iJjiliilWJi UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00022228616 JOHN SKALLY TERRY MEMORIAL COLLECTION © ESTABLISHED BY THE FAMILY IN HONOR OF JOHN S. TERRY CLASS OF 1918 THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA LIBRARY L.1I w O^ . ^ .-,<3 5> The Scalp Hunters A THRILLING TALE OF ADVENTURE AND ROMANCE IN NORTHERN MEXICO BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID AUTHOR OF " THE RIFLE RANGERS " NEW YORK THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 1899 Copyright 1899 By S. C. ANDREWS CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. The Wild West 5 II. The Prairie Merchants 12 III. "The Prairie Fever" 18 IV. A Ride upon a Buffalo Bull 23 V. In a Bad " Fix " 32 VI. Santa Fe 41 VII. The Fandango 49 VIII. Seguin the Scalp Hunter 61 IX. Left Behind 68 X. The Del Norte 75 XL The " Journey of Death," 81 XII. Zoe 91 XIII. Seguin 100 XIV. Love 105 XV. Light and Shade 112 XVI. An Autobiography 119 XVII Up the Del Norte 130 XVIII. Geography and Geology 138 XIX. The Scalp-Hunters 145 XX. Sharpshooting 1 56 XXI. A Feat a la Tell 167 XXII. A Feat a la Tail 174 XXIII. The Program 181 XXIV. El Sol and La Luna 188 XXV. The War-Trail 195 XXVI. Three Days in the Trap 207 XXVII. The Diggers 218 XXVIII. Dacoma 223 XXIX. A Dinner with Two Dishes 232 XXX. Blinding the Pursuer — A Trapper's Ruse 245 XXXI. A Buffalo " Surround " 255 XXXII. Another " Coup " 265 XXXIII. A Bitter Trap 272 iii 594598 IV CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE XXXIV. The Phantom City 281 XXXV. The Mountain of Gold 291 XXXVI. Navajoa 2 o6 XXXVII. The Night Ambuscade 301 XXXVIII. Adele 307 XXXIX. The White Scalp 3I7 XL. The Fight in the Pass 329 XLI. The Barranca 34! XLII. The Foe. 349 XLIII. New Misery 354 XLIV. The Flag of Truce 361 XLV. A Vexed Treaty 368 XLVI. A Conflict with closed Doors 377 XLVII. A Queer Encounter in a Cave 384 XLVIII. Smoked out 392 XLIX. A Novel Mode of Equitation 397 L. A Fast Dye ; . . 401 LI. Astonishing the Natives 407 LII. Running Amuck 414 LII1. A Conflict upon a Cliff 422 LI V. An Unexpected Rencontre 432 LV. The Rescue 440 LVI. El Paso del Norte 446 LVII. Touching the Chords of Memory 452 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. CHAPTER I. THE WILD WEST. wild west, sun, away ^flNROLL the world's map, and look upon the great northern continent of America. Away to the iway toward the setting beyond many a far meridian, let your eyes wander. Rest them where golden rivers rise among peaks that carry the eternal snow. Rest them there. You are looking upon a land whose features are unfurrowed by human hands, still bearing the marks of the Almighty mold, as upon the morning of creation ; a region whose every object wears the impress of God's image. His ambient spirit lives in the silent grandeur of its mountains and speaks in the roar of its mighty rivers ; 6 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. a region redolent of romance, rich in the reality of ad- venture. Follow me, with the eye of your mind, through scenes of wild beauty, of savage sublimity. I stand in an open plain. I turn my face to the north, to the south, to the east, and to the west ; and on all sides be- hold the blue circle of the heavens girdling around me. Nor rock, nor tree, breaks the ring of the horizon. What covers the broad expanse between ? Wood ? water ? grass ? No ; flowers. As far as my eye can range, it rests only on flowers, on beautiful flowers ! I am looking as on a tinted map, an enameled picture brilliant with every hue of the prism. Yonder is golden yellow, where the helianthus turns her dial-like face to the sun. Yonder, scarlet, where the malva erects its red banner. Here is a parterre of the purple monarda, there the euphorbia sheds its silver leaf. Yonder the orange predominates in the showy flowers of the asclepia ; and beyond, the eye roams over the pink blos- soms of the cleome. The breeze stirs them. Millions of corollas are waving their gaudy standards. The tall stalks of the helianthus bend and rise in long undulations, like billows on a golden sea. They are at rest again. The air is filled with odors sweet as the perfumes of Araby or Ind. Myriads of insects flap their gay wings : flowers of themselves. The bee-birds skirr around, glancing like stray sunbeams ; or, poised on whir- ring wings, drink from the nectared cups ; and the wild bee, with laden limbs, clings among the honeyed pistils, or leaves for his far hive with a song of joy. Who planted these flowers ? Who hath woven them into these pictured parterres ? Nature. It is her richest mantle, richer in its hues than the scarfs of Cashmere. THE WILD WEST. 7 This is the " weed prairie." It is misnamed. It is the garden of God. The scene is changed. I am in a plain as before, with the unbroken horizon circling around me. What do I be- hold ? Flowers ? No ; there is not a flower in sight, but one vast expanse of living verdure. From north to south, from east to west, stretches the prairie meadow, green as an emerald, and smooth as the surface of a sleeping lake. The wind is upon its bosom, sweeping the silken blades. They are in motion ; and the verdure is dappled into lighter and darker shades, as the shadows of summer clouds flitting across the sun. The eye wanders without resistance. Perchance it en- counters the dark hirsute forms of the buffalo, or traces the tiny outlines of the antelope. Perchance it follows, in pleased wonder, the far-wild gallop of a snow-white steed. This is the " grass prairie," the boundless pasture of the bison. The scene changes. The earth is no longer level, but treeless and verdant as ever. Its surface exhibits a succes- sion of parallel undulations, here and there swelling into smooth round hills. It is covered with a soft turf of bril- liant greenness. These undulations remind one of the ocean after a mighty storm, when the crisped foam has died upon the waves, and the big swell comes bowling in. They look as though they had once been such waves, that by an omnip- otent mandate, had been transformed to earth, and suddenly stood still. This is the " rolling prairie." Again the scene changes. I am among greenswards and bright flowers ; but the view is broken by groves and clumps 8 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. of copse-wood. The frondage is varied, its tints are vivid, its outlines soft and graceful. As I move forward, new landscapes open up continuously : view spark-like and pic- turesque. " Gangs " of buffalo, " herds " of antelope, and " droves " of wild horses, mottle the far vistas. Turkeys run into the coppice, and pheasants whirr up from the path. Where are the owners of these lands, of these flocks and fowls ? Where are the houses, the palaces, that should ap- pertain to these lordly parks ? I look forward, expecting to see the turrets of tall mansions spring up over the groves. But no. For hundreds of miles around no chimney sends forth its smoke. Although with a cultivated aspect, this region is only trodden by the mocassined foot of the hunter, and his enemy, the Red Indian. These are the " mottes " — the " islands " of the prairie sea. I am in the deep forest. It is night, and the log fire throws out its vermilion glare, painting the objects that sur- round our bivouac. Huge trunks stand thickly around us ; and massive limbs, gray and giant-like, stretch out and over. I notice the bark. It is cracked, and clings in broad scales sping outward. Long snake-like parasites creep from tree to tree, coiling the trunks as though they were serpents, and would crush them ! There are no leaves overhead. They have ripened and fallen ; but the white Spanish moss, festooned along the branches, hangs weeping down like the drapery of a death-bed. Prostrate trunks, yards in diameter and half-decayed, lie along the ground. Their ends exhibit vast cavities, where the porcupine and opossum have taken shelter from the cold. My comrades, wrapped in their blankets, and stretched upon the dead leaves, have gone to sleep. They lie with their feet to the fire, and their heads resting in the hollow THE WILD WEST. 9 of their saddles. The horses, standing around a tree, and tied to its lower branches, seem also to sleep. I am awake and listening. The wind is high up, whistling among the twigs, and causing the long white streamers to oscillate. It utters a wild and melancholy music. There are few other sounds, for it is winter, and the tree-frog and cicada are silent. I hear the crackling knots in the fire, the rustling of dry leaves " swilled " up by a stray gust, the " coo-whoo-a" of the white owl, the bark of the racoon, and, at intervals, the dismal howling of wolves. These are the nocturnal voices of the winter forest. They are savage sounds ; yet there is a chord in my bosom that vibrates under their in- fluence, and my spirit is tinged with romance as I lie and listen. ******* The forest in autumn ; still bearing its full frondage. The leaves resemble flowers, so bright are their hues. They are red and yellow, and golden and brown. The woods are warm and glorious now, and the birds flutter among the laden branches. The eye wanders delighted down long vistas and over sunlit glades. It is caught by the flashing of gaudy plumage, the golden green of the paroquet, the blue of the jay, and the orange wing of the oriole. The red- bird flutters lower down in the coppice of green pawpaws* or amidst the amber leaflets of the beechen thicket. Hun- dreds of tiny wings flit through the openings, twinkling in the sun like the glancing of gems. The air is filled with music : sweet sounds of love. The