We repassed the horrid chamber, and emerged upon the lowermost terrace
of the temple. As I walked forward to the parapet, there was a scene
below that filled me with apprehension. A cloud seemed to fall over my
heart.
In front of the temple were the women of the village--girls, women, and
children; in all, about two hundred. They were variously attired: some
were wrapped in their striped blankets; some wore tilmas, and tunics of
embroidered fawn-skin, plumed and painted with dyes of vivid colour;
some were dressed in the garb of civilised life--in rich satins, that
had been worn by the dames of the Del Norte; in flounces that had
fluttered in the dance around the ankles of some gay maja.
Not a few in the crowd were entirely nude. They were all Indians, but
of lighter and darker shades; differing in colour as in expression of
face. Some were old, wrinkled, and coarse; but there were many of them
young, noble-like, and altogether beautiful.
They were grouped together in various attitudes. They had ceased their
screaming, but murmured among themselves in low and plaintive
exclamations.
As I looked, I saw blood running from their ears! It had dappled their
throats and spurted over their garments.
A glance satisfied me as to the cause of this. They had been rudely
robbed of their golden hangings.
Near and around them stood the scalp-hunters, in groups and afoot. They
were talking in whispers and low mutterings. There were objects about
their persons that attracted my eye. Curious articles of ornament or
use peeped out from their pouches and haversacks--bead-strings and
pieces of shining metal--gold it was--hung around their necks and over
their breasts. These were the plundered bijouterie of the savage
maidens.
There were other objects upon which my eye rested with feelings of
deeper pain. Stuck behind the belts of many were scalps, fresh and
reeking. Their knife-hilts and fingers were red; there was blood upon
their hands; there was gloom in their glances.
The picture was appalling; and, adding to its awful impression, black
clouds were at the moment rolling over the valley, and swathing the
mountains in their opaque masses. The lightning jetted from peak to
peak, followed by short claps of close and deafening thunder.
"Bring up the atajo!" shouted Seguin, as he descended the ladder with
his daughter.
A signal was given; and shortly after the mules, in charge of the
arrieros, came stringing across the plain.
"Collect all the dry meat that can be found. Let it be packed as
speedily as possible."
In front of most of the houses there were strings of tasajo hanging
against the walls. There were also dried fruits and vegetables, chile,
roots of the kamas, and skin-bags filled with pinons and choke-berries.
The meat was soon brought together, and several of the men assisted the
arrieros in packing it.
"There will be barely enough," said Seguin. "Here, Rube," continued he,
calling to the old trapper; "pick out your prisoners. Twenty will be as
many as we can take. You know them: chose those most likely to tempt an
exchange."
So saying, the chief turned off towards the atajo, leading his daughter
with the intention of mounting her on one of the mules.
Rube proceeded to obey the orders given him. In a short time he had
collected a number of unresisting captives, and had put them aside from
the rest. They were principally girls and young lads, whose dress and
features bespoke them of the noblesse of the nation, the children of
chiefs and warriors.
This movement was not regarded in silence. The men had drawn together,
and commenced talking in loud and mutinous language.
"Wagh!" exclaimed Kirker, a fellow of brutal aspect; "thar are wives
apiece, boys: why not every man help himself? Why not?"
"Kirker's right," Rejoined another; "and I've made up my mind to have
one, or bust."
"But how are ye goin' to feed 'em on the road? We ha'n't meat if we
take one apiece."
"Meat be hanged!" ejaculated the second speaker; "we kin reach the Del
Norte in four days or less. What do we want with so much meat?"
"There's meat a-plenty," rejoined Kirker. "That's all the captain's
palaver. If it runs out we kin drop the weemen, and take what o' them's
handiest to carry."
This was said with a significant gesture, and a ferocity of expression
revolting to behold.
"Now, boys! what say ye?"
"I freeze to Kirker."
"And I."
"And I."
"I'm not goin' to advise anybody," added the brute. "Ye may all do as
ye please about it; but this niggur's not a-goin' to starve in the midst
o' plenty."
"Right, comrade! right, I say."
"Wal. First spoke first pick, I reckin. That's mountain law; so, old
gal, I cottons to you. Come along, will yer?"
Saying this, he seized one of the Indians, a large, fine-looking woman,
roughly by the wrist, and commenced dragging her towards the atajo.
The woman screamed and resisted, frightened, not at what had been said,
for she did not understand it, but terrified by the ruffian expression
that was plainly legible in the countenance of the man.
"Shut up yer meat-trap, will ye?" cried he, still pulling her towards
the mules; "I'm not goin' to eat ye. Wagh! Don't be so skeert. Come!
mount hyar. Gee yup!"
And with this exclamation he lifted the woman upon one of the mules.
"If ye don't sit still, I'll tie ye; mind that!" and he held up the
lasso, making signs of his determination.
A horrid scene now ensued.
