"You know our purpose. You have approved it. I will now make known to
you the plan I had designed for accomplishing it, and listen to your
advice."
Here the chief paused a moment, while the men remained silent and
waiting.
"There are three passes," continued he at length, "by which we might
enter the Indian country from this side. There is, first, the route of
the Western Puerco. That would lead us direct to the Navajo towns."
"And why not take that way?" asked one of the hunters, a Mexican. "I
know the route well, as far as the Pecos towns."
"Because we could not pass the Pecos towns without being seen by Navajo
spies. There are always some of them there. Nay, more," continued
Seguin, with a look that expressed a hidden meaning, "we could not get
far up the Del Norte itself before the Navajoes would be warned of our
approach. We have enemies nearer home."
"Carrai! that is true," said a hunter, speaking in Spanish.
"Should they get word of our coming, even though the warriors had gone
southward, you can see that we would have a journey for nothing."
"True, true!" shouted several voices.
"For the same reason, we cannot take the pass of Polvidera. Besides, at
this season, there is but little prospect of game on either of these
routes. We are not prepared for an expedition with our present supply.
We must pass through a game-country before we can enter on the desert."
"That is true, captain; but there is as little game to be met if we go
by the old mine. What other road, then, can we take?"
"There is still another route better than all, I think. We will strike
southward, and then west across the Llanos to the old mission. From
thence we can go north into the Apache country."
"Yes, yes; that is the best way, captain."
"We will have a longer journey, but with advantages. We will find the
wild cattle or the buffaloes upon the Llanos. Moreover, we will make
sure of our time, as we can `cache' in the Pinon Hills that overlook the
Apache war-trail, and see our enemies pass out. When they have gone
south, we can cross the Gila, and keep up the Azul or Prieto. Having
accomplished the object of our expedition, we may then return homeward
by the nearest route."
"Bravo!" "Viva!" "That's jest right, captain!"
"That's clarly our best plan!" were a few among the many forms by which
the hunters testified their approval of the programme. There was no
dissenting voice. The word "Prieto" struck like music upon their ears.
That was a magic word: the name of the far-famed river on whose waters
the trapper legends had long placed the El Dorado, "the mountain of
gold." Many a story of this celebrated region had been told at the
hunters' camp-fire, all agreeing in one point: that there the gold lay
in "lumps" upon the surface of the ground, and filled the rivers with
its shining grains. Often had the trappers talked of an expedition to
this unknown land; and small parties were said to have actually entered
it, but none of these adventurers had ever been known to return.
The hunters saw now, for the first time, the prospect of penetrating
this region with safety, and their minds were filled with fancies wild
and romantic. Not a few of them had joined Seguin's band in hopes that
some day this very expedition might be undertaken, and the "golden
mountain" reached. What, then, were their feelings when Seguin declared
his purpose of travelling by the Prieto! At the mention of it a buzz of
peculiar meaning ran through the crowd, and the men turned to each other
with looks of satisfaction.
"To-morrow, then, we shall march," added the chief. "Go now and make
your preparations; we start by daybreak."
As Seguin ceased speaking, the hunters departed, each to look after his
"traps and possibles"; a duty soon performed, as these rude rangers were
but little encumbered with camp equipage.
I sat down upon a log, watching for some time the movements of my wild
companions, and listening to their rude and Babel-like converse.
At length arrived sunset, or night, for they are almost synonymous in
these latitudes. Fresh logs were flung upon the fires, till they blazed
up. The men sat around them, cooking, eating, smoking, talking loudly,
and laughing at stories that illustrated their own wild habits. The red
light fell upon fierce, dark faces, now fiercer and more swarthy under
the glare of the burning cotton-wood.
By its light the savage expression was strengthened on every
countenance. Beards looked darker, and teeth gleamed whiter through
them. Eyes appeared more sunken, and their glances more brilliant and
fiend-like. Picturesque costumes met the eye: turbans, Spanish hats,
plumes, and mottled garments; escopettes and rifles leaning against the
trees; saddles, high-peaked, resting upon logs and stumps; bridles
hanging from the branches overhead; strings of jerked meat drooping in
festoons in front of the tents, and haunches of venison still smoking
and dripping their half-coagulated drops!
The vermilion smeared on the foreheads of the Indian warriors gleamed in
the night light as though it were blood. It was a picture at once
savage and warlike--warlike, but with an aspect of ferocity at which the
sensitive heart drew back. It was a picture such as may be seen only in
a bivouac of guerilleros, of brigands, of man-hunters.