bark of the squirrel, the cooing of mated doves, the " rat-ta- ta " of the pecker, and the constant and measured chirrup of the cicada, are all ringing together. High up, on a top- most twig, the mocking-bird pours forth his mimic note, as though he would shame all other songsters into silence. ******* 10 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. I am in a country of brown barren earth and broken out- lines. There are rocks and clefts and patches of sterile soil. Strange vegetable forms grow in the clefts and hang over the rocks. Others are spheroidal in shape, resting upon the surface of the parched earth.. Others rise vertically to a great height, like carved and fluted columns. Some throw out branches, crooked, shaggy branches, with hirsute oval leaves. Yet there is a homogeneousness about all these vegetable forms, in their color, in their fruit and flowers, that proclaims them of one family. They are cacti. It is a forest of the Mexican nopal. Another singular plant is here. It throws out long thorny leaves that curve downward. It is the agave, the far-famed mezcal-plant of Mexico. Here and there, mingling with the cacti, are trees of acacia and mezquite, the denizens of the desert land. No bright object relieves the eye ; no bird pours its melody into the ear. The lonely owl flaps away into the impassable thicket, the rattlesnake glides under its scanty shade, and the coyote skulks through its silent glades. I have climbed mountain after mountain, and still I be- hold peaks soaring far above, crowned with the snow that ever melts. I stand upon beetling cliffs, and look into sms that yawn beneath, sleeping in the silence of desola- on. Great fragments have fallen into them, and lie piled one upon another. Others hang threatening over, as if waiting for some concussion of the atmosphere to hurl them from their balance. Dark precipices frown me into fear, and my head reels with a dizzy faintness. I hold by the pine- tree shaft, or the angle of the firmer rock. Above, and below, and around me, are mountains piled on mountains in chaotic confusion. Some are bald and bleak ; others exhibit traces of vegetation in the dark needles of the pine and cedar, whose stunted forms half-grown, half- hang from the cliffs. Here, a cone-shaped peak soars up till nev r tion THE WILD WEST. II it is lost in snow and clouds. There, a ridge elevates its sharp outline against the sky ; while along its sides lie huge boulders of granite, as though they had been hurled from the hands of Titan giants ! A fearful monster, the grizzly bear, drags his body along the high ridges ; the carcajou squats upon the projecting rock, waiting the elk that must pass to the water below ; and the bighorn bounds from crag to crag in search of his shy mate. Along the pine branch the bald buzzard whets his filthy beak ; and the war-eagle, soaring over all, cuts sharply against the blue field of the heavens. These are the Rocky Mountains, the American Andes, the colossal vertebras of the continent ! Such are the aspects of the wild west ; such is the scenery of our drama. Let us raise the curtain, and bring on the characters. CHAPTER II. THE PRAIRIE MERCHANTS. "New Orleans, April 3d, 18 — ■ EAR ST. VRAIN, " Our young friend, M. Henry Haller, goes to St. Louis in ' search of the picturesque.' See that he be put through a ' regular course of sprouts.' " Yours, " Luis Walton. " Charles St. Vrain, Esq., Planters' Hotel, St. Louis." With this laconic epistle in my waistcoat pocket, I de- barked at St. Louis on the 10th of April, and drove to the " Planters'." After getting my baggage stowed, and my horse (a favorite I had brought with me) stabled, I put on a clean shirt, and, descending to the office, inquired for M. St. Vrain. He was not there. He had gone up the Missouri River several days before. This was a disappointment, as I had brought no other introduction to St. Louis. But I endeavored to wait with patience the return of M. St. Vrain. He was expected back in less than a week. m 12 THE PRAIRIE MERCHANTS. 13 Day after day I mounted my horse. I rode up to the " Mounds " and out upon the prairies. I lounged about the hotel, and smoked my cigar in its fine piazza. I drank " sherry cobblers " in the saloon, and read the journals in the " reading-room." With these and such like occupations I killed time for three whole days. There was a party of gentlemen stopping at the hotel, who seemed to know each other well. I might call them a clique ; but that is not a good word, and does not express what I mean. They appeared rather a band of friendly, jovial fellows. They strolled together through the streets, and sat side by side at the table-d'hbte, where they usually remained long after the regular diners had retired. I noticed that they drank the most expensive wines, and smoked the finest cigars the house afforded. My attention was attracted to these men. I was struck with their peculiar bearing ; their erect, Indian-like carriage in the streets, combined with a boyish gaiety, so characteris- tic of the western American. They dressed nearly alike : in fine black cloth, white linen, satin vests, and diamond pins. They wore the whisker full, but smoothly trimmed ; and several of them sported mus- taches. Their hair fell curling over their shoulders ; and most of them wore their collars turned down, displaying healthy-looking, sun-tanned throats. I was struck with a resemblance in their physiognomy. Their faces did not resemble each other ; but there was an unmistakable simi- larity in the expression of the eye : no doubt, the mark that had been made by like occupations and experience. Were they sportsmen ? No : the sportsman's hands are whiter ; there is more jewelry on his fingers ; his waist- coat is of a gayer pattern, and altogether his dress will be more gaudy and super-elegant. Moreover, the sportsman 14 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. lacks that air of free-and-easy confidence. He dares not assume it. He may live in the hotel, but he must be quiet and unobtrusive. The sportsman is a bird of prey ; hence, like all birds of prey, his habits are silent, and solitary. They are not of his profession. " Who are these gentlemen ? " I inquired from a person who sat by me — indicating to him the men of whom I have spoken. " The prairie men." " The prairie men ! " " Yes : the Santa Fe traders." " Traders ! " I echoed, in some surprise, not being able to connect such tlegants with any ideas of trade or the prairies. " Yes," continued my informant. " That large, fine-look- ing man in the middle is Bent — Bill Bent, as he is called. The gentleman on his right is young Sublette ; the other, standing on his left, is one of the Choteaus ; and that is the sober Jerry Folger." " These, then, are the celebrated prairie merchants ? " " Precisely so." I sat eyeing them with increased curiosity. I observed that they were looking at me, and that I was the subject of their conversation. Presently, one of them, a dashing-like young fellow, parted from the group, and walked up to me. " Were you inquiring for M. St. Vrain ? " he asked. " I was." " Charles ? " " Yes, that is the name." " I am " I pulled out my note of introduction, and handed it to the gentleman, who glanced over its contents. "My dear friend," said he, grasping me cordially, "ex- tremely sorry I have not been here. I came dowa the river THE PRAIRIE MERCHANTS. 15 this morning. How stupid of Walton not to superscribe to Bill Bent ! How long have you been up ? " " Three days. I arrived on the 10th." " By Jove ! you are lost. Come, let me make you ac- quainted. Here, Bent ! Bill ! Jerry ! " And the next moment, I had shaken hands with one and all of the traders, of which fraternity I found that my new friend, St. Vrain, was a member. " First gong that ? " asked one, as the loud scream of a gong came through the gallery. " Yes," replied Bent, consulting his watch. " Just time to 'licker.' Come along I " Bent moved towards the cafe, and we all followed, nemine dissentiente. The spring season was setting in, and the young mint had sprouted : a botanical fact with which my new acquaintances appeared to be familiar, as one and all of them ordered a " mint julep." This beverage, in the mixing and drinking, occupied our time until the second scream of the gong sum- moned us to dinner. " Sit with us, Mr. Haller," said Bent ; " I am sorry we didn't know you sooner. You have been lonely." And so saying, he led the way into the dining-room, fol- lowed by his companions and myself. I need not describe a dinner at the " Planters'," with its venison steaks, its buffalo tongues, its " prairie chickens," and its delicious frog " fixings " from the Illinois " bottom." No ; I would not describe the dinner, and what followed I am afraid I could not. We sat until we had the table to ourselves. Then the cloth was removed, and we commenced smoking regalias and drinking madeira at twelve dollars a bottle ! This was or- dered in by some one, not in single bottles, but by the half- dozen. I remember thus far well enough : and that, when- l6 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. ever I took up a wine-card or a pencil, these articles were snatched out of my fingers. I remember listening to stories of wild adventures among the Pawnees, and the Cumanches, and the Blackfeet, until I was filled with interest, and became enthusiastic about prairie-life. Then some one asked me, would I not like to join them in " a trip ? " Upon this I made a speech, and proposed to accompany my new acquaintances on their next expedition ; and then St. Vrain said I was just the man for their life ; and this pleased me highly. Then some one sang a Spanish song, with a guitar, I think, and some one else danced an Indian war-dance ; and then we all rose to our feet, and chorused the " Star-spangled Banner ; " and I remember nothing else after this, until next morning, when I remember well that I awoke with a splitting headache. I had hardly time to reflect on my previous night's folly when the door opened, and St. Vrain, with half a dozen of my table companions, rushed into the room. They were followed by a waiter who carried several large glasses topped with ice, and filled with a pale amber-colored liquid " A sherry cobbler, Mr. Haller," cried one ; " best thing in the world for you : drain it, my boy. It'll cool you in a squirrel's jump." I drank off the refreshing beverage as desired. " Now, my dear friend," said St. Vrain, " you feel a hun- dred per cent, better ! But, tell me, were you in earnest when you spoke of going with us across the plains ? We start in a week; I shall be sorry to part with you so soon." " But I was in earnest. I am going with you, if you will only show me how I am to set about it." " Nothing easier : buy yourself a horse." " I have got one." " Then a few coarse articles of dress, a rifle, a pair of pistols, a " THE PRAIRIE MERCHANTS. 