They might have spared themselves the pains. That agony was already
felt; but, indeed, a scene followed--that caused us to suffer afresh.
Up to this moment we had not been recognised by those near and dear to
us. The distance had been too great for the naked eye, and our browned
faces and travel-stained habiliments were of themselves a disguise.
But the instincts of love are quick and keen, and the eyes of my
betrothed were upon me. I saw her start forward; I heard the agonised
scream; a pair of snow-white arms were extended, and she sank, fainting,
upon the cliff.
At the same instant Madame Seguin had recognised the chief, and had
called him by name. Seguin shouted to her in reply, and cautioned her
in tones of intreaty to remain patient and silent.
Several of the other females, all young and handsome, had recognised
their lovers and brothers, and a scene followed that was painful to
witness.
But my eyes were fixed upon her I saw that she recovered from her swoon.
I saw the savage in hussar trappings dismount, and, lifting her in his
arms, carry her back upon the prairie.
I followed them with impotent gaze. I saw that he was paying her kind
attentions; and I almost thanked him, though I knew it was but the
selfish gallantry of the lover.
In a short while she rose to her feet again, and rushed back toward the
barranca. I heard my name uttered across the ravine. Hers was echoed
back; but at the moment both mother and daughter were surrounded by
their guards, and carried back.
Meanwhile, the white flag had been got ready, and Seguin, holding it
aloft, stood out in front. We remained silent, watching with eager
glances for the answer.
There was a movement among the clustered Indians. We heard their voices
in earnest talk, and saw that something was going on in their midst.
Presently, a tall, fine-looking man came out from the crowd, holding an
object in his left hand of a white colour. It was a bleached fawn-skin.
In his right hand he carried a lance.
We saw him place the fawn-skin on the blade of the lance, and stand
forward holding it aloft. Our signal of peace was answered.
"Silence, men!" cried Seguin, speaking to the hunters; and then, raising
his voice, he called aloud in the Indian language--
"Navajoes! you know whom we are. We have passed through your country,
and visited your head town. Our object was to search for our dear
relatives, who we knew were captives in your land. Some we have
recovered, but there are many others we could not find. That these
might be restored to us in time, we have taken hostages, as you see. We
might have brought away many more, but these we considered enough. We
have not burned your town; we have not harmed your wives, your
daughters, nor your children. With the exception of these, our
prisoners, you will find all as you left them."
A murmur ran through the ranks of the Indians. It was a murmur of
satisfaction. They had been under the full belief that their town was
destroyed and their women massacred; and the words of Seguin, therefore
produced a singular effect. We could hear joyful exclamations and
phrases interchanged among the warriors. Silence was again restored,
and Seguin continued--
"We see that you have been in our country. You have made captives as
well as we. You are red men. Red men can feel for their kindred as
well as white men. We know this; and for that reason have I raised the
banner of peace, that each may restore to the other his own. It will
please the Great Spirit, and will give satisfaction to both of us; for
that which you hold is of most value to us, and that which we have is
dear only to you. Navajoes! I have spoken. I await your answer."
When Seguin had ended, the warriors gathered around the head chief, and
we could see that an earnest debate was going on amongst them. It was
plain there were dissenting voices; but the debate was soon over, and
the head chief, stepping forward, gave some instructions to the man who
held the flag. The latter in a loud voice replied to Seguin's speech as
follows--
"White chief! you have spoken well, and your words have been weighed by
our warriors. You ask nothing more than what is just and fair. It
would please the Great Spirit and satisfy us to exchange our captives;
but how can we tell that your words are true? You say that you have not
burned our town nor harmed our women and children. How can we know that
this is true? Our town is far off; so are our women, if they be still
alive. We cannot ask them. We have only your word. It is not enough."
Seguin had already anticipated this difficulty, and had ordered one of
our captives, an intelligent lad, to be brought forward.
The boy at this moment appeared by his side.
"Question him!" shouted he, pointing to the captive lad.
"And why may we not question our brother, the chief Dacoma? The lad is
young. He may not understand us. The chief could assure us better."
"Dacoma was not with us at the town. He knows not what was done there."
"Let Dacoma answer that."
"Brother!" replied Seguin, "you are wrongly suspicious, but you shall
have his answer," and he addressed some words to the Navajo chief, who
sat near him upon the ground.
The question was then put directly to Dacoma by the speaker on the other
side. The proud Indian, who seemed exasperated with the humiliating
situation in which he was placed, with an angry wave of his hand and a
short ejaculation, answered in the negative.
