We again rode through the upper canon of the Huerfano, keeping along the
bank of the stream. Farther on we came to the forking of two trails--
the more southern one leading up to the Cuchada, to the pass of Sangre
de Cristo. By it had the gold-seekers gone in company with the
dragoons--the latter _en route_ for the new military post of Port
Massachusetts--the former, no doubt, intending to take the line of the
Gila or Mohave to their still distant destination--the gold-bearing
placers of California?
Above its upper canon the Huerfano bends suddenly to the north; and up
its bank lies the route to Robideau's Pass--the same taken by the Mormon
train. We had no difficulty in following their trail. The wheel and
hoof-tracks had cut out a conspicuous road; and the numbers of both
showed that the party was a large one--much larger than our previous
information had led us to anticipate. This was of little consequence--
since in any case, we could not have used force in the accomplishment of
our design. I regarded it rather as a favourable circumstance. The
greater the multitude, the less likelihood of an individual being
closely observed, or speedily missed. We reached Robideau's Pass as the
sun was sinking over the great plain of San Luis. Within the pass we
lighted upon the ground of the Mormon encampment. It had been their
halting-place of the night before. The wolves were prowling among the
smouldering fires--whose half-burnt faggots still sent up their wreaths
of filmy smoke.
We now knew the history of the captured waggon and slain teamsters. Our
guide had learnt it from the Utah messenger. The vehicle had belonged
to the Mormons; who, at the time the Arapahoes made their attack, were
only a short distance in the advance. Instead of returning to the
rescue of their unfortunate comrades, their dread of the Indians had
caused them to yield ready obedience to the Napoleonic motto, _sauve qui
peut_: and they had hurried onward without making stop, till night
overtook them in the Robideau Pass. This version enabled me to explain
what had appeared very strange conduct on the part of the escort. The
character of the victims to the Arapaho attack would in some measure
have accounted for the indifference of the dragoons. With the safety of
the Mormons they had no concern; and would be likely enough to leave
them to their fate. But the guide had ascertained that both
gold-diggers and dragoons--disgusted with their saintly _compagnons du
voyage_--had separated from them; and, having gone far ahead, in all
probability knew nothing of the sanguinary scene that had been enacted
in the valley of the Huerfano!
We resolved to pass the night on the ground of the deserted encampment.
By our guide's information--received from the runner--the Mormons were
about thirty miles in advance of us. They were encamped on the banks of
the Rio del Norte, there awaiting the answer of the Utah chief. That
answer we should ourselves deliver on the following day. Having given
the _coyotes_ their _conge_, we proceeded to pitch our buffalo-tents. A
brace of these, borrowed from the friendly Utahs, formed part of the
packing of our mules. One was intended for the use of the
huntress-maiden--the other to give lodgment to the rest of our party.
Not but that all of us--even Marian herself--could have dispensed with
such a shelter. We had another object in thus providing ourselves. It
might be necessary to travel some days in the company of the Saints. In
that case, the tents would serve not only for shelter, but as a place of
_concealment_. The opaque covering of skins would protect us from the
too scrutinising gaze of our fellow-travellers; and in all likelihood
we--the hunters of the party--should stand in need of such privacy to
readjust our disguises--disarranged in the chase. Under cover of the
tents, we could renew our toilet without the danger of being intruded
upon. Chiefly for this reason, then, had we encumbered ourselves with
the skin lodges.
Thus far had we come without interruption. Though the trail was a route
frequently travelled, both by Indians and whites, no one of either race
had been encountered upon the way. We had seen neither man nor horse,
excepting our own. For all that, we had not advanced without a certain
circumspection. There was still a possibility of peril, of which we
were aware; and we omitted no precautions that might enable us to avoid
it. The danger I allude to was a probable encounter with some of our
late enemies--the Arapahoes. Not those who had just been discomfited;
but a party of my own pursuers of the preceding night. Some of these
had returned to the butte as already stated, but had _all_ gone back?
Might not others--stimulated by a more eager spirit of vengeance, or the
ambition of striking a glorious _coup_ by my capture--have continued the
pursuit? If so we might expect to encounter them on their return; or,
if first perceived, we might fall into an ambuscade. In either case
should they chance to outnumber us--to any great extent--a collision
would be inevitable and dangerous.
If such a party was ahead of us--and it was still a question--we knew
that they could not possibly be aware of the defeat sustained by their
comrades under Red-Hand; and, having no knowledge of their own
predicament, would fight without that dread, which such a circumstance
might otherwise have inspired. It was scarcely probable either, that
their party would be a very small one--by no means as small as our own.