17 " Stop, stop ! I have all these things. That is not what I would be at, but this : — You, gentlemen, carry goods to Santa Fe\ You double or treble your money on them. Now, I have ten thousand dollars in a bank here. What should hinder me to combine profit with pleasure, and invest it as you do ? " " Nothing ; nothing ! A good idea," answered several. " Well, then, if any of you will have the goodness to go with me, and show me what sort of merchandise I am to lay in for the Santa Fe market, I will pay his wine bill at dinner, and that's no small commission, I think." The prairie men laughed loudly, declaring they would all go a-shopping with me ; and, after breakfast, we started in a body, arm-in-arm. Before dinner, I had invested nearly all my disposable funds in printed calicoes, long knives, and looking-glasses, etc., leaving just money enough to purchase mule-wagons and hire teamsters at Independence, our point of departure for the " plains." A few day after, with my new companions, I was steam- ing it up the Missouri, on our way to the trackless prairies of the " Far West." Vaqueros Lassoing Wild Horses. CHAPTER III. " THE PRAIRIE FEVER. FTER a week spent in Independence buying mules and wagons, i we took the route over the plains. There were a hun- H dred wagons in the " caravan," I and nearly twice that number of teamsters and attendants. |||! Two of the capacious vehicles contained all my " plunder " ; and, to manage them, I had hired a couple of lathy, long-haired engaged a Canadian voyageur named Gode as a sort of attendant or compagnon. Where are the glossy gentlemen of the Planters' Hotel ? One would suppose they had been left behind, as here are 18 Missourians. I had also "the prairie fever. 19 none but men in hunting-shirts and slouch hats. Yes ; but under these hats we recognize their faces, and in these rude shirts we have the same jovial fellows as ever. The silky black and the diamonds have disappeared, for now the traders flourish under the prairie costume. I will endeavor to give an idea of the appearance of my companions by de- scribing my own ; for I am " tricked out " very much like themselves. I wear a hunting-shirt of dressed deerskin. It is a garment more after the style of an ancient tunic than anything I can think of. It is of a light yellow color, beautifully stitched and embroidered ; and the cape, for it has a short cape, is fringed by tags cut out of the leather itself. The skirt is also bordered by a similar fringe, and hangs full and low. A pair of " savers" of scarlet cloth cover my limbs to the thigh ; and under these are strong jean pantaloons, heavy boots, and big brass spurs. A colored cotton shirt, a blue neck-tie, and a broad-brimmed Guayaquil hat, complete the articles of my every-day dress. Behind me, on the cantle of my saddle, may be observed a bright red object folded into a cylindrical form. That is my " Mackinaw," a great favor- ite, for it makes my bed by night and my great coat on other occasions. There is a small slit in the middle of it, through which I thrust my head in cold or rainy weather and I am thus covered to the ankles. As I have said, my compagnons de voyage are similarly attired. There may be a difference of color in the blanket or the leggings, or the shirt may be of other materials ; but that I have described may be taken as a " character dress." We are all somewhat similarly armed and equipped. For my part, I may say that I am " armed to the teeth." In my holsters I carry a pair of Colt's large-sized revolvers, six shots each. In my belt is another pair of the small size, with five shots each. In addition, I have a light rifle, mak- 20 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. ing in all twenty-three shots which I have learnt to de- liver in as many seconds of time. Failing with all these, I carry in my belt a long shining blade known as a " bowie knife." This last is my hunting knife, my dining knife, and, in short, my knife of " all work." For accouterments I have a pouch and a flask, both slung under the right arm. I have also a large gourd canteen, and haversack for my rations. So have all my companions. But we are differently mounted. Some ride saddle mules, other bestride mustangs, while a few have brought their favorite American horses. I am of this number. I ride a dark-brown stallion with black legs, and muzzle like the withered fern. He is a half Arab, and of perfect proportions. He is called " Moro," a Spanish name given him by the Louisiana planter from whom I bought him, but why I do not know. I have retained the name, and he answers to it readily. He is strong, fleet, and beautiful. Many of my friends fancy him on the route, and offer large prices for him ; but these do not tempt me, for my Moro serves me well. Every day I grow more and more attached to him. My dog Alp, a St. Bernard that I bought from a Swiss emigre in St. Louis, hardly comes in for a tithe of my affections. I find on referring to my note-book, that for weeks we traveled over the prairies without any incident of unusual in- terest. To me the scenery was interest enough ; and I do not remember a more striking picture than to see the long caravan of wagons, the " prairie ships," deployed over the plain, or crawling slowly up some gentle slope, their white tilts contrasting beautifully with the deep green of the earth. At night, too, the camp, with its corralled -wagons, and horses picketed around, was equally a picture. The scenery was altogether new to me, and imbued me with impressions of a peculiar character. The streams were fringed with tall groves of cottonwood trees, whose column-like stems sup- 1 THE PRAIRIE FEVER. 21 ported a thick frondage of silvery leaves. These groves meeting at different points, walled in the view, so dividing the prairies from one another that we seemed to travel through vast fields fenced by colossal hedges. We crossed many rivers, fording some, and floating our wagons over others that were deeper and wider. Occa- sionally we saw deer and antelope, and our hunters shot a few of these ; but we had not yet reached the range of the buffalo. Once we stopped a day to recruit in a wooded " bottom," where the grass was plenty and the water pure. Now and then, too, we were halted to mend a broken tongue or an axle, or help a " stalled " wagon from its miry bed. I had very little trouble with my particular division of the caravan. My Missourians turned out to be a pair of staunch hands, who could assist one another without making a des- perate affair of every slight accident. The grass had sprung up, and our mules and oxen, instead of thinning down, every day grew fatter upon it. Moro therefore, came in for a better share of the maize that I had brought in my wagons, and which kept my favorite in fine traveling condition. As we approached the Arkansas, we saw mounted Indians disappearing over the swells. They were Pawnees ; and for several days clouds of these dusky warriors hung upon the skirts of the caravan. But they knew our strength, and kept at a wary distance from our long rifles. To me every day brought something new, either in the incidents of the " voyage " or the features of the land- scape. Gode, who had been by turns a voyageur, a hunter, a trap- per, and a coureur du bois, in our private dialogues had given me an insight into many an item of prairie-craft, thus ena- bling me to cut quite a respectable figure among my new com- rades, St. Vrain, too, whose frank, generous manner had 22 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. already won my confidence, spared no pains to make the trip agreeable to me. What with gallops by day, and the wilder tales by the night watch-fires, I became intoxicated with the romance of my new life. I had caught the "prairie-fever J '" So my companions told me, laughing. I did not under- stand them then. I knew what they meant afterwards. The prairie fever ! Yes. I was just then in process of being in- oculated by that strange disease. It grew upon me apace. The dreams of home began to die within me ; and with these the illusory ideas of many a young and foolish ambition. Died away, too, dead out of my heart, the allurements of the great city, the memory of soft eyes and silken tresses, the impress of amorous emotions, foes to human