"Now, brother," proceeded Seguin, "you see I have spoken truly. Ask the
lad what you first proposed."
The boy was then interrogated as to whether we had burnt the town or
harmed the women and children. To these two questions he also returned
a negative answer.
"Well, brother," said Seguin, "are you satisfied?"
For a long time there was no reply. The warriors were again gathered in
council, and gesticulating with earnestness and energy. We could see
that there was a party opposed to pacific measures, who were evidently
counselling, the others to try the fortunes of a battle. These were the
younger braves; and I observed that he in the hussar costume, who, as
Rube informed us, was the son of the head chief, appeared to be the
leader of this party.
Had not the head chief been so deeply interested in the result, the
counsels of these might have carried; for the warriors well knew the
scorn that would await them among neighbouring tribes should they return
without captives. Besides, there were numbers who felt another sort of
interest in detaining them. They had looked upon the daughters of the
Del Norte, and "saw that they were fair."
But the counsels of the older men at length prevailed, and the spokesman
replied--
"The Navajo warriors have considered what they have heard. They believe
that the white chief has spoken the truth, and they agree to exchange
their prisoners. That this may be done in a proper and becoming manner,
they propose that twenty warriors be chosen on each side; that these
warriors shall lay down their arms on the prairie in presence of all;
that they shall then conduct their captives to the crossing of the
barranca by the mine, and there settle the terms of their exchange; that
all the others on both sides shall remain where they now are, until the
unarmed warriors have got back with the exchanged prisoners; that the
white banners shall then be struck, and both sides be freed from the
treaty. These are the words of the Navajo warriors."
It was some time before Seguin could reply to this proposal. It seemed
fair enough; but yet there was a manner about it that led us to suspect
some design, and we paused a moment to consider it. The concluding
terms intimated an intention on the part of the enemy of making an
attempt to retake their captives; but we cared little for this, provided
we could once get them on our side of the barranca.
It was very proper that the prisoners should be conducted to the place
of exchange by unarmed men, and twenty was a proper number; but Seguin
well knew how the Navajoes would interpret the word "unarmed"; and
several of the hunters were cautioned in an undertone to "stray" into
the bushes, and conceal their knives and pistols under the flaps of
their hunting-shirts. We thought that we observed a similar manoeuvre
going on upon the opposite bank with the tomahawks of our adversaries.
We could make but little objection to the terms proposed; and as Seguin
knew that time saved was an important object, he hastened to accept
them.
As soon as this was announced to the Navajoes, twenty men--already
chosen, no doubt--stepped out into the open prairie, and striking their
lances into the ground, rested against them their bows, quivers, and
shields. We saw no tomahawks, and we knew that every Navajo carries
this weapon. They all had the means of concealing them about their
persons; for most of them were dressed in the garb of civilised life, in
the plundered habiliments of the rancho and hacienda. We cared little,
as we, too, were sufficiently armed. We saw that the party selected
were men of powerful strength; in fact, they were the picked warriors of
the tribe.
Ours were similarly chosen. Among them were El Sol and Garey, Rube, and
the bull-fighter Sanchez. Seguin and I were of the number. Most of the
trappers, with a few Delaware Indians, completed the complement.
The twenty were soon selected; and, stepping out on the open ground, as
the Navajoes had done, we piled our rifles in the presence of the enemy.
Our captives were then mounted and made ready for starting. The queen
and the Mexican girls were brought forward among the rest.
This last was a piece of strategy on the part of Seguin. He knew that
we had captives enough to exchange one for one, without these; but he
saw, as we all did, that to leave the queen behind would interrupt the
negotiation, and perhaps put an end to it altogether. He had resolved,
therefore, on taking her along, trusting that he could better negotiate
for her on the ground. Failing this, there would be but one appeal--to
arms; and he knew that our party was well prepared for that alternative.
Both sides were at length ready, and, at a signal, commenced riding down
the barranca, in the direction of the mine. The rest of the two bands
remained eyeing each other across the gulf, with glances of mistrust and
hatred. Neither party could move without the other seeing it; for the
plains in which they were, though on opposite sides of the barranca,
were but segments of the same horizontal plateau. A horseman proceeding
from either party could have been seen by the others to a distance of
many miles.
The flags of truce were still waving, their spears stuck into the
ground; but each of the hostile bands held their horses saddled and
bridled, ready to mount at the first movement of the other.