A number of the scalp-hunters followed the example of their ruffian
comrade. Each one chose the girl or woman he had fancied, and commenced
hurrying her off to the atajo. The women shrieked. The men shouted and
swore. Several scrambled for the same prize--a girl more beautiful than
her companions. A quarrel was the consequence. Oaths and ejaculations
rang out; knives were drawn and pistols cocked.
"Toss up for her!" cried one.
"Ay, that's fair; toss up! toss up!" shouted several.
The hint was adopted; the lots were cast; and the savage belle became
the property of the winner.
In the space of a few minutes nearly every mule in the atajo carried an
Indian damsel.
Some of the hunters had taken no part in this Sabine proceeding. Some
disapproved of it (for all were not bad) from motives of humanity.
Others did not care for being "hampered with a squaw," but stood apart,
savagely laughing at the scene.
During all this time Seguin was on the other side of the building with
his daughter. He had mounted her upon one of the mules, and covered her
shoulders with his serape. He was making such preparations for her
journey as the tender solicitudes of the father suggested.
The noise at length attracted him; and, leaving her in charge of his
servants, he hurried round to the front.
"Comrades!" cried he, glancing at the mounted captives, and
comprehending all that had occurred, "there are too many here. Are
these whom you have chosen?" This question was directed to the trapper
Rube.
"No," replied the latter, "them's 'em," and he pointed to the party he
had picked out.
"Dismount these, then, and place those you have selected upon the mules.
We have a desert to cross, and it will be as much as we can do to pass
it with that number."
And without appearing to notice the scowling looks of his followers, he
proceeded, in company with Rube and several others, to execute the
command he had given.
The indignation of the hunters now showed itself in open mutiny. Fierce
looks were exchanged, and threats uttered aloud.
"By Heaven!" cried one, "I'll have my gal along, or her scalp."
"Vaya!" exclaimed another, in Spanish; "why take any of them? They're
not worth the trouble, after all. There's not one of them worth the
price of her own hair."
"Take the har then, and leave the niggurs!" suggested a third.
"I say so too."
"And I."
"I vote with you, hoss."
"Comrades!" said Seguin, turning to the mutineers, and speaking in a
tone of extreme mildness, "remember your promise. Count the prisoners,
as we agreed. I will answer for the payment of all."
"Can ye pay for them now?" asked a voice.
"You know that that would be impossible."
"Pay for them now! Pay for them now!" shouted several.
"Cash or scalps, says I."
"Carrajo! where is the captain to get the money when we reach El Paso
more than here? He's neither a Jew nor a banker; and it's news to me if
he's grown so rich. Where, then, is all the money to some from?"
"Not from the Cabildo, unless the scalps are forthcoming; I'll warrant
that."
"True, Jose! They'll give no money to him, more than to us; and we can
get it ourselves if we show the skins for it. That we can."
"Wagh! what cares he for us, now that he has got what he wanted?"
"Not a niggur's scalp. He wouldn't let us go by the Prieto, when we kud
'a gathered the shining stuff in chunks."
"Now he wants us to throw away this chance too. We'd be green fools to
do it, I say."
It struck me at this moment that I might interfere, with success. Money
seemed to be what the mutineers wanted; at least it was their alleged
grievance; and rather than witness the fearful drama which appeared to
be on the eve of enactment, I would have sacrificed my fortune.
"Men!" cried I, speaking so that I could be heard above the din, "if you
deem my word worth listening to, it is this: I have sent a cargo to
Chihuahua with the last caravan. By the time we get back to El Paso the
traders will have returned, and I shall be placed in possession of funds
double what you demand. If you will accept my promise, I shall see that
you be paid."
"Wagh! that talk's all very well, but what do we know of you or yer
cargo?"
"Vaya! A bird in the hand's worth two in the bush."
"He's a trader. Who's goin' to take his word?"
"Rot his cargo! Scalps or cash, cash or scalps! that's this niggur's
advice; an' if ye don't take it, boys, ye may leave it! but it's all the
pay ye'll ever crook yer claws on."
The men had tasted blood, and like the tiger, they thirsted for more.
There were glaring eyes on all sides, and the countenances of some
exhibited an animal ferociousness hideous to look upon. The half-robber
discipline that hitherto ruled in the band seemed to have completely
departed, and the authority of the chief to be set at defiance.
On the other side stood the females, clinging and huddling together.
They could not understand the mutinous language, but they saw
threatening attitudes and angry faces. They saw knives drawn, and heard
the cocking of guns and pistols. They knew there was danger, and they
crouched together, whimpering with fear.
Up to this moment Seguin had stood giving directions for the mounting of
his captives. His manner was strangely abstracted, as it had been ever
since the scene of meeting with his daughter. That greater care,
gnawing at his heart, seemed to render him insensible to what was
passing. He was not so.
