"Come," said Seguin, touching me on the arm, "our supper is ready; I see
the doctor beckoning us." I was not slow to answer the call, for the
cool air of the evening had sharpened my appetite. We approached the
tent, in front of which was a fire.
Over this, the doctor, assisted by Gode and a pueblo peon, was just
giving the finishing touch to a savoury supper.
Part of it had already been carried inside the tent. We followed it,
and took our seats upon saddles, blankets, and packs.
"Why, doctor," said Seguin, "you have proved yourself a perfect _maitre
de cuisine_ to-night. This is a supper for a Lucullus."
"Ach! mein captain, ich have goet help; Meinherr Gode assist me most
wonderful."
"Well, Mr Haller and I will do full justice to your dishes. Let us to
them at once!"
"Oui, oui! bien, Monsieur Capitaine," said Gode, hurrying in with a
multitude of viands. The "Canadien" was always in his element when
there was plenty to cook and eat.
We were soon engaged on fresh steaks (of wild cows), roasted ribs of
venison, dried buffalo tongues, tortillas, and coffee. The coffee and
tortillas were the labours of the pueblo, in the preparation of which
viands he was Gode's master.
But Gode had a choice dish, _un petit morceau_, in reserve, which he
brought forth with a triumphant flourish.
"Voici, messieurs?" cried he, setting it before us.
"What is it, Gode?"
"Une fricassee, monsieur."
"Of what?"
"Les frog; what de Yankee call boo-frog!"
"A fricassee of bull-frogs!"
"Oui, oui, mon maitre. Voulez vous?"
"No, thank you!"
"I will trouble you, Monsieur Gode," said Seguin.
"Ich, ich, mein Gode; frocks ver goot;" and the doctor held out his
platter to be helped.
Gode, in wandering by the river, had encountered a pond of giant frogs,
and the fricassee was the result. I had not then overcome my national
antipathy to the victims of Saint Patrick's curse; and, to the
voyageur's astonishment, I refused to share the dainty.
During our supper conversation I gathered some facts of the doctor's
history, which, with what I had already learned, rendered the old man an
object of extreme interest to me.
Up to this time, I had wondered what such a character could be doing in
such company as that of the Scalp-hunters. I now learned a few details
that explained all.
His name was Reichter--Friedrich Reichter. He was a Strasburgher, and
in the city of bells had been a medical practitioner of some repute.
The love of science, but particularly of his favourite branch, botany,
had lured him away from his Rhenish home. He had wandered to the United
States, then to the Far West, to classify the flora of that remote
region. He had spent several years in the great valley of the
Mississippi; and, falling in with one of the Saint Louis caravans, had
crossed the prairies to the oasis of New Mexico. In his scientific
wanderings along the Del Norte he had met with the Scalp-hunters, and,
attracted by the opportunity thus afforded him of penetrating into
regions hitherto unexplored by the devotees of science, he had offered
to accompany the band. This offer was gladly accepted on account of his
services as their medico; and for two years he had been with them,
sharing their hardships and dangers.
Many a scene of peril had he passed through, many a privation had he
undergone, prompted by a love of his favourite study, and perhaps, too,
by the dreams of future triumph, when he would one day spread his
strange flora before the _savants_ of Europe. Poor Reichter! Poor
Friedrich Reichter! yours was the dream of a dream; it never became a
reality!
Our supper was at length finished, and washed down with a bottle of Paso
wine. There was plenty of this, as well as Taos whisky in the
encampment; and the roars of laughter that reached us from without
proved that the hunters were imbibing freely of the latter.
The doctor drew out his great meerschaum, Gode filled a red claystone,
while Seguin and I lit our husk cigarettes.
"But tell me," said I, addressing Seguin, "who is the Indian?--he who
performed the wild feat of shooting the--"
"Ah! El Sol; he is a Coco."
"A Coco?"
"Yes; of the Maricopa tribe."
"But that makes me no wiser than before. I knew that much already."
"You knew it? Who told you?"
"I heard old Rube mention the fact to his comrade Garey."
"Ay, true; he should know him." Seguin remained silent.
"Well?" continued I, wishing to learn more. "Who are the Maricopas? I
have never heard of them."
