_Dangers of the prairie_--_Our travellers attacked by Indians, and
delivered in a remarkable manner_.
There are periods in the life of almost all men A when misfortunes
seem to crowd upon them in rapid succession, when they escape from
one danger only to encounter another, and when, to use a well-known
expression, they succeed in leaping out of the frying-pan at the
expense of plunging into the fire.
So was it with our three friends upon this occasion. They were
scarcely rid of the Blackfeet, who found them too watchful to be
caught napping, when, about daybreak one morning, they encountered a
roving band of Camanchee Indians, who wore such a warlike aspect that
Joe deemed it prudent to avoid them if possible.
"They don't see us yit, I guess," said Joe, as he and his companions
drove the horses into a hollow between the grassy waves of the
prairie, "an' if we only can escape their sharp eyes till we're in
yonder clump o' willows, we're safe enough."
"But why don't you ride up to them, Joe," inquired Dick, "and make
peace between them and the Pale-faces, as you ha' done with other
bands?"
"Because it's o' no use to risk our scalps for the chance o' makin'
peace wi' a rovin' war party. Keep yer head down, Henri! If they git
only a sight o' the top o' yer cap, they'll be down on us like a
breeze o' wind."
"Ha! let dem come!" said Henri.
"They'll come without askin' yer leave," remarked Joe, dryly.
Notwithstanding his defiant expression, Henri had sufficient prudence
to induce him to bend his head and shoulders, and in a few minutes
they reached the shelter of the willows unseen by the savages. At
least so thought Henri, Joe was not quite sure about it, and Dick
hoped for the best.
In the course of half-an-hour the last of the Camanchees was seen to
hover for a second on the horizon, like a speck of black against the
sky, and then to disappear.
Immediately the three hunters vaulted on their steeds and resumed
their journey; but before that evening closed they had sad evidence of
the savage nature of the band from which they had escaped. On passing
the brow of a slight eminence, Dick, who rode first, observed that
Crusoe stopped and snuffed the breeze in an anxious, inquiring manner.
"What is't, pup?" said Dick, drawing up, for he knew that his faithful
dog never gave a false alarm.
Crusoe replied by a short, uncertain bark, and then bounding forward,
disappeared behind a little wooded knoll. In another moment a long,
dismal howl floated over the plains. There was a mystery about the
dog's conduct which, coupled with his melancholy cry, struck the
travellers with a superstitious feeling of dread, as they sat looking
at each other in surprise.
"Come, let's clear it up," cried Joe Blunt, shaking the reins of his
steed, and galloping forward. A few strides brought them to the other
side of the knoll, where, scattered upon the torn and bloody turf,
they discovered the scalped and mangled remains of about twenty or
thirty human beings. Their skulls had been cleft by the tomahawk and
their breasts pierced by the scalping-knife, and from the position in
which many of them lay it was evident that they had been slain while
asleep.
Joe's brow flushed and his lips became tightly compressed as he
muttered between his set teeth, "Their skins are white."
A short examination sufficed to show that the men who had thus been
barbarously murdered while they slept had been a band of trappers or
hunters, but what their errand had been, or whence they came, they
could not discover.
Everything of value had been carried off, and all the scalps had been
taken. Most of the bodies, although much mutilated, lay in a posture
that led our hunters to believe they had been killed while asleep; but
one or two were cut almost to pieces, and from the blood-bespattered
and trampled sward around, it seemed as if they had struggled long and
fiercely for life. Whether or not any of the savages had been slain,
it was impossible to tell, for if such had been the case, their
comrades, doubtless, had carried away their bodies.
That they had been slaughtered by the party of Camanchees who had been
seen at daybreak was quite clear to Joe; but his burning desire to
revenge the death of the white men had to be stifled, as his party was
so small.
Long afterwards it was discovered that this was a band of trappers
who, like those mentioned at the beginning of this volume, had set out
to avenge the death of a comrade; but God, who has retained the right
of vengeance in his own hand, saw fit to frustrate their purpose, by
giving them into the hands of the savages whom they had set forth to
slay.
As it was impossible to bury so many bodies, the travellers resumed
their journey, and left them to bleach there in the wilderness; but
they rode the whole of that day almost without uttering a word.
Meanwhile the Camanchees, who had observed the trio, and had ridden
away at first for the purpose of deceiving them into the belief that
they had passed unobserved, doubled on their track, and took a long
sweep in order to keep out of sight until they could approach under
the shelter of a belt of woodland towards which the travellers now
approached.
The Indians adopted this course instead of the easier method of
simply pursuing so weak a party, because the plains at this part were
bordered by a long stretch of forest into which the hunters could have
plunged, and rendered pursuit more difficult, if not almost useless.
The detour thus taken was so extensive that the shades of evening were
beginning to descend before they could put their plan into execution.
The forest lay about a mile to the right of our hunters, like some
dark mainland, of which the prairie was the sea and the scattered
clumps of wood the islands.
"There's no lack o' game here," said Dick Varley, pointing to a herd
of buffaloes which rose at their approach and fled away towards the
wood.
"I think we'll ha' thunder soon," remarked Joe. "I never feel it
onnatteral hot like this without lookin' out for a plump."
"Ha! den ve better look hout for one goot tree to get b'low,"
suggested Henri. "Voilà!" he added, pointing with his finger towards
the plain; "dere am a lot of wild hosses."
A troop of about thirty wild horses appeared, as he spoke, on the brow
of a ridge, and advanced slowly towards them.
"Hist!" exclaimed Joe, reining up; "hold on, lads. Wild horses! my
rifle to a pop-gun there's wilder men on t'other side o' them."
"What mean you, Joe?" inquired Dick, riding close up.
"D'ye see the little lumps on the shoulder o' each horse?" said Joe.
"Them's Injun's _feet_; an' if we don't want to lose our scalps we'd
better make for the forest."
Joe proved himself to be in earnest by wheeling round and making
straight for the thick wood as fast as his horse could run. The others
followed, driving the pack-horses before them.
The effect of this sudden movement on the so-called "wild horses"
was very remarkable, and to one unacquainted with the habits of the
Camanchee Indians must have appeared almost supernatural. In the
twinkling of an eye every steed had a rider on its back, and before
the hunters had taken five strides in the direction of the forest, the
whole band were in hot pursuit, yelling like furies.
The manner in which these Indians accomplish this feat is very
singular, and implies great activity and strength of muscle on the
part of the savages.
The Camanchees are low in stature, and usually are rather corpulent.
In their movements on foot they are heavy and ungraceful, and they
are, on the whole, a slovenly and unattractive race of men. But the
instant they mount their horses they seem to be entirely changed, and
surprise the spectator with the ease and elegance of their movements.
Their great and distinctive peculiarity as horsemen is the power they
have acquired of throwing themselves suddenly on either side of their
horse's body, and clinging on in such a way that no part of them is
visible from the other side save the foot by which they cling. In this
manner they approach their enemies at full gallop, and, without rising
again to the saddle, discharge their arrows at them over the horses'
backs, or even under their necks.
This apparently magical feat is accomplished by means of a halter of
horse-hair, which is passed round under the neck of the horse and both
ends braided into the mane, on the withers, thus forming a loop which
hangs under the neck and against the breast. This being caught by the
hand, makes a sling, into which the elbow falls, taking the weight
of the body on the middle of the upper arm. Into this loop the rider
drops suddenly and fearlessly, leaving his heel to hang over the
horse's back to steady him, and also to restore him to his seat when
desired.
By this stratagem the Indians had approached on the present occasion
almost within rifle range before they were discovered, and it required
the utmost speed of the hunters' horses to enable them to avoid
being overtaken. One of the Indians, who was better mounted than his
fellows, gained on the fugitives so much that he came within arrow
range, but reserved his shaft until they were close on the margin of
the wood, when, being almost alongside of Henri, he fitted an arrow to
his bow. Henri's eye was upon him, however. Letting go the line of the
pack-horse which he was leading, he threw forward his rifle; but at
the same moment the savage disappeared behind his horse, and an arrow
whizzed past the hunter's ear.