As Kirker ended (for he was the last speaker) a change came over
Sequin's manner, quick as a flash of lightning. Suddenly rousing
himself from his attitude of indifference, he stepped forward in front
of the mutineers.
"Dare!" shouted he, in a voice of thunder, "dare to dishonour your
oaths! By heavens! the first man who raises knife or rifle shall die on
the instant!"
There was a pause, and a moment of deep silence.
"I had made a vow," continued he, "that should it please God to restore
me my child, this hand should be stained with no more blood. Let any
man force me to break that vow, and, by Heaven, his blood shall be the
first to stain it!"
A vengeful murmur ran through the crowd, but no one replied.
"You are but a cowardly brute, with all your bluster," he continued,
turning round to Kirker, and looking him in the eye. "Up with that
knife! quick! or I will send this bullet through your ruffian heart!"
Seguin had drawn his pistol, and stood in an attitude that told he would
execute the threat. His form seemed to have grown larger; his eye
dilated, flashing as it rolled, and the man shrank before its glance.
He saw death in it if he disobeyed, and with a surly murmur he fumbled
mechanically at his belt, and thrust the blade back into its sheath.
But the mutiny was not yet quelled. These were men not so easily
conquered. Fierce exclamations still continued, and the mutineers again
began to encourage one another with shouts.
I had thrown myself alongside the chief, with my revolvers cocked and
ready, resolved to stand by him to the death. Several others had done
the same, among whom were Rube, Garey, Sanchez the bull-fighter, and the
Maricopa.
The opposing parties were nearly equal, and a fearful conflict would
have followed had we fought; but at this moment an object appeared that
stifled the resentment of all. It was the common enemy!
Away on the western border of the valley we could see dark objects,
hundreds of them, coming over the plain. They were still at a great
distance, but the practised eyes of the hunters knew them at a glance.
They were horsemen; they were Indians; they were our pursuers, the
Navajoes!
They were riding at full gallop, and strung over the prairie like hounds
upon a run. In a twinkling they would be on us.
"Yonder!" cried Seguin, "yonder are scalps enough to satisfy you; but
let us see to our own. Come! to your horses! On with the atajo! I
will keep my word with you at the pass. Mount! my brave fellows,
mount!"
The last speech was uttered in a tone of reconciliation; but it needed
not that to quicken the movements of the hunters. They knew too well
their own danger. They could have sustained the attack among the
houses, but it would only have been until the return of the main tribe,
when they knew that every life would be taken. To make a stand at the
town would be madness, and was not thought of. In a moment we were in
our saddles; and the atajo, strung out with the captives and provisions,
was hurrying off toward the woods. We purposed passing the defile that
opened eastward, as our retreat by the other route was now cut off by
the advancing horsemen.
Seguin had thrown himself at the head, leading the mule upon which his
daughter was mounted. The rest followed, straggling over the plain
without rank or order.
I was among the last to leave the town. I had lingered behind
purposely, fearing some outrage, and determined, if possible, to prevent
it.
"At length," thought I, "they have all gone!" and putting spurs to my
horse, I galloped after.
When I had ridden about a hundred yards from the walls, a loud yell rang
behind me; and, reining in my horse, I turned in the saddle and looked
back. Another yell, wild and savage, directed me to the point whence
the former had come.
On the highest roof of the temple two men were struggling. I knew them
at a glance; and I knew, too, it was a death-struggle. One was the
medicine chief, as I could tell by the flowing, white hair. The scanty
skirt and leggings, the naked ankles, the close-fitting skull-cap,
enabled me easily to distinguish his antagonist. It was the earless
trapper!
The conflict was a short one. I had not seen the beginning of it, but I
soon witnessed the denouement. As I turned, the trapper had forced his
adversary against the parapet, and with his long, muscular arm was
bending him over its edge. In the other hand, uplifted, he brandished
his knife!
I saw a quick flash as the blade was plunged; a red gush spurted over
the garments of the Indian; his arms dropped, his body doubled over the
wall, balanced a moment, and then fell with a dull, sodden sound upon
the terrace below!
The same wild whoop again rang in my ears, and the hunter disappeared
from the root.
I turned to ride on. I knew it was the settling of some old account,
the winding up of some terrible revenge.
The clattering of hoofs sounded behind me, and a horseman rode up
alongside. I knew, without turning my head, that it was the trapper.
"Fair swop, they say, ain't no stealin'. Putty har, too, it ur. Wagh!
It won't neyther match nor patch mine; but it makes one's feelin's
easier."
Puzzled at this speech, I turned to ascertain its meaning. I was
answered by the sight that met my eye. An object was hanging from the
old man's belt, like a streak of snow-white flax. But it was not that.
It was hair. It was a scalp!
There were drops of blood struggling down the silvery strands as they
shook, and across them, near the middle, was a broad red band. It was
the track of the trapper's knife where he had wiped it!