happiness ; all died away, as if they had never been or I had never felt them! My strength increased, both physically and intellectually. I experienced a buoyancy of spirits and a vigor of body I had never known before. I felt a pleasure in action. My blood seemed to rush warmer and swifter through my veins, and I fancied that my eyes reached to a more distant vision. I could look boldly upon the sun without quivering in my glance. Had I imbibed a portion of the divine essence that lives, and moves, and has its being in those vast solitudes ? Who can answer this ? The prairie fever ! I feel it now ! Whilst I am penning these memories, my fingers twitch to grasp the reins, my knees quiver to press the sides of my noble horse, and wildly wander over the verdant billows of the prairie sea 1 Indian Wampum Belt. CHAPTER IV. A RIDE UPON A BUFFALO BULL. E had been out about two weeks when we struck the Arkansas " bend," about six miles below the " Plum Buttes." Here our wagons corralled and camped. So far we had seen but little of the buffalo ; only a stray bull, or, at most two or three together, and these shy. It was now the " running season," but none of the great droves, love-maddened, had crossed us. " Yonder ! " cried St. Vrain ; " fresh hump for supper ! " We looked northwest, as indicated by our friend. Along the escarpment of a low table, five dark objects broke the line of the horizon. A glance was enough : they Were buffaloes. As St. Vrain spoke, we were about slipping off our saddles. Back went the girth buckles with a " sneck," down came the stirrups, up went we, and off in the " twinkling of a goat's eye." Half a score or so started ; some, like myself, for the sport ; while others, old hunters, had the " meat " in their eye. We had made but a short day's march ; our horses were still fresh, and in three times as many minutes, the three miles that lay between us and the game were reduced to 23 24 the scalp-hunters. one. Here, however, we were " winded." Some of the party, like myself, green upon the prairies, disregarding advice, had ridden straight ahead ; and the bulls snuffed us on the wind. When within a mile, one of them threw up his shaggy front, snorted, struck the ground with his hoof, rolled over, rose up again, and dashed off at full speed, followed by his four companions. It remained to us now either to abandon the chase or put our horses to their mettle and " catch up." The latter course was adopted, and we galloped forward. All at once we found ourselves riding up to what appeared to be a clay wall, six feet high. It was a stair between two tables, and ran right and left as far as the eye could reach, without the semblance of a gap. This was an obstacle that caused us to rein up and reflect. Some wheeled their horses, and commenced riding back, while half a dozen of us, better mounted, among whom were St. Vrain and my voyageur Gode, not wishing to give up the chase so easily, put to the spur, and cleared the scarp. From this point it cost us a five miles' gallop, and our horses a white sweat, to come up with the hindmost, a young cow, which fell, bored by a bullet from every rifle in the party. As the others had gained some distance ahead, and we had meat enough for all, we reined up, and, dismounting, set about " removing the hair." This operation was a short one under the skilful knives of the hunters. We had now leisure to look back, and calculate the distance we had ridden from camp. " Eight miles, every inch ! " cried one. " We're close to the trail," said St. Vrain, pointing to some old wagon tracks that marked the route of the Santa F6 traders. « Well ? " A RIDE UPON A BUFFALO BULL. 2$ " If we ride into camp, we shall have to ride back in the morning. It will be sixteen extra miles for our cattle." " True." " Let us stay here, then. Here's water and grass. There's buffalo meat ; and yonder's a wagon load of ' chips.' We have our blankets ; what more do we want ? " " I say, camp where we are." "And I." "And I." In a minute the girth buckles flew open, our saddles were lifted off, and our panting horses were cropping the curly bunches of the prairie grass, within the circles of their cabriestos. A crystal rivulet, the " arroyo " of the Spaniards, stole away southward to the Arkansas. On the bank of this rivulet, and under one of its bluffs, we chose a spot for our bivouac. The bois de vache was collected, a fire was kindled, and " hump steaks," spitted on sticks, were soon sputtering in the blaze. Luckily, St. Vrain and I had our flasks along ; and as each of them contained a pint of pure Cognac, we managed to make a tolerable supper. The old hunters had their pipes and tobacco, my friend and I our cigars, and we sat round the ashes till a late hour, smoking and listening to wild tales of mountain adventure. At length the watch was told off, the lariats were shortened, the picket-pins driven home, and my comrades, rolling them- selves up in their blankets, rested their heads in the hollow of their saddles, and went to sleep. There was a man named Hibbets in our party, who, from his habits of somnolency, had earned the soubriquet of "Sleepy-head." For this reason, the first watch had been assigned to him, being the least dangerous, as Indians seldom made their attacks until the hour of soundest sleep : that be- fore daybreak. 26 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. Hibbets had climbed to his post, the top of the bluff, where he could command a view of the surrounding prairie. Before night had set in, I had noticed a very beautiful spot on the bank of the arroyo, about two hundred yards from where my comrades lay. A sudden fancy came into my head to sleep there ; and taking up my rifle, robe, and blanket, at the same time calling to " Sleepy-head " to awake me in case of alarm, I proceeded thither. The ground, shelving gradually down to the arroyo, was covered with soft buffalo grass, thick and dry ; as good a bed as was ever pressed by sleepy mortal. On this I spread my robe, and folding my blanket around me, lay down, cigar in mouth, to smoke myself asleep. It was a lovely moonlight, so clear that I could easily dis- tinguish the colors of the prairie flowers — the silver euphor- bias, the golden sunflowers, and the scarlet malvas, that fringed the banks of the arroyo at my feet. There was an enchanting stillness in the air, broken only by an occa- sional whine from the prairie wolf, the distant snoring of my companions, and the " crop, crop " of our horses shortening the crisp grass. I lay a good while awake, until my cigar burnt up to my lips, we smoke them close on the prairies) ; then, spitting out the stump, I turned over on my side, and was soon in the land of dreams. I could not have been asleep many minutes when I felt sensible of a strange noise, like distant thunder, or the roar- ing of a waterfall. The ground seemed to tremble beneath me. " We are going to have a dash of a thunder-shower," thought I, still half dreaming, half sensible to impressions from without ; and I drew the folds of my blanket closer about me, and again slept. I was awakened by a noise like thunder — indeed, like the A RIDE UPON A BUFFALO BULL. 27 trampling of a thousand hoofs, and the lowing of a thousand oxen ! The earth echoed and trembled. I could hear the shouts of my comrades : the voices of St. Vrain and Gode, the latter calling out — " Sacr-r-re ! monsieur ; prenez garde des buffles ! " I saw that they had drawn the horses, and were hurrying them under the bluff. I sprang to my feet, flinging aside my blanket. A fearful spectacle was before me. Away to the west, as far as the eye could reach, the prairie seemed in motion. Black waves rolled over its undulating outlines, as though some burning mountain were pouring down its lava upon the plains. A thousand bright spots flashed and flitted along the moving surface like jets of fire. The ground shook, men shouted, horses reared upon their ropes, neighing wildly. My dog barked and howled, running around me ! For a moment I thought I was dreaming ; but no, the scene was too real to be mistaken for a vision. I saw the border of the black wave within ten paces of me, and still approaching 1 Then, and not till then, did I recognize the shaggy crests and glaring eyeballs of the buffalo ! " Oh, God ; I am in their track. I shall be trampled to death ! " It was too late to attempt an escape by running. I seized my rifle and fired at the foremost of the band. The effect of my shot was not perceptible. The water of the arroyo was dashed in my face. A huge bull ahead of the rest, furious and snorting, plunged through the stream and up the slope. I was lifted and tossed high into the air. I was thrown rearwards, and fell upon a moving mass. I did not feel hurt or stunned. I felt myself carried onward upon the backs of several animals that, in the dense drove, ran close together. These, frightened at their strange burden, bellowed loudly, and dashed on to the front. A sudden 28 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. thought struck me, and, fixing on that which was most under me, I dropped my legs astride of him, embracing his hump, and clutching the long woolly hair that grew upon his neck. The animal " routed " with extreme terror, and, plunging forward, soon headed the band. This was exactly what I wanted ; and on we went over the prairie, the bull running at top speed, believing, no doubt, that he had a panther or a catamount between his shoulders. I had no desire to disabuse him of this belief, and, lest he should deem me altogether harmless, and come to a halt, I slipped out