I will not describe the recrossing of the desert plains, nor will I
detail the incidents of our homeward journey. With all its hardships
and weariness, to me it was a pleasant one. It is a pleasure to attend
upon her we love, and that along the route was my chief duty. The
smiles I received far more than repaid me for the labour I underwent in
its discharge. But it was not labour. It was no labour to fill her
xuages with fresh water at every spring or runlet, to spread the blanket
softly over her saddle, to weave her a _quitasol_ out of the broad
leaves of the palmilla, to assist her in mounting and dismounting. No;
that was not labour to me.
We were happy as we journeyed. I was happy, for I knew that I had
fulfilled my contract and won my bride; and the very remembrance of the
perils through which we had so lately passed heightened the happiness of
both. But one thing cast an occasional gloom over our thoughts--the
queen, Adele.
She was returning to the home of her childhood, not voluntarily, but as
a captive--captive to her own kindred, her father and mother!
Throughout the journey both these waited upon her with tender assiduity,
almost constantly gazing at her with sad and silent looks. There was
woe in their hearts.
We were not pursued; or, if so, our pursuers never came up. Perhaps we
were not followed at all. The foe had been crippled and cowed by the
terrible chastisement, and we knew it would be some time before they
could muster force enough to take our trail. Still we lost not a
moment, but travelled as fast as the ganados could be pushed forward.
In five days we reached the Barranca del Oro, and passed the old mine,
the scene of our bloody conflict. During our halt among the ruined
ranches, I strayed away from the rest, impelled by a painful curiosity
to see if aught remained of my late follower or his fellow-victim. I
went to the spot where I had last seen their bodies. Yes; two skeletons
lay in front of the shaft, as cleanly picked by the wolves as if they
had been dressed for the studio of an anatomist. It was all that
remained of the unfortunate men.
After leaving the Barranca del Oro, we struck the head waters of the Rio
Mimbres; and, keeping on the banks of that stream, followed it down to
the Del Norte. Next day we entered the pueblo of El Paso.
A scene of singular interest greeted us on our arrival. As we neared
the town, the whole population flocked out to meet us. Some had come
forth from curiosity, some to welcome us and take part in the ceremony
that hailed our triumphant return, but not a few impelled by far
different motives. We had brought with us a large number of rescued
captives--nearly fifty in all--and these were soon surrounded by a crowd
of citizens. In that crowd were yearning mothers and fond sisters,
lovers newly awakened from despair, and husbands who had not yet ceased
to mourn. There were hurried inquiries, and quick glances, that
betokened keen anxiety. There were "scenes" and shouts of joy, as each
one recognised some long-lost object of a dear affection. But there
were other scenes of a diverse character, scenes of woe and wailing; for
of many of those who had gone forth, but a few days before, in the pride
of health and the panoply of war, many came not back.
I was particularly struck with one episode--a painful one to witness.
Two women of the poblana class had laid hold upon one of the captives, a
girl of, I should think, about ten years of age. Each claimed the girl
for her daughter, and each of them held one of her arms, not rudely, but
to hinder the other from carrying her off. A crowd had encircled them,
and both the women were urging their claims in loud and plaintive voice.
One stated the age of the girl, hastily narrated the history of her
capture by the savages, and pointed to certain marks upon her person, to
which she declared she was ready at any moment to make _juramento_. The
other appealed to the spectators to look at the colour of the child's
hair and eyes, which slightly differed from that of the other claimant,
and called upon them to note the resemblance she bore to another, who
stood by, and who, she alleged, was the child's eldest sister. Both
talked at the same time, and kissed the girl repeatedly as they talked.
The little wild captive stood between the two, receiving their alternate
embraces with a wondering and puzzled expression. She was, in truth, a
most interesting child, habited in the Indian costume, and browned by
the sun of the desert. Whichever might have been the mother, it was
evident she had no remembrance of either of them; for here there was no
mother! In her infancy she had been carried off to the desert, and,
like the daughter of Seguin, had forgotten the scenes of her childhood.
She had forgotten father--mother--all!
It was, as I have said, a scene painful to witness; the women's looks of
anguish, their passionate appeals, their wild but affectionate embraces
lavished upon the girl, their plaintive cries mingled with sobs and
weeping. It was indeed a painful scene.
It was soon brought to a close, at least as far as I witnessed it. The
alcalde came upon the ground; and the girl was given in charge to the
policia, until the true mother should bring forward more definite proofs
of maternity. I never heard the finale of this little romance.
The return of the expedition to El Paso was celebrated by a triumphant
ovation. Cannon boomed, bells rang, fireworks hissed and sputtered,
masses were sung, and music filled the streets. Feasting and merriment
followed, and the night was turned into a blazing illumination of wax
candles, and _un gran funcion de balle_--a fandango.
Next morning, Seguin, with his wife and daughters, made preparations to
journey on to the old hacienda on the Del Norte. The house was still
standing; so we had heard. It had not been plundered. The savages, on
taking possession of it, had been closely pressed by a body of Pasenos,
and had hurried off with their captives, leaving everything else as they
had found it.
Saint Vrain and I were to accompany the party to their home.
The chief had plans for the future, in which both I and my friend were
interested. There we were to mature them.
I found the returns of my trading speculation even greater than Saint
Vrain had promised. My ten thousand dollars had been trebled. Saint
Vrain, too, was master of a large amount; and we were enabled to bestow
our bounty on those of our late comrades who had proved themselves
worthy.
But most of them had received "bounty" from another source. As we rode
out from El Paso, I chanced to look back. There was a long string of
dark objects waving over the gates. There was no mistaking what they
were, for they were unlike anything else. They were scalps!