It was not likely that less than a dozen of their warriors would venture
over ground, where, at every moment, they would risk meeting with a more
powerful band of their Utah enemies--to say nothing of an encounter with
a retaliating party from the Mormon train? Weighing the probabilities
that Arapahoes were ahead of us, we had taken due precaution to avoid
the contingency of meeting them. We had looked for "sign" to contradict
our suspicions, or confirm them. We had not found any--either tracks of
their horses, or any other trace of their passage along the trail. In
the canon, yes. There we had seen the hoof-prints of their horses: but
not beyond it, nor at the entrance of Robideau's Pass. If they had gone
forward, it must have been by some parallel route, and not upon the
trail of the emigrant waggons? Nor yet upon the area of the encampment
had we been able to meet with any indications of their presence: though
we had spent the last minutes of daylight in a careful scrutiny of the
ground.
As for myself I looked for indications of a very different kind; but
equally without success. The absence of all Lilian sign satisfied us
that we had no enemy to fear. Even the wary trapper saw no imprudence
in our making a fire, and one was made--a large pile, for which the
half-burnt faggots scattered over the camp afforded the ready material.
The fire was not called for by the cold--for the night was a mild one--
but simply to serve the purposes of our _cuisine_; and, hungered by the
long ride, we all did full justice to our supper of dried deer-meat,
eaten _alfresco_.
After the meal the men of us sat around the fire, indulging in that
luxury--esteemed sweet by the prairie traveller--the fumes of the
Nicotian weed. Marian had retired to her tent; and, for a few minutes,
was lost to our sight. After a short time she came forth again; but,
instead of joining us by the cheerful _hearth_, she was seen sauntering
down in the direction of the stream. This caused a defection in our
party. The young backwoodsman rose to his feet; and silently, but with
rather an awkward grace, walked towards the tent--not Marian's. He
might as well have spared himself the trouble of taking up some of his
accoutrements, and pretending to examine them. The feint was perfectly
transparent to the rest of us--especially when the action ended, by his
strolling off almost on the identical track taken by the
huntress-maiden!
"_Amantes_?" (lovers), whispered Archilete, half-interrogatively, as
with a smile of quiet significance he followed the receding form of the
hunter. "Yes; lovers who have been long separated."
"_Carrambo_! Do you say so? This then should be the rival of the false
husband?" I nodded assent. "_Por Dios, Senor_; it is not to be
wondered at that the canting _heretico_ stood no chance in that game--
had it been played fairly. Your _camarado_ is a magnificent fellow. I
can understand now why the wild huntress had no eyes for our
_mountain-men_ here. No wonder she sighed for her far forest-home. _Ay
de mi, cavallero_! Love is a powerful thought, even the desert will not
drive it out of one's heart. No, no; _valga me dios_! no!"
The tone in which the Mexican repeated the last words had a tinge of
sadness in it--while his eyes turned upon the fire with an expression
that betrayed melancholy. It was easy to tell that he too--odd, and
even ludicrous as was his personal appearance--either was, or had been,
one of love's victims. I fancied he might have a story to tell--a love
story? and at that moment my mind was attuned to listen to such a tale.
Sure-shot had also left us--our animals picketed a few paces off
requiring his attention--and the two of us were left alone by the fire.
If the trapper's tale should prove a sentimental romance--and such are
not uncommon in the Mexican border land--the moment was opportune.
Seeing that my new acquaintance was in the communicative mood, I essayed
to draw him forth.
"You speak truly," I said. "Love _is_ a powerful passion, and defies
even the desert to destroy it. You yourself have proved it so, I
presume? You have souvenirs?"
"Ay, senor, that have I; and painful ones."
"Painful?"
"As poison--_Carrai-i-i_!"
"Your sweetheart has been unfaithful?"
"No."
"Her parents have interfered, I suppose, as is often the case? She has
been forced against her will to marry another?"
"Ah! _senor_, no. She was never married."
"Not married? what then?"
"She was _murdered_!"
Regret at having initiated a conversation--that had stirred up such a
melancholy memory--hindered me from making rejoinder; and I remained
silent. My silence, however, did not stay the tale. Perhaps my
companion longed to unburden himself; or, with some vague hope of
sympathy, felt relief in having a listener. After a pause he proceeded
to narrate the story of his love, and the sad incidents that led to its
fatal termination.