my bowie, which happened to be " handy," and pricked him up whenever he showed symptoms of lagging. At every fresh touch of the " spur " he roared out, and ran forward at a redoubled pace. My danger was still extreme. The drove was coming on behind with the front of nearly a mile. I could not have cleared it had the bull stopped and left me on the prairie. Notwithstanding the peril I was in, I could not resist laughing at my ludicrous situation. I felt as one does when looking at a good comedy. We struck through a village of " prairie dogs." Here I fancied the animal was about to turn and run back, This brought my mirth to a sudden pause ; but the buffalo usually runs in a " bee-line," and fortunately mine made no exception to the law. On he went, sinking to the knees, kicking the dust from the conical hills, snorting and bellowing with rage and terror. The " Plum Buttes " were directly in the line of our course. I had seen this from the start, and knew that if I could reach them I would be safe. They were nearly three miles from the bluff where we had bivouacked, but in my ride I fancied them ten. A small one rose over the prairie, several hundred yards nearer than the main heights. Towards this I pricked the A RIDE UPON A BUFFALO BULL. 29 foaming bull in a last stretch, and he brought me cleverly within a hundred yards of its base. It was now time to take leave of my dusky companion. I could have slaughtered him as I leaned over his back. My knife rested upon the most vulnerable part of his huge body. No ! I would not have slain that buffalo for the Koh-i-noor. Untwisting my fingers from his thick fleece, I slipped down over his tail, and without as much as saying li Good-night, " ran with all my speed towards the knoll. I climbed up ; and sitting down upon a loose boulder of rock, looked over the prairie. The moon was still shining brightly. My late companion had halted not far from where I had left him, and stood glaring back with an air of extreme bewilderment. There was something so comical in the sight that I yelled with laughter as I sat securely on my perch. I looked to the southwest. As far as the eye could see, the prairie was black, and moving. The living wave came roiling onward and toward me ; but I could now observe it in safety. The myriads of glancing eyes, sparkling like phosphoric gleams, no longer flashed terror. The drove was still half a mile distant. I thought I saw quick gleams, and heard the report of fire-arms away over its left border ; but I could not be certain. I had begun to think of the fate of my comrades, and this gave me hopes that they were safe. The buffaloes approached the butte on which I was seated ; and, perceiving the obstacle, suddenly forked into two great belts, and swept right and left around it. What struck me at this moment as curious was, that my bull, my particular bull, instead of waiting till his comrades had come up, and falling in among the foremost, suddenly tossed up his head, and galloped off as if a pack of wolves had been after him. He ran towards the outside of the band. When he had 30 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. reached a point that placed him fairly beyond the flank, I could see him closing in, and moving on with the rest. This strange tactic of my late companion puzzled me at the time, but I afterwards learned that it was sound strategy on his part. Had he remained where I had parted with him, the foremost bulls coming up would have mistaken him for an individual of some other tribe, and would certainly have gored him to death. I sat upon the rock for nearly two hours, silently watching the sable stream as it poured past. I was on an island in the midst of a black and glittering sea. At one time I fancied I was moving, that the butte was sailing onward, and the buffaloes were standing still. My head swam with diz- ziness, and I leaped to my feet to drive away the strange illusion. The torrent rolled onward, and at length the hindmost went straggling past. I descended from the knoll, and com- menced groping my way over the black, trodden earth. What was lately a green sward now presented the aspect of ground freshly ploughed, and trampled by droves of oxen. A number of white animals, resembling a flock of sheep, passed near me. They were wolves hanging upon the skirts of the herd. I pushed on, keeping to the southward. At length I heard voices ; and, in the clear moonlight, could see several horse- men galloping in circles over the plain. I shouted " Halloa ! " A voice answered mine, and one of the horsemen came galloping up ; it was St. Vrain. " Why, Lord bless me, Haller ! " cried he, reining up, and bending from his saddle to get a better view of me, " is it you or your ghost ? As I sit here, it's the man himself, and alive ! " " Never in better condition," I replied. " But where did you come from ? the clouds ? the sky ? A RIDE UPON A BUFFALO BULL. 3 1 where ? " And his questions were echoed by the others, who at this moment were shaking me by the hand, as if they had not seen me for a twelvemonth. Gode seemed to be the most perplexed man of the party. " Mon Dieu ! run over ; tramp by von million cussed buffles, et ne pas mort ! 'Cr-r-re matin ! " " We were hunting for your body, or rather, the fragments of it," said St. Vrain. " We had searched every foot of the prairie for a mile round, and had almost come to the con- clusion that the fierce brutes had eaten you up." " Eat monsieur up ! No ! tre million buffles no him eat. Mon Dieu ! Ha, Sleephead, pe hanged ! " This exclamation of the Canadian was addressed to Hib- bets, who had failed to warm my comrades of where I lay, and thus placed me in such a dangerous predicament. " We saw you tossed in the air," continued St. Vrain, " and fall right into the thick of them. Then, of course, we gave you up. But how, in heaven's name, have you got clear ? " I related my adventure to my wondering comrades. " Par Dieu /" cried Gode " un gar con tres-bizarre : une aventure tres-merveilleuse ! " From that hour I was looked upon as a " captain " on the prairies. My comrades had made good work of it, as a dozen dark objects that lay upon the plain testified. They had found my rifle and blankets, the latter trodden into the earth. St. Vrain had still a few drops in his flask ; and after swallowing these, and again placing the guard, we returned to our prairie couches and slept out the night. CHAPTER V. IN A BAD " FIX." FEW days afterwards, another " adventure " befel me ; and I began ^ to think that I was destined to become a hero among the "mountain men.'' A small party of traders, myself among the number, had pushed forward ahead of the caravan. Our ob- ject was to arrive at Santa Fe a day or two before the wagons, in order to have everything arranged with the governor for their entrance into that capital. We took the route by the Cimmaron. Our road, for a hundred miles or so, lay through a barren desert, without game, and almost without water. The buffalo had already disappeared, and deer were equally scarce. We had to content ourselves with the dried meat which we had brought from the settlements. We were in the deserts of the artemisia. Now and then we could see a stray antelope bounding away before us, but keeping far out of range. They, too, seemed to be unusually shy. On the third day after leaving the caravan, as we were riding near the Cimmaron, I thought I observed a pronged head disappearing behind a swell in the prairie. My com- 3 2 IN A BAD FIX. 33 panions were skeptical, and none of them would go with me ; so, wheeling out of the trail, I started alone. One of the men, for Gode was behind, kept charge of my dog, as I did not choose to take him with me, lest he might alarm the antelopes. My horse was fresh and willing ; and whether successful or not, I knew that I could easily overtake the party by camping-time. I struck directly towards the spot where I had seen the object. It appeared to be only half a mile or so from the trail. It proved more distant : a common illusion in the crystal atmosphere of these upland regions. A curiously formed ridge, a coutcau des prairies on a small scale, traversed the plain from east to west. A thicket of cactus covered part of its summit. Towards this thicket I directed myself. I dismounted at the bottom of the slope, and leading my horse silently up among the cacti plants, tied him to one of their branches. I then crept cautiously through the thorny leaves towards the point where I fancied I had seen the game. To my joy, not one antelope, but a brace of those beautiful animals was quietly grazing beyond ; but, alas ! too far off for the range of my rifle. They were fully three hundred yards distant, upon a smooth, grassy slope. There was not even a sage bush to cover me, should I attempt to " approach " them. What was to be done ? I lay for several minutes, thinking over the different tricks known in hunter-craft for taking the antelope. Should I imitate their call ? Should I hoist my handkerchief, and try to lure them up ? I saw that they were too shy ; for, at short intervals, they threw up their graceful heads and looked inquiringly around them. I remembered the red blanket on my saddle. I could display this upon the cactus bushes ; perhaps it would attract them. I had no alternative, and was turning to go back for the 3 34 THE SCALP- HUNTERS. blanket, when, all at once, my eye rested upon a clay-colored line running across the prairie beyond where the animals were feeding. It was a break in the surface of the plain, a buffalo road, or the channel of an arroyo ; in either case the