IN THE DARKNESS
But Carlos was not to die.
The Indians, into whose hands he had fallen, were of the most peaceable
tribe left in the wide west--Zunis, of the Pueblos; and it was toward
one of their villages, or pueblos--from which they take their race
name--that they now conducted him. They had recently been greatly
harassed by some of their lawless neighbors and intended to make an
example of their captive, though without personal injury.
As they advanced on their journey Carlos noticed in surprise that there
were fine fields of corn and well cultivated vineyards along the banks
of a stream and felt that they must be nearing some great rancho. He
had heard his father describe the curious villages of the Pueblos and
hoped that it was to such a place that he was being taken; for, even
in this strait, his curiosity was great and he was eager to see new
things. Moreover, the ride continued so long that his spirits rose as
he reflected:
“Evidently, they aren’t going to kill me yet awhile.”
Then he stole a glance into the face of the brave walking nearest him
and observed that while it was as stern as ever it was not at all
“blood thirsty.” This increased both his courage and his interest.
“What a tale I shall have to tell--if I live to tell it! I believe I
shall. I’m sure these must be some of the ‘good Indians’ which the
Captain said were all dead. They look almost less Indian than Mexican,
though they are very tall and straight. That old fellow in front is
splendid. I wish, oh! how I do wish, I had learned to talk Pueblo when
Carlota did and my father warned me, indeed, coaxed me. He said that,
living as we did, among so many different people, we should study
the language of each. That I would find then the ‘knowledge’ that’s
‘power.’ It would be ‘power,’ indeed, if I were able to ask these
people if they know what they are doing and to whom they are doing it!”
At this point he cast a haughty look about him and gave his comely head
a higher toss. What? What was that? Did he detect something like a
grim smile on the lips of that young fellow at the left?
If so, the smile was too fleeting to have been real. The man was merely
adjusting the folds of his blanket, and it might have been a shadow of
these which nettled Carlos.
Nettled he was; and, although he knew he would not be understood, he
angrily demanded:
“Who are you? What are you going to do with me?”
At sound of his voice the leader of the party turned half about, as if
to answer, but checked the seeming impulse; and, in the same stolid
silence, the party pressed forward among the scattered shrubs and trees
which now marked their path.
Gradually, the trees increased in size and number. There were other and
wider streams, at one of which a man stooped and filled a gourd that
hung at his waist. He offered this to Carlos, holding it to the lad’s
parched lips with a kindliness of gesture that, surely, betokened no
malice.
Carlos would have pushed the gourd away, but nature was too strong
for this; so, setting his lips to the rim, he drained the cup to the
bottom.
“Oh! how delicious that was! Thank you!” said he gratefully.
The gourd was refilled and emptied a second time; then the Indian
himself drank. So did several others of the party which numbered, as
the prisoner judged without seeing those behind him, a dozen or more
men.
Onward again; the long unbroken strides of the redskins equalling the
restless pace of the led mustang upon which the captive rode. He was
about to ask if he, also, might get down and walk; hoping to make them
understand his gestures if not his words, when a sudden turn of the
mountain spur disclosed the picture he had longed to see. Before him,
on a terrace-like hill, lay a cluster of adobe huts, or, as it rather
seemed, one wide-spreading habitation which might shelter many people.
If his captors did not understand his speech, at least, they did his
smile of satisfaction, as he cried:
“A Pueblo village! Then I am safe!”
He eagerly studied it as it lay, gradually rising upon the slope, its
succession of roofs appearing like some gigantic stairway. Upon the
roofs some women were sitting, weaving. He noticed the ladder-like
arrangement, leading from the ground to the top, by which the buildings
could be entered; though there were, also, openings here and there
upon the level of the foundation. His observation was terminated by
somebody’s lifting him from his horse and tieing his own sash over his
eyes.
“You shall not! You--shall--not! If I am to die--I’ll die with my eyes
wide open!” he screamed, excitedly. For now his fear had returned and
he as confidently expected death as he had life, but a moment before.
There followed some talk among those who had been most active in his
capture, and then he was again lifted and borne onward, upward, as
it seemed, though he could neither see nor help himself save by his
shrieks which, however, availed him nothing. Thus, struggling and
protesting, he was carried whither his captors chose; and, after what
seemed an hour but was only a few minutes, he was unceremoniously
dumped upon an earthen floor.
Leaping to his feet he peered around him. He seemed to be alone and he
was in darkness.