been covered wi' broad-cloth.
No Injun kud a made that mark!"
We all bent over to examine the sign. Sure enough, it was the track of
a man's knee; and the plastic mud exhibited on its surface a print of
fretted lines, which must have been made by coarse threadbare cloth!
"By Gosh!" exclaimed Sure-shot, "that eer's the infantry overall--the
givernment cloth to a sartingty. Petrick's been abeout heer. Lordy,
tain't possyble he's still living?"
"Shure-shat! Shure-shat! Mother ov Moses! is it yerself I hear?"
The voice reached us in a hoarse whisper. It appeared to rise out of
the earth! For some moments, we all stood, as if petrified by surprise.
"Shure-shat!" continued the voice, "won't yez help me out? I'm too wake
to get up the bank."
"Petrick, as I'm a livin' sinner! Good Lordy, Petrick! wheer air ye?
'Tain't possyble yeer alive?"
"Och, an' shure I'm aloive, that same. But I'm more than half did, for
all that; an' nearly drownded to boot. Arrah, boys! rache me a hand,
an' pull me out--for I can't move meself--one of my legs is broke."
We all three rushed down to the water--whence the voice appeared to
come. Under the drooping willows, where the current had undermined the
bank, we perceived an object in motion. A fearful object it was to look
upon: it was the encrimsoned skull of our scalped comrade! His body was
submerged below the surface. His head alone was visible--a horrid
sight! The three of us leaped at once into the stream; and, raising the
poor fellow in our arms, lifted him out on the bank. It was as he had
alleged. One of his legs was broken below the knee; and other frightful
wounds appeared in different parts of his body. No wonder the Indians
had believed him dead, when they stripped off that terrible trophy!
Notwithstanding the ill usage he had received, there was still hope.
His wounds, though ugly to the eye, were none of them mortal. With
care, he might recover; and, taking him up as tenderly as possible, we
conveyed him back to the butte. The Arapahoes had left their
_impedimenta_ behind them--blankets and robes at discretion. With
these, a soft couch was prepared under the shade of the waggon body, and
the wounded man placed upon it. Such rude dressing, as we were able to
give, was at once administered to his wounds; and we found new joy in
the anticipation of his recovery. His disappearance--from the spot
where he had been left for dead--was explained. He had "played
'possum," as he himself expressed it. Though roughly handled, and
actually senseless for a time, he had still clung to life. He knew that
the Indians believed him dead--else why should they have scalped him?
With a faint hope of being left upon the field, he had lain still,
without stirring hand or foot; and the savages, otherwise occupied, had
not noticed him after taking his scalp. By some accident, his hands had
got over his face; and, perceiving that these screened his countenance
from observation, he had permitted them to remain so. With half-opened
eyes, he could see between his fingers, and note many of the movements
that were passing upon the plain in front of him--all this without the
Indians having the slightest suspicion that he lived!
It was a terrible time for him--an ordeal equal to that endured by
Sure-shot and myself. Every now and then some half drunken savage would
come staggering past; and he knew not how soon some one of these
strollers might stick a spear into him, out of mere wantonness! On the
arrival of night, his hopes had revived; and the cool air had also the
effect of partially restoring his strength. The savages, carousing
around their fires, took no notice of him; and, as soon as darkness was
fairly down, he had commenced crawling off in the direction of the
river. He had a double object in going thither. He was suffering from
horrid thirst; and he hoped there to find relief, as well as a
hiding-place. After crawling for more than an hour, he had succeeded in
reaching the bank; and, taking to the water, he had waded down, and
concealed himself under the willows--in the place where we had found
him. Such was the adventure of the _ci-devant_ soldier, Patrick
O'Tigg--an escape almost miraculous!
As if fulfilling the laws of dramatic justice--that the farce should
succeed the tragedy--our attention was at this moment called to a
ludicrous incident. The Mexican trapper had ridden up, and halted
beside the waggon; when all at once his eyes became fixed upon an object
that lay near at hand upon the grass. It was the black silk hat of the
ex-rifleman, already mentioned in our narrative. After gazing at it for
a moment, the Mexican slid down from his horse; and, hobbling towards
the hat, took it up. Then uttering a fierce "_Carajo_," he dashed the
"tile" back to the ground, and commenced stamping upon it, as if it had
been some venomous serpent he desired to annihilate!
"Hilloo! theer, _hombre_!" shouted Sure-shot. "What the ole scratch air
ye abeout? Why, ye yeller-bellied fool, thet's my _hat_ yeer stompin'
on!"
"_Your_ hat!" echoed the trapper in a contemptuous tone. "_Carrambo,
senor_! you should be ashamed of yourself. Any man who would wear a
silk hat! Wagh!"
"An' why ain't a silk hat as good's any other?"
"_Maldito sea_!" continued the trapper, taking the wooden leg from his
waist, and hammering the hat with it against a stone--"_maldito
sombrero_! but for that accursed invention, we poor trappers wouldn't be
as we are now. _Carrambo_! it's fetched beaver down to a plew a plug;
while only ten years ago, we could get six _pesos_ the skin! Only think
of that! _Carrai-i-i_!" Pronouncing this last exclamation with bitter
aspirate, the incensed trapper gave the unfortunate hat one more blow
with his timber leg; and then, spurning the battered tile from his toe,
hobbled back to his horse! Sure-shot was disposed to be angry, but a
word set all right. I perfectly comprehended the nature of the
trapper's antipathy to silk hats, and explained it to my comrade. In
their eyes, the absurd head-gear is more hideous than even to those who
are condemned to wear it--for the trappers well know, that the
introduction of the silk hat has been the ruin of their peculiar
calling.
"'Twan't much o' a hat, after all," said Sure-shot, reconciled by the
explanation. "It b'longed to the sutler at the Fort: for yee see,
capting, as we left theere for a leetle bit o' a hurry, I couldn't lay
my claws on my own ole forage-cap; so I took the hat in its place? an'
thet's how I kim by the thing. But heer's a hat perhaps, mister, this
heer'll pleeze ye better? Will it, eh?"
As Sure-shot put the question, he took up the plumed bonnet of an
Arapaho warrior--which had been left lying among the rocks--and,
adjusting the gaudy circlet upon his head, strode backward and forward
over the ground with all the swelling majesty of an Indian dandy! The
odd-looking individual and his actions caused the laughter of the
bystanders to break forth in loud peals. The Mexican fairly screamed,
interlarding his cachinnations with loud "santissimas," and other
Spanish exclamations; while even the wounded man under the waggon was
unable to restrain himself at the mirth-provoking spectacle.