"It is a tribe but little known, a nation of singular men. They are
foes of the Apache and Navajo; their country lies down the Gila. They
came originally from the Pacific, from the shores of the Californian
Sea."
"But this man is educated, or seems so. He speaks English and French as
well as you or I. He appears to be talented, intelligent, polite--in
short, a gentleman."
"He is all you have said."
"I cannot understand this."
"I will explain to you, my friend. That man was educated at one of the
most celebrated universities in Europe. He has travelled farther and
through more countries, perhaps, than either of us."
"But how did he accomplish all this? An Indian!"
"By the aid of that which has often enabled very little men (though El
Sol is not one of those) to achieve very great deeds, or at least to get
the credit of having done so. By gold."
"Gold! and where got he the gold? I have been told that there is very
little of it in the hands of Indians. The white men have robbed them of
all they once had."
"That is in general a truth; and true of the Maricopas. There was a
time when they possessed gold in large quantities, and pearls too,
gathered from the depths of the Vermilion Sea. It is gone. The Jesuit
padres could tell whither."
"But this man? El Sol?"
"He is a chief. He has not lost all his gold. He still holds enough to
serve him, and it is not likely that the padres will coax it from him
for either beads or vermilion. No; he has seen the world, and has
learnt the all-pervading value of that shining metal."
"But his sister?--is she, too, educated?"
"No. Poor Luna is still a savage; but he instructs her in many things.
He has been absent for several years. He has returned but lately to his
tribe."
"Their names are strange: `The Sun,' `The Moon'!"
"They were given by the Spaniards of Sonora; but they are only
translations or synonyms of their Indian appellations. That is common
upon the frontier."
"Why are they here?"
I put this question with hesitation, as I knew there might be some
peculiar history connected with the answer.
"Partly," replied Seguin, "from gratitude, I believe, to myself. I
rescued El Sol when a boy out of the hands of the Navajoes. Perhaps
there is still another reason. But come," continued he, apparently
wishing to give a turn to the conversation, "you shall know our Indian
friends. You are to be companions for a time. He is a scholar, and
will interest you. Take care of your heart with the gentle Luna.
Vincente, go to the tent of the Coco chief. Ask him to come and drink a
cup of Paso wine. Tell him to bring his sister with him."
The servant hurried away through the camp. While he was gone, we
conversed about the feat which the Coco had performed with his rifle.
"I never knew him to fire," remarked Seguin, "without hitting his mark.
There is something mysterious about that. His aim is unerring; and it
seems to be on his part an act of pure volition. There may be some
guiding principle in the mind, independent of either strength of nerve
or sharpness of sight. He and another are the only persons I ever knew
to possess this singular power."
The last part of this speech was uttered in a half soliloquy; and
Seguin, after delivering it, remained for some moments silent and
abstracted.
Before the conversation was resumed, El Sol and his sister entered the
tent, and Seguin introduced us to each other. In a few moments we were
engaged, El Sol, the doctor, Seguin, and myself, in an animated
conversation. The subject was not horses, nor guns, nor scalps, nor
war, nor blood, nor aught connected with the horrid calling of that
camp. We were discussing a point in the pacific science of botany: the
relationship of the different forms of the cactus family.
I had studied the science, and I felt that my knowledge of it was
inferior to that of any of my three companions. I was struck with it
then, and more when I reflected on it afterwards; the fact of such a
conversation, the time, the place, and the men who carried it on.
For nearly two hours we sat smoking and talking on like subjects.
While we were thus engaged I observed upon the canvas the shadow of a
man. Looking forth, as my position enabled me without rising, I
recognised in the light that streamed out of the tent a hunting-shirt,
with a worked pipe-holder hanging over the breast.
La Luna sat near her brother, sewing "parfleche" soles upon a pair of
moccasins. I noticed that she had an abstracted air, and at short
intervals glanced out from the opening of the tent. While we were
engrossed with our discussion she rose silently, though not with any
appearance of stealth, and went out.
After a while she returned. I could read the love-light in her eye as
she resumed her occupation.
El Sol and his sister at length left us, and shortly after Seguin, the
doctor, and I rolled ourselves in our serapes, and lay down to sleep.