very cover I wanted, for, the animals were not a hundred yards from it, and were getting still nearer to it as they fed. Creeping back out of the thicket,I ran along the side of the slope towards a point where I had noticed that the ridge was depressed to the prairie level. Here, to my surprise, I found myself on the banks of a broad arroyo, whose water, clear and shallow, ran slowly over a bed of sand and gypsum. The banks were low, not over three feet above the surface of the water, except where the ridge impinged upon the stream. Here there was a high bluff ; and, hurrying round its base, I entered the channel, and commenced wading upward. As I had anticipated, I soon came to a bend where the stream, after running parallel to the ridge, swept round and canoned through it. At this place I stopped, and looked cautiously over the bank. The antelopes had approached within less than rifle range of the arroyo ; but they were yet far above my position. They were still quietly feeding and unconscious of danger. I again bent down, and waded on. It was a difficult task proceeding in this way. The bed of the creek was soft and yielding, and I was compelled to tread slowly and silently lest I should alarm the game ; but I was cheered in my exertions by the prospect of fresh ven- ison for my supper. After a weary drag of several hundred yards, I came op- posite to a small clump of wormwood bushes growing out of the bank. " I may be high enough," thought I ; " these will serve for cover." I raised my body gradually until I could see through the leaves. I was in the right spot. I brought my rifle to a level, sighted for the heart of the IN A BAD " FIX." 35 buck, and fired. The animal leaped from the ground, and fell back lifeless. I was about to rush forward and secure my prize, when I observed the doe, instead of running off as I had expected, go up to her fallen partner and press her tapering nose to his body. She was not more than twenty yards from me ; and I could plainly see that her look was one of inquiry and be- wilderment. All at once she seemed to comprehend the fatal truth ; and throwing back her head, commenced uttering the most piteous cries, at the same time running in circles around the body. I stood wavering between two minds. My first impulse had been to reload and kill the doe ; but her plaintive voice entered my heart, disarming me of all hostile intentions- Had I dreamt of witnessing this painful spectacle, I should not have left the trail. But the mischief was now done. " I have worse than killed her,"' thought I ; "it will be better to despatch her at once." Actuated by these principles of a common, but to her fatal, humanity, I rested the butt of my rifle and reloaded. With a faltering hand I again leveled the piece and fired. My nerves were steady enough to do the work. When the smoke floated aside, I could see the little creature bleeding upon the grass, her head resting against the body of her mur- dered mate. I shouldered my rifle, and was about to move forward, when, to my astonishment, I found that I was caught by the feet. I was held firmly, as if my legs had been screwed in a vice ! I made an effort to extricate myself ; another, more violent, and equally unsuccessful ; and with a third, I lost my balance, and fell back upon the water. Half-suffocated, I regained my upright position, but only to find that I was held as fast as ever. 36 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. Again I struggled to free my limbs. I could neither move them backward nor forward, to the right nor to the left ; and I became sensible that I was gradually going down. Then the fearful truth flashed upon me : / was sinking in a quick- sand. A feeling of horror came over me. I renewed my efforts Indian Chivalry in Mexico ; Her Lord and Master. with the energy of desperation. I leant to one side then to the other, almost wrenching my knees from their sockets. My feet remained fast as ever. I could not move them an inch. The soft clinging sand already overtopped my horse- skin boots, wedging them around my ankles, so that I was unable to draw them off ; and I could feel that I was still f IN A BAD " FIX." 37" sinking, slowly but surely, as though some subterranean mon- ster were leisurely dragging me down ! This very thought caused me a fresh thrill of horror, and I called aloud for help. To whom ? There was no one within miles of me : no living thing. Yes ! the neigh of my horse answered me from the hills, mocking my despair. I bent forward as well as my constrained position would permit, and, with frenzied fingers, commenced tearing up the sand. I could barely reach the surface ; and the little hol- low I was able to make filled up almost as soon as it had been formed. A thought occurred to me. My rifle might support me placed horizontally. I looked around for it. It was not to be seen. It had sunk beneath the sand. Could I throw my body flat, and prevent myself from sink- ing deeper ? No. The water was two feet in depth. I should drown at once. This last hope left me as soon as formed. I could think of no plan to save myself. I could make no further effort. A strange stupor seized upon me. My very thoughts became paralyzed. I knew that I was going mad. For a moment J was mad ! After an interval my senses returned. I made an effort to rouse my mind from its paralysis, in order that I might meet death, which I now believed to be certain, as a man should. I stood erect. My eyes had sunk to the prairie level, and rested upon the still bleeding victims of my cruelty. My heart smote me at the sight. Was I suffering a retribution of God ? With humble and penitent thoughts I turned my face to heaven, almost dreading that some sign of omnipotent anger would scowl upon me from above. But no ! The sun was shining as brightly as ever, and the blue canopy of the world was without a cloud. 38 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. I gazed upward, and prayed with an earnestness known only to the hearts of men in positions of peril like mine. As I continued to look up, an object attracted my attention. 1 Against the sky I distinguished the outlines of a large bird. I knew it to be the obscene bird of the plains the buzzard vulture. Whence had it come ? Who knows ? Far beyond the reach of human eye it had seen or scented the slaughtered antelopes, and on broad silent wing was now descending to the feast of death. Presently another, and another, and many others, mottled the blue field of the heavens, curving and wheeling silently earthward. Then the foremost swooped down upon the bank, and after gazing around for a moment, flapped off towards its prey. In a few seconds the prairie was black with filthy birds, which clambered over the dead antelopes, and beat their wings against each other, while they tore out the eyes of the quarry with their fetid beaks. And now came gaunt wolves, sneaking and hungry, steal- ing out of the cactus thicket, and loping, coward-like, over the green swells of the prairie. These, after a battle, drove away the vultures, and tore up the prey, all the while growl- ing and snapping vengefully at each other. " Thank heaven I I shall at least be saved from this ! " I was soon relieved from the sight. My eyes had sunk below the level of the bank. I had looked my last on the fair green earth. I could now see only the clayey walls that contained the river, and the water that ran unheeding by me. Once more I fixed my gaze upon the sky, and with prayer- ful heart endeavored to resign myself to my fate. In spite of my efforts to be calm, the memories of earthly pleasures, and friends, and home, came over me, causing me, at intervals, to break into wild paroxysms, and make fresh though fruitless struggles. IN A BAD FIX. 39 Again I was attracted by the neighing of my horse. A thought entered my mind, filling me with fresh hopes. " Perhaps my horse " I lost not a moment. I raised my voice to its highest pitch, and called the animal by name. I knew that he would come at my call. I had tied him but slightly. The cactus limb would snap off. I called again, repeating words that were well known to him. I listened with a bounding heart. For a moment there was silence. Then I heard the quick sound of his hoofs, as though the animal were rearing and strug- gling to free himself. Then I could distinguish the stroke of his heels in a measured and regular gallop. Nearer came the sounds ; nearer and clearer, until the gal- lant brute appeared upon the bank above me. There he halted, and flinging back his tossed mane, uttered a shrill neigh. He was bewildered, and looked to every side, snorting loudly. I knew that having once seen me he would not stop until he had pressed his nose against my cheek, for this was his usual custom. Holding out my hands, I again uttered the magic words. Now glancing downward he perceived me, and stretching himself, sprang out into the channel. The next moment I held him by the bridle. There was no time to be lost. I was still going down ; and my armpits were fast nearing the surface of the quick- sand. I caught the lariat, and passing it under the saddlegirths, fastened it in a tight, firm knot. I then looped the trailing end, making it secure around my body. I had left enough of the rope, between the bit-ring and the girths, to enable me to check and guide the animal, in case the drag upon my body should be too painful. All this while the dumb brute seemed to comprehend what 40 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. I was about. He knew, too, the nature of the ground on which he stood, for during the operation he kept lifting his feet alternately to prevent himself from sinking. My arrangements were at length completed ; and with a feeling of terrible anxiety, I gave my horse the signal to move forward. Instead of going off with a start, the intelligent ani- mal stepped away slowly, as though he understood my situa- tion. The lariat tightened, I felt my body moving, and the next moment experienced a wild delight, a feeling I cannot describe, as I found myself dragged out of the sand ! I sprang to my feet with a shout of joy. I rushed up to my steed, and throwing my arms around his neck, kissed him with as much delight as I would have kissed a beautiful girl. He answered my embrace with a low whimper, that told me I was understood. I looked for my rifle. Fortunately it had not sunk deeply, and I soon found it. My boots were behind me, but I stayed not to look for them, being smitten with a wholesome dread of the place where I had left them. I was not long in retreating from the arroyo ; and mount- ing, I galloped back to the trail. It was sundown before I reached camp, where I was met by the inquiries of my wondering companions. " Did you come across the ' goats ' ? " " Where's your boots ? " " Whether have you been hunting or fishing ? " I answered all these questions by relating my adventures ; and that night I was again the hero of the camp-fire. Taking Solid Comfort : Smoking out Mosquitoes. CHAPTER VI. SANTA Ft. FTER a week's climb- ing through the Rocky Mountains, we descend- - ed into the valley of the Del Norte', and arrived at the capital of New Mexico, the far- famed Santa Fe. Next day the caravan itself came in, for we had lost time on the southern route ; and the wagons traveling by the Raton Pass, had made a good journey of it. We had no difficulty about their entrance into the country, with the proviso that we paid five hundred dollars of Alcavala tax upon each wagon. This was a greater extortion than usual ; but the traders were compelled to accept the impost. Santa Fe is the entrepot of the province, and the chief 4i 42 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. seat of its trade. On reaching it we halted, "camping" without the walls. St. Vrain, several other proprietaires, and myself took up our quarters at the Fonda, where we endeavored, by means of the sparkling vintage of El Paso, to make ourselves oblivous of the hardships we had endured in the passage of the plains. The night of our arrival was given to feasting and making merry. Next morning I was awakened by the voice of my man Gode who appeared to be in high spirits, singing a snatch of a Canadian boat-song. " Ah, monsieur ! " cried he, seeing me awake, " to-night — aujourd'hui — une grande fonction — one bal — vat le cussed Mexicain he call fandango. Tres bien, monsieur. You vill sure have grand plaisir to see un fandango Mexicain ? " " Not I, Gode. My countrymen are not so fond of danc- ing as yours." " C'est vrai, monsieur ; but von fandango is tres curieux. You sail see ver many sort of de pas. Bolero, et valse, wis de Coona, and ver many more pas, all mix up in von puchero. Allons ! monsieur, you vill see ver many pretty girl, avec les yeux tres noir, and ver short — ah, pe Gar ! ver short — vat you call em in Americaine ? " " I do not know what you allude to." " Celk 1 Zis, monsieur," holding out the skirt of his hunt- ing-shirt ; " par Dieu 1 now I have him — petticoes : ver short petticoes. Ah, pe Gar ! you sail see vat you sail see en un fandango Mexicaine. 'Lasninas de Durango Conmigo bailandas, Al cielo saltandas, En el fandango — en el fan-dang — o.' " Ha 1 here comes Monsieur St. Vrain. Ecoutez 1 He SANTA FE. 43 never not go to fandango. Parbleu ! how monsieur dance 1 like un maitre de ballet. Mais he be de sangre — blood Fran£ais. Ecoutez ! ' Al cielo saltandas, En el fandango — en el fan-dang ' " "Ha! Gode!" " Monsieur ? " " Trot over to the cantina, and beg, borrow, buy, or steal a bottle of the best Paso." " Sail I try steal 'im, Monsieur St. Vrain ? " inquired Gode, with a knowing grin. " No, you old Canadian thief ! pay for it. There's the money. Best Paso, do you hear ? — cool and sparkling. Now, vaya ! Bon jour, my bold rider of buffalo bulls 1 Still abed, I see." " My head aches as if it would split." " Ha, ha, ha ! so does mine ; but Gode's gone for medi- cine. Hair of the dog good for the bite. Come, jump up!" "Wait till I get a dose of your medicine." '•True; you will feel better then. I say: city life don't agree with us, eh ? " " You call this a city, do you ? " " Ay, so it is styled in these parts ; la ciudad de Santa Fe ; the famous city of Santa Fe ; the capital of Nuevo Mexico ; the metropolis of all prairiedom ; the paradise of traders, trappers, and thieves ! " " And this is the progress of three hundred years ! Why, these people have hardly passed the first stages of civiliza- tion." " Rather say they are passing the last stages of it. Here, on this fair oasis, you will find painting, poetry, dancing, theaters, and music, fetes and fireworks, with all the little 44 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. amorous arts that characterize a nation's decline. You will meet with numerous Don Quixotes, soi-disa?it knights-errant, Romeos without the heart, and ruffians, without the courage. You will meet with many things before you encounter either virtue or honesty, Hola ! muchacho ! " " Que es, sehor ? " " Hay cafe' ? " " Si, senor." " Bring us a couple of tazas, then — dos tazas, do you hear ? and quick — aprisa ! aprisa /" " Si, sehor." " Ha ! here comes le voyageur Canadien. So, old Nor'- west ! you've brought the wine ? " " Vin delicieux, Monsieur St. Vrain ! equal to ze vintage Francais." " He is right, Haller ! Tsap— tsap ! — delicious you may say, good Gode. Tsap — tsap 1 Come, drink ! it'll make you feel as strong as a buffalo. See ! it seethes like a soda spring ! like Fo?itaine-qui-bouiIle : eh, Gode ? " " Oui, monsieur ; ver like Fontaine-qui-bouille. Pe Gar ! oui." " Drink, man, drink ! Don't fear it : it's the pure juice. Smell the flavor ; taste the bouquet. Jerusalem ! what wine the Yankees will one day squeeze out of these New Mexican grapes ! " " Why ? Do you think the Yankees have an eye to this quarter ? " " Think 1 I know it ; and why not ? What use are these manikins in creation ? Only to cumber the earth. Well, mozo, you have brought the coffee ? " " Ya, esta, senor." " Here 1 try some of this : it will help to set you on your feet. They can make coffee, and no mistake. It takes a Spaniard to do that." SANTA FE. 45 " What is this fandango Gode has been telling me about ? " " Ah ! true. We are to have a famous one to-night. You'll go, of course ? " " Out of curiosity." " Very well ; you will have your curiosity gratified. The blustering old grampus of a governor is to honor the ball with his presence ; and, it is said, his pretty sehora ; that I don't believe. " Why not ? " " He's too much afraid lest one of these wild Americanos might whip her off on the cantle of his saddle. Such things have been done in this very valley. By the gods ! she is. good-looking," continued St. Vrain, in a half soliloquy, " and I knew a man the cursed old tyrant ! only think of it 1 " " Of what ? " " The way he has bled us. Five hundred dollars a wag- on, and a hundred of them at that : in all fifty thousand dollars ? " " But will he pocket all this ? Will not the govern- ment ? " " Government ! no, every cent of it. He is the govern- ment here ; and, with the help of this instalment, he will rule these miserable wretches, with an iron rod. Poor devils ! " " And yet they hate him, do they not ? " " Him and his. God knows they have reason " " It is strange they do not rebel." " They have at times ; but what can the poor devils do ? Like all true tyrants, he has divided them, and makes them spend their hearts' hatred on one another." " But he seems not to have a very large army ; no body- guard " " Body-guard ! " cried St. Vrain, interrupting me ; " look out 1 there's his body-guard 1 " 46 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. " Indios bravos ! les Navajoes I " exclaimed Godd, at the same instant. I looked forth into the street. Half a dozen tall savages, wrapped in striped seraph, were passing. Their wild hun- gry looks, and slow, proud walk at once distinguished them from Indios manzos : the water-drawing, wood-hewing pueblos. " Are they Navajoes ? " I asked. " Oui, monsieur, oui ! " replied Gode', apparently with some excitement. Mon Gracieuse ! Navajoes 1 tres cussed Navajoes ! " " There's no mistaking them," added St. Vrain. " But the Navajoes are the notorious enemies of the New Mexicans ! How come they to be here ? Prisoners ? " " Do they look like prisoners ? " They certainly showed no signs of captivity in either look or gesture. They strode proudly up the street, occasionally glancing at the passers with an air of savage and lordly con- tempt. " Why, then, are they here ? Their country lies far to the west." " That is one of the secrets of Nuevo Mexico, about which I will enlighten you some other time. They are now protected by a treaty of peace, which is only binding upon them so long as it may suit their convenience to recognize it. At present they are as free here as you or I ; indeed, more so, when it comes to that. I wouldn't wonder if we were to meet them at the fandango to-night." " I have heard that the Navajoes are cannibals." " It is true. Look at them this minute 1 See how they gloat upon that chubby little fellow, who seems instinctively to fear them. Lucky for the urchin it's broad daylight, or he might get chucked under one of those striped blankets." " Are you in earnest, St. Vrain ? " SANTA FE. 47 " By my word, I am not jesting ! If I mistake not, Gode's experience will confirm what I have, said. Eh, voyageur ? " " C'est vrai, monsieur. I vas prisonnier in le nation ; not Navagh, but le cussed Apache — moch de same — pour tree mons. I have less sauvages seen manger — eat — one — deux — tree — tree enfants rotis, like hump rib of de buffles. C'est vrai, messieurs, c'est vrai." " It is quite true ; both Apaches and Navajoes carry off children from the valley, here, in their grand forays ; and it is said by those who should know, that most of them are used in that way. Whether as a sacrifice to the fiery god Quetzal- coatl, or whether from a fondness for human flesh, no one has as yet been able to determine. In fact, with all their propinquity to this place, there is little known about them. Few who have visited their towns have had Gode's luck to get away again. No man of these parts ever ventures across the western Sierras." "And how came you, Monsieur Gode, to save your scalp ? " " Pour quoi, monsieur, ja n'ai pas. I not haves scalp-lock ; vat de trappare Yankee call ' har,' mon scalp lock, is fabrique of von barbier de Saint Louis. Voila, monsieur ! " So saying, the Canadian lifted his cap, and along with it what I had, up to this time, looked upon as a beautiful curling head of hair, but which now proved to be only a wig ! " Now, messieurs ! " cried he, in good humor ; " how les sauvages my scalp take ? Le cussed Indien no have cash hold. Parbleu ! " St. Vrain and I were unable to restrain our laughter at the altered and comical appearance of the Canadian. " Come, Gode ! the least you can do after that is to take a drink. Here, help yourself ! " " Tres-obligd, Monsieur St. Vrain. Je vous remercie." 4 3 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. And the ever-thirsty voyageur quaffed off the nectar of El Paso, like so much fresh milk. " Come, Haller ! we must to the wagons. Business first, then pleasure : such as we may find here among these brick stacks. But we'll have some fun in Chihuahua." " And you think we shall go there ? " " Certainly. They do not want the fourth part of our stuff here. We must carry it on to the head market. To the camp ! Allons 1 " Street Theatricals in Spanish America During the Carnival. CHAPTER VII. THE FANDANGO. N the evening I sat in my room waiting for St V r a i n . His voice reached me from without — ^s^&prf^ '" Las ninas cle Durango ^^K? s, Conmigo bailandas, $£ ;;<• Al cielo— Ha!" — Are you ready, my bold rider ? " " Not quite. Sit down a minute and wait." " Hurry then 1 the dancing's begun. I have just come that way, What! that your ball-dress? Ha! ha I ha!" 4 4 9 50 THE SCALP- HUNTERS. screamed St. Vrain, seeing me unpack a blue coat and a pair of dark pantaloons, in a tolerable state of preservation. " Why, yes," replied I, looking up ; " What fault do you find ? But is that your ball-dress ? " No change had taken place in the ordinary raiment of my friend. The fringed hunting-shirt and leggins, the belt, the bowie, and the pistols, were all before me. " Yes, my dandy ; this is my ball-dress : it ain't anything shorter ; and if you'll take my advice, you'll wear what you have got on your back. How will your long-tailed blue look, with a broad belt and bowie strapped round the skirts ? Ha ! ha! ha!" " But why take either belt or bowie ? You are surely not going into a ball-room with your pistols in that fashion ? " " And how else should I carry them ? In my hands ? " " Leave them here." " Ha ! ha ! that would be a green trick. No, no. Once bit, twice shy. You don't catch this 'coon going into any fandango in Santa Fe without his six-shooters. Come, keep on that shirt ; let your leggins sweat where they are, and buckle this about you. That's the costume du bal in these parts." " If you assure me that my dress will be comme il faut, I'm agreed." " It won't be with the long-tailed blue, I promise you." The long-tailed blue was restored forthwith to its nook in my portmanteau. St. Vrain was right. On arriving at the room, a large sala in the neighborhood of the Plaza, we found it filled with hunters, trappers, traders, and teamsters, all swaggering about in their usual mountain ' ' rig." Mixed among them were some two or three score of the " natives," with an equal number of sefioritas, all of whom, by their style of dress, I recognize as " poblanas," or persons of the lower class : the only class, in fact, to be met with in Santa Fe. THE FANDANGO. 51 As we entered, most of the men had thrown aside their serapes for the dance, and appeared in all the finery of em- broidered velvet, stamped leather, and shining " castletops." The women looked not less picturesque in their bright " naguas," snowy chemisettes, and small satin slippers. Some of them flounced it in polka jackets ; for even to that remote region the famous dance had found its way. " Have you heard of the electric telegraph ? " " No, senor." " Can you tell me what a railroad is ? " " Quien sabe ? " " La polka ? " " Ah ! sehor, la polka, la polka ! cosa buenita, tan graciosa 1 vaya ! " The ball-room was a long oblong sa/a, with a " banquette" running all round it. Upon this the dancers seated them- selves, drew out their husk cigarettes, chatted, and smoked during the intervals of the dance. In one corner, half a dozen sons of Orpheus twanged away upon harp, guitar, and bandolin ; occasionally helping out the music with a shrill half-Indian chant. In another angle of the apartment, fiuros, and " Taos" whisky, were dealt out to the thirsty mountaineers, who made the sala ring with their wild ejac- ulations. There were scenes like the following : — " Hyar, my little muchacha ! vamos, vamos, ter dance 1 Mucho bueno ! Mucho bueno ? Will ye ? " This is from a great rough fellow of six feet and over, addressed to a trim little poblana. " Mucho bueno, Sehor Americano ! " replies the lady. " Hooraw for you 1 Come along ! Let's licker fust ! You're the gal for my beaver. What'll yer drink ? Agwar- dent or vino ? " " Copitita de vino, sehor. (A small glass of wine, sir.) " Hyar, yer darned greaser ! Set out your vino in a squ'll's jump ! Now, my little 'un, hyar's luck, and a good husband ! " " Gracias, Senor Americano 1 " 52 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. " What ! you understand that ? You intende, do yer ? " " Si, senor ! " " Hooraw, then ! Look hyar, little 'un, kin yer go the b'ar dance ? " " No entiende." " Yer don't understan' it ! Hyar it is ; this a-way ; " and the clumsy hunter began to show off before his partner, in an imitation of the grizzly bear. "Hilloa, Bill 1 " cries a comrade, " yer'll be trapped if yer don't look sharp. How's yer kidneys, hoss ? " " I'm dog-gone, Jim, if I don't feel queery about hyar," replies the hunter, spreading his great paw over the region of the heart. " Don't be skeert, man ; it's a nice gal, anyways." " Nice ! Draw a bead on them eyes, if yer kin ; and jest squint down at them ankles ! " " Good sights ; a heap o' quarter ; clean shanks." " I wonder what the old chap'll take for her. I'm 'most froze for a squaw. Hain't had nery one since I tuk back that Crow woman on the Yeller-stone." " Wah, man ! yer ain't among Injuns. Get the gal's con- sent, if yer kin, and she won't cost yer as much as a plug o' 'bacca." " Hooray for old Missouri ! " shouts a teamster. " Come, boys ! Let's show these yer greasers a Virginny break-down. ' Cl'ar the kitchen, old folks, young folks." " Go it hoe and oe ! ' Old Virginny nebir tire ! ' " " Viva el gobernado ! Viva Armijo ! Viva ! viva ! " An arrival at this moment caused a sensation in the room. A stout, fat, priest-like man entered, accompanied by several others. It was the governor and his suite, with a number of well-dressed citizens, who were no doubt the elite of New Mexican society. Some of the new-comer,s were militaires, dressed in gaudy and foolish-looking uniforms, that were THE FANDANGO. 53 soon seen spinning round the room in the mazes of the waltz. " Where is the Senora Armijo ? " I whispered to St. Vrain. I told you as much. She ! she won't be out. Stay here ; I am going for a short while. Help yourself to a partner, and see some fun. I will be back presently. Au revoir f " Without any further explanation, St. Vrain squeezed him- self through the crowd and disappeared. I had been seated on the banquette since entering the sala, St. Vrain beside me, in a retired corner of the room. A man of peculiar appearance occupied the seat next to St. Vrain, but farther into the shadow of a piece of furniture. I had noticed this man as we entered, and noticed, too, that St. Vrain spoke to him ; but I was not introduced, and the interposition of my friend prevented me from making any further observation of him until the latter had retired. We were now side by side ; and I commenced a sort of angular reconnaissance of a face and figure that had somewhat strangely arrested my attention. He was not an American ; that was evident from his dress ; and yet the face was not Mexican. Its outlines were too bold for a Spanish face, though the complexion, from tan and exposure, was brown and swarth. His face was clean-shaven, except his chin, which carried a pointed, darkish beard. The eye, if I saw it aright under the shadow of a slouched brim, was blue and mild ; the hair brown and wavy, with here and there a strand of silver. These were not Spanish characteristics, much less Hispano- American ; and I should have at once placed my neighbor elsewhere but that his dress puzzