The Pirates of the Prairies: Adventures in the American Desert

CHAPTER XXIII
APACHES AND COMANCHES

At daybreak some forty horsemen, at whose head rode Bloodson, Don Miguel Zarate, and General Ibañez, started in the direction of the Comanche village, guided by Unicorn. In the midst of the band rode Ellen, closely watched, and Harry, who would not leave her for a moment, galloped by her side.

The maiden had guessed, in spite of the attentions offered her, or perhaps through them, that she was regarded rather as a prisoner than a friend by the men who surrounded her. Hence, on leaving the Teocali, she had given Harry a suppliant glance to remain by her side. The hunter had understood this glance, and, in spite of all that Bloodson urged to induce him to ride with him at the head of the party, he obstinately remained by Ellen's side.

By a strange coincidence, at the very moment when the partisans, guided by Unicorn, were leaving the Teocali to go in search of news of their friends at the Comanche village, the latter were executing their miraculous flight, had left the islet on which they had defended themselves so bravely, and, after boldly crossing the Apache camp, were also proceeding, though by a different route, to the same village.

The march of a numerous party in the desert is generally less rapid than that of a few men, and it is easy of explanation. Two or three men proceeding together pass without difficulty anywhere, gliding through the chaparral, and following the track of wild beasts; but some forty persons compelled to adopt the Indian file, that is to say, march one after the other, along these problematical paths, scarce wide enough for one horseman, are constrained to cheek their pace, and advance with extreme precaution, especially on an expedition of the sort the partisans were now undertaking.

Hence, in spite of all the diligence they displayed, they advanced but slowly. The ruddy disc of the sun was rapidly descending on the horizon, the shadow of the lofty trees was lengthening more and more, the evening breeze was beginning to sough through the virgin forest, which extended for an enormous distance on the right of the travellers, while on the riverbank the alligators were clumsily leaving the bed of mud in which they had been slothfully wallowing, and were regaining the deep waters of the Gila.

The horses and riders, harassed by the fatigues of a long journey, were slowly dragging along, when Unicorn, who was about one hundred yards ahead, suddenly turned back and rejoined his comrades, who at once halted.

"What is the matter?" Bloodson asked, so soon as the chief found him; "Has my brother seen anything that alarms him?"

"Yes," the Indian laconically replied.

"I am waiting for my brother to explain."

"The desert is not quiet," the chief went on in a grave voice; "the vultures and white-headed eagles are flying in long circles, the deer and buffaloes are restless, the asshatas are bounding in every direction, and the antelopes flying with all the speed of their limbs northward."

Bloodson frowned and waited a moment ere he replied. The Mexicans examined him anxiously, but at length he raised his head.

"What do you conclude from these signs?"

"This: the Apaches are crossing the prairie; they are numerous, for the desert is disturbed for a very considerable extent."

"Why the Apaches sooner than others?" Bloodson answered. "Cannot wood rangers have produced the excitement you have noticed, as well as the Indians?"

The Comanche warrior shook his head in contradiction.

"They are Apaches," he said, peremptorily. "This is not the season of the great hunts, the animals are not troubled by man at this period of the year. They know it, and do not desperately fly from him, as they are certain of not being pursued. The wood rangers march alone, or only three or four together, employing precautions not to startle the game. But the Apaches are ignorant dogs, who, like the coyotes they resemble, continually assemble in large parties, and, instead of marching like men or warriors, pass like a hurricane over the prairie, burning, destroying, and devastating everything in their passage."

"That is true," Bloodson muttered; "your sagacity has not deceived you, chief; only the Apaches can be near here."

"Good; and what will my brother do?" the Comanche asked.

The stranger's eye flashed fire.

"We will fight them," he said.

The Indian gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.

"No," he said; "that is no good; we must not fight at this moment."

"Speak then, in the devil's name," the stranger exclaimed, impatiently, "and explain your plan to us."

The Indian smiled.

"My brother is quick," he said.

Bloodson, ashamed of having given way to his temper, had already regained his coolness.

"Pardon me, chief; I was wrong."

And he held out his hand, which Unicorn took and pressed warmly.

"My brother is wise," he replied; "I know that he did not wish to insult a friend."

"Speak, chief; time is slipping away; explain your plan to me."

"Behind that hill is Unicorn's village; the warriors will remain here while he advances alone, in order to know what is going on."

"Good; my brother can go; we will wait."

In the desert, long conversations are not the fashion; moments are too precious to be lost in words. The Indian set spurs to his horse and went off, and he soon disappeared from their sight.

"What do you think of what the chief has just told us?" the general asked.

"It is very serious," the stranger answered. "The Indians have an extraordinary skill for discovering what goes on in the desert – they have an infallible instinct which never deceives them. This man is one of the most intelligent I know. I am only acquainted with two men in the world capable of contending with him – that frightful scoundrel, Red Cedar, and Don Valentine, that French hunter whom the Indians themselves have surnamed the Trail-Hunter."

"Ah!" Don Miguel said, "Then your opinion is – "

"That we must await the result of the step Unicorn is taking at this moment; his village is only an hour's march at the most from the spot where we now are."

"But, in that case, why stop us?"

"An Indian never returns home till he has assured himself that all is in order. Who can foresee what has happened during his absence?"

"That is true; let us wait, then," the hacendero said, stifling a sigh.

Nearly an hour passed thus. All the partisans seated on their horses, with their finger on the trigger of their rifle, remained motionless as bronze statues. In the meanwhile the sun had set in a mist of vapour, the shadow spread gradually over the desert like a thick winding sheet, and the stars were slowly lit up in the dark blue sky. Still Unicorn did not return.

The hunters did not exchange a word; each, persuaded in his heart that the position was a serious one, was reflecting deeply. Not a sound was audible, save the hoarse and continuous rustling of the Rio Gila over the pebbles and rocks that border its banks.

Suddenly, Bloodson, whose eye had been obstinately fixed in the direction where the Comanche Chief had disappeared, gave a slight start and whispered in Don Miguel's ear:

"Here he is."

In fact, the gallop of a horse was heard gradually drawing nearer till the chief reappeared.

"Well?" the stranger shouted to him.

"Koutonepi and the pale virgin are in the village," he said; "the hunter has delivered the maiden."

"May Heaven be praised!" Don Miguel said, fervently.

Unicorn looked at him sadly.

"The Apaches are pursuing them," he added; "at this moment the village is being attacked, but our friends defend themselves bravely."

"Let us fly to their help," the Mexicans shouted.

Bloodson turned to them.

"Patience," he said; "let the chief explain."

"My pale brother," the Comanche continued, "with one-half of the warriors, will turn the hill and enter the village by the north, while I, with the other half, will enter by the south."

"Good," said Bloodson; "but we are far off yet; perhaps our friends will be unable to hold out till our arrival."

Unicorn smiled scornfully.

"The Apaches are cowardly dogs," he said. "The Comanches will defend themselves: they know not flight."

Without replying, the partisan divided his band, taking the command of one party, and entrusting the other to the Comanche warrior. All these men were Indians, long habituated to a war of ambushes and surprises: this bold stroke was a Godsend to them: with flashing eyes and quivering lips, though apparently unmoved, they impatiently awaited the signal for departure.

"Let us go," Bloodson vociferated, brandishing his rifle over his head.

All bent over their horses manes and started forward. On reaching the foot of the hill one band went to the right, the other to the left, Ellen remaining behind, under the guard of a few warriors and the Canadian hunter, who would not leave her. This little band moved forward gently as a rearguard.

In the meanwhile, the partisans reached the village at headlong speed; and it was high time for them to arrive, for the huts, enveloped in flames, resembled a volcano. By the gleam of the fire, shadows could be seen darting hither and thither; and shouts of pain and rage, mingled with the discharge of firearms, incessantly rose from this burning mass.

The partisans rushed into this horrible furnace, uttering their war yell and brandishing their arms, and the medley became frightful. The Apaches, thus attacked on two sides simultaneously, underwent a momentary stupor, which soon changed into a panic and utter rout, at the sight of these new opponents, who seemed to rise from the ground to crush them, and change their triumph into a defeat.

But flight was not easy. The entire population of the village was under arms: women and children, electrified by their example, and joining the warriors, rushed madly on the Apaches, who, seeing their surprise foiled, only tried to reach the open country again.

For a quarter of an hour the massacre was fearful. At length the Apaches, led by Stanapat and Black Cat, who vainly performed prodigies of valour in order to restore the chances of the fight, succeeded in clearing a gap through their enemies, and rushed in every direction, closely followed by the Comanches, who felled them with their war clubs and pitilessly scalped them.

Only one band still resisted.

Leaning against the palisades, which they had not yet found time to cross, the pirates, bearing in their midst the body of their beloved Gazelle, had recoiled inch by inch before the enemies who enveloped them on all sides, dashing forward every now and then, and compelling their foes to give ground in their turn.

But the struggle was too unequal, and a long resistance soon became impossible. The pirates, skilfully profiting by a moment of disorder, started to fly each in a different direction, hoping to escape more easily in this way. Sandoval had taken on his robust shoulders the body of the girl, and with an extraordinary effort, which despair alone made successful, had leaped out on the plain, where he hoped to conceal himself in the grass.

He would have probably succeeded in this, but he had to do with four men, who seemed to have made up their minds to hunt him down. At the moment he drew himself up after his leap, Valentine and his comrades threw themselves upon him, without giving him time to defend himself, and, in spite of his desperate resistance and furious yells, tied him securely.

The old pirate, on finding himself a prisoner, let his head sink on his chest, and giving a sad glance at the girl he had been unable to save, he gave vent to a deep sigh, and a burning tear silently coursed down his furrowed cheeks. At the same moment Ellen entered the village, in the middle of her escort: on seeing her, Valentine started.

"Oh!" he muttered; "Where is Doña Clara?"

"My daughter, my daughter!" the hacendero exclaimed, suddenly appearing before the hunter, with his clothes disordered and his brow pale with fear. The unhappy father, since he had entered the village, had only attended to one thing – seeking his daughter.

Followed step by step by the general, he entered the thickest of the fight, asking after his daughter of all those he met, thrusting aside the weapons that menaced him, and not thinking of the death which at every moment rose before him, under every shape. Protected, as it were, by an invisible talisman, he had traversed the whole village and entered every hut the fire had spared, Seeing nothing, hearing nothing, having only one object – that of finding his child. Alas! His search had been in vain.

Doña Clara had disappeared: although Valentine had intrusted her to Shaw, no one knew what had become of her. The hacendero fell into his friend's arms, and burst into heartrending sobs.

"My daughter," he groaned. "Valentine, restore my daughter to me!"

The hunter pressed him to his manly breast.

"Courage, poor father," he said to him. "Courage!"

But the hacendero no longer heard him; grief had at length overpowered him, and he fainted away.

"Oh!" Valentine said, "Red Cedar, you viper, shall I never succeed in putting my heel on your chest!"

Aided by the general and Don Pablo, he carried Don Miguel to the medicine lodge, which the flames had not reached, and laid him a bed of dry leaves.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE SCALP-DANCE

When the combat was at an end, the Comanches busied themselves in repairing the ravages caused by the Apache attack. Though their losses were great, they were not so serious as might be supposed; because, as the season was already far advanced, they had sent the larger portion of their property to the winter village. This accidental circumstance saved the greater part of their wealth.

On the other hand, the Apaches had been in such haste, and the defence had been so promptly organised and obstinate, that they had found no time to plunder. Although all the callis were reduced to ashes, that damage was trifling, and could be repaired in a few days.

The most serious part of the affair was the loss of some twenty warriors, who had courageously fallen in the defence of their homes. Several women and children had also fallen; but the Apaches had suffered a far more considerable loss. Without counting more than eighty warriors killed during the rout, Black Cat and six other Apache warriors had fallen alive into the power of their adversaries, and a terrible fate awaited them.

"What does my brother intend to do with his prisoners?" Unicorn asked Valentine.

"My brother need not feel anxious about them," the latter answered; "they are whites, and I intend disposing of them as I think proper."

"It shall be done as my brother desires."

"Thanks, chief; I should feel obliged, however, by your lending me two or three warriors to guard them."

"It is unnecessary," Sandoval interrupted. "I pledge my word of honour and that of my comrade not to try and escape for the next twenty-four hours."

Valentine fixed on him a glance that seemed trying to read his most secret thoughts.

"It is well," he said presently. "I accept your parole."

"Are you going to leave this poor creature without help?"

"You love him?"

"As my son; had it not been so, you would not have captured me."

"Very good. We will try to save him; but, perhaps, it would be better for him to die at once."

"Perhaps so," the old Pirate said, shaking his head, and speaking, as it seemed, to himself.

"In a few moments the scalp dance will begin; will my brothers be present at it?" Unicorn asked.

"I will," Valentine replied, who, although caring very little for this ceremony, understood that it would be impolitic not to appear at it.

We have already said that Ellen had reached the village by this time. On seeing her, Don Pablo felt his heart quiver with emotion, and he trembled in all his limbs. Ellen, whose glance was idly wandering around, let her eyes settle accidentally on him; she suddenly blushed, and let her eyelashes droop to hide her look of pleasure.

Instinctively she felt reassured on finding she had near her this young man, whom, however, she hardly knew, and who had only addressed her once or twice. A cry of joy died away on her lips. Don Pablo walked up to her. He had already learned by what a concourse of singular events she had fallen into the hands of the partisans.

"You are free, señorita," he said to her; "henceforth you have nothing more to fear here, for you are under my protection."

"And mine," Harry said, roughly, as he hastily surveyed Don Pablo. "I alone am sufficient to defend Miss Ellen from any insult."

The two young men exchanged a very significant glance: at the first word, each recognised in the other a rival.

"I have no desire to withdraw Miss Ellen from your protection, caballero," the Mexican said coldly. "Still, as you are a stranger in this village, where I am among devoted friends, I fancy that my support will not be useless to her, and offer it – that is all."

"I gratefully accept, caballero," she replied with a charming smile. "Be kind enough to employ your influence in procuring me some shelter, where I can take a few minutes' repose, which I so greatly need."

"Be good enough to follow me," the young man answered, with a bow; "your wishes shall be immediately satisfied."

Ellen then turned to Harry.

"Thanks, brother," she said to him, cordially offering her hand. "Now, think of yourself; we shall meet again soon."

Then she added, addressing Don Pablo:

"I follow you, caballero."

The Canadian hunter stood for a moment abashed by this hurried leave-taking, but soon raised his head again.

"Hum!" he muttered, "that's the way she leaves me, is it? But why be angry with her, all women are alike – and, then, I have sworn to defend her! Can I compel her to love me?"

And after these philosophical reflections, which restored him all his tranquillity of mind, he threw his rifle over his shoulder, and quietly mixed among Bloodson's partisans.

Don Pablo, in the meanwhile, had conducted the maiden to a cabin miraculously preserved from the flames. At the moment they entered, they were joined by Valentine.

"Ah, a woman," he said, gaily, "all the better."

And laying White Gazelle on the buffalo hides, he added with a smile:

"Permit me, madam, to entrust to your care this young person, whom my friend Curumilla has half killed. We must do all our best to restore life."

Pedro Sandoval, so soon as he had pledged his word, had been freed from his ligatures, though his weapons were taken from him.

"Compañero," he said, "let the señorita do what is necessary; she will manage better than we can."

"Poor child!" Ellen murmured, sympathisingly. "Be assured, gentlemen, that I will take care of her."

"Thanks, madam, thanks," the old Pirate said, as he several times kissed the maiden's hands. "I would give my last drop of blood to see her smile on me again."

"Is she your daughter?" Ellen asked with interest.

The Pirate shook his head sadly.

"We have no children or family, we the accursed ones of civilisation," he said, in a hollow voice; "but, as I have watched over this poor girl almost since her birth, I love her as we are capable of loving. I have always acted as her father, and my greatest grief today is to see her suffering and be unable to relieve her."

"Leave that care to me; I hope you will soon hear her voice and see her smile on you."

"Oh, do that, madam," he exclaimed, "and I, who never yet blessed anything, will worship you as an angel."

The maiden, affected by such devoted love in a nature so rough as that of the Pirate, renewed her assurance of giving the prisoner all the care her position demanded, and the two women remained alone in the tent.

In the meanwhile, a new village had risen, as if by enchantment, on the ruins of the old one. Within a few hours, buffalo skin tents were erected in every direction, and only a few traces remained of the sanguinary contest of which the spot had been the scene on that same day.

A fire was kindled in the public square, and the Apache prisoners, fastened to stakes put up expressly for them, were stoically awaiting the decision on their fate.

All were getting ready for the scalp dance, and a great number of men, tall, handsome, and well dressed, soon invaded every corner of the square. Their faces were blackened, as were those of Unicorn and Pethonista, who led them; after these the old women and children came up in procession, and ranged themselves behind the men. Last of all, the other females came up in close column, two by two, and occupied the centre of the square.

Seven warriors belonging to the Old Dogs formed the band; they, too, had blackened their faces, and three of them carried drums; the other four, chichikouis. The warriors, wrapped in their buffalo robes, had their heads uncovered, and generally adorned with feathers, which fell down behind. The women's faces were also painted, some black, others red; they wore buffalo robes, or blankets dyed of different colours. Two or three, the wives of the principal chiefs, had on white buffalo robes, and wore on their heads an eagle plume, placed perpendicularly.

As Sunbeam, Unicorn's squaw, was absent, the first wife of Pethonista took her place, and, alone, wore the grand sacred cap of feathers. All the other women held in their hands war clubs or muskets, decorated with red cloth and small feathers, the butt of which they struck on the ground while dancing.

We will remark here, that in the scalp dance the women carry arms, and put on the war costume, to the exclusion of the men.

The chieftainess stood at the right extremity of the band. She had in her hand a long wand, from whose upper end were suspended four scalps, still dripping with blood, surmounted by a stuffed jay, with outstretched wings; a little lower, on the same staff, were five more scalps. Opposite her stood another woman, carrying eight scalps in the same way, while the majority of the rest had either one or two.

The women formed a semicircle; the musicians, placed on the right, began their deafening noise, beating the drums with all their strength, singing their exploits, and shaking the chichikouis. The squaws then began dancing. They took little steps, balancing to the right and left; the two ends of the semicircle advanced and fell back in turn; the dancers shrieked at the top of their lungs, and produced a fearful concert, which can only be compared to the furious miauwling of a multitude of cats.

The Apache prisoners were fastened to stakes in the centre of the circle. Each time the women approached them in their evolutions, they overwhelmed them with insults, spat in their faces, and called them cowards, hares, rabbits, and dogs without hearts.

The Apaches smiled at these insults, to which they replied by enumerating the losses they had entailed on the Comanches, and the warriors they had killed. When the dance had lasted more than an hour, the women, exhausted with fatigue, were compelled to rest, and the men advanced in their turn, and stood before the prisoners.

Among them was one Valentine would have liked to save – it was Black Cat. The hunter therefore resolved to interfere, and employ all his influence with Unicorn to obtain the life of the Apache chief.

Valentine did not conceal from himself the difficulty of such an undertaking with men to whom vengeance is the first duty, and whose good will he was, above all, afraid of alienating. But powerful reasons compelled him to act thus, and he resolved to attempt it. He therefore advanced without hesitation to Unicorn, who was preparing the punishment of the prisoners, and touched him lightly on the arm.

"My brother is the first sachem of the Comanches," he said to him.

The chief bowed silently.

"His calli," Valentine continued, in an insinuating voice, "disappears under the scalps of his enemies, so numerous are they, for my brother is more terrible than lightning in combat."

The Indian regarded the hunter with a proud smile.

"What does my brother want?" he asked.

"Unicorn," Valentine continued, "is no less wise at the council fire than he is intrepid in battle. He is the most experienced and revered of the warriors of his nation."

"My brother, the great pale hunter, must explain himself clearly, in order that I may understand him," the sachem answered, with a shade of impatience.

"My brother will listen to me for a moment," Valentine continued, quite unmoved. "Several Apache warriors have fallen alive into his hands."

"They will die!" the chief said, hoarsely.

"Why kill them? Would it not be better to set a ransom on them and send them back to their tribe, thus proving to the Apaches that the Comanches are great warriors, who do not fear them?"

"The palefaces understand nothing about war: a dead man is no longer to be feared. If you pardon an enemy, you run the risk of him taking your scalp on the morrow. The Apaches must die. They have burnt my village, killed the squaws and children of my young men. Blood demands blood. They have an hour to live!"

"Very good," the hunter replied, who understood that if he attempted to save all the prisoners he should not succeed, and was therefore compelled, much against the grain, to compromise; "the warriors must die; that is the law of war, and I do not seek to oppose it; but among them there is one for whom my heart swells with pity."

"The Apache prisoners are mine," Unicorn objected.

"I do not deny it, and my brother has the right to dispose of them as he pleases, and I cannot object; hence I ask a favour of my brother."

The chief frowned slightly, but Valentine went on without seeming to notice the tacit dissatisfaction of the Comanche:

"I have a great interest in saving this man."

"My brother is white. The palefaces have a gilded tongue; they know how to find words which say all they wish. My brother is aware that I can refuse him nothing. Who is the warrior he desires to save?"

"Does my brother promise me that the man shall not perish, whoever it may be, whose life I may demand?"

The Comanche Chief was silent for a moment, looking fixedly at the hunter, who watched him with equal attention.

"Unicorn is my friend," Valentine continued. "I have a perfectly new rifle: if it pleases my brother, I will give it to him."

At this insinuation a slight smile enlivened the chief's face.

"Good: I accept the rifle," he answered. "It is a proper weapon for a sachem. My brother has my word. Who is the warrior he wishes to save?"

"Black Cat."

"Wah! I suspected it: however, no matter, my brother, can be at his ease. Black Cat shall be saved."

"I thank my brother," Valentine said warmly. "I see that his heart is noble! He is a great warrior!"

Then, alter affectionately pressing the chief's hand, Valentine returned to his station, suppressing a sigh of satisfaction.