Henri fired at the horse, which dropped instantly, hurling the
astonished Camanchee upon the ground, where he lay for some time
insensible. In a few seconds pursued and pursuers entered the wood,
where both had to advance with caution, in order to avoid being swept
off by the overhanging branches of the trees.
Meanwhile the sultry heat of which Joe had formerly spoken increased
considerably, and a rumbling noise, as if of distant thunder, was
heard; but the flying hunters paid no attention to it, for the led
horses gave them so much trouble, and retarded their flight so much,
that the Indians were gradually and visibly gaining on them.
"We'll ha' to let the packs go," said Joe, somewhat bitterly, as he
looked over his shoulder. "Our scalps'll pay for't, if we don't."
Henri uttered a peculiar and significant _hiss_ between his teeth, as
he said, "P'r'aps ve better stop and fight!"
Dick said nothing, being resolved to do exactly what Joe Blunt bid
him; and Crusoe, for reasons best known to himself, also said nothing,
but bounded along beside his master's horse, casting an occasional
glance upwards to catch any signal that might be given.
They had passed over a considerable space of ground, and were
forcing their way at the imminent hazard of their necks through a
densely-clothed part of the wood, when the sound above referred to
increased, attracting the attention of both parties. In a few seconds
the air was filled with a steady and continuous rumbling sound, like
the noise of a distant cataract. Pursuers and fugitives drew rein
instinctively, and came to a dead stand; while the rumbling increased
to a roar, and evidently approached them rapidly, though as yet
nothing to cause it could be seen, except that there was a dense, dark
cloud overspreading the sky to the southward. The air was oppressively
still and hot.
"What can it be?" inquired Dick, looking at Joe, who was gazing with
an expression of wonder, not unmixed with concern, at the southern
sky.
"Dun'no', boy. I've bin more in the woods than in the clearin' in my
day, but I niver heerd the likes o' that."
"It am like t'ondre," said Henri; "mais it nevair do stop."
This was true. The sound was similar to continuous, uninterrupted
thunder. On it came with a magnificent roar that shook the very earth,
and revealed itself at last in the shape of a mighty whirlwind. In a
moment the distant woods bent before it, and fell like grass before
the scythe. It was a whirling hurricane, accompanied by a deluge of
rain such as none of the party had ever before witnessed. Steadily,
fiercely, irresistibly it bore down upon them, while the crash of
falling, snapping, and uprooting trees mingled with the dire artillery
of that sweeping storm like the musketry on a battle-field.
"Follow me, lads!" shouted Joe, turning his horse and dashing at full
speed towards a rocky eminence that offered shelter. But shelter
was not needed. The storm was clearly defined. Its limits were
as distinctly marked by its Creator as if it had been a living
intelligence sent forth to put a belt of desolation round the world;
and, although the edge of devastation was not five hundred yards from
the rock behind which the hunters were stationed, only a few drops of
ice-cold rain fell upon them.
It passed directly between the Camanchee Indians and their intended
victims, placing between them a barrier which it would have taken days
to cut through. The storm blew for an hour, then it travelled onward
in its might, and was lost in the distance. Whence it came and whither
it went none could tell, but far as the eye could see on either hand
an avenue a quarter of a mile wide was cut through the forest. It had
levelled everything with the dust; the very grass was beaten flat; the
trees were torn, shivered, snapped across, and crushed; and the earth
itself in many places was ploughed up and furrowed with deep scars.
The chaos was indescribable, and it is probable that centuries will
not quite obliterate the work of that single hour.
While it lasted, Joe and his comrades remained speechless and
awe-stricken. When it passed, no Indians were to be seen. So our
hunters remounted their steeds, and, with feelings of gratitude to
God for having delivered them alike from savage foes and from the
destructive power of the whirlwind, resumed their journey towards the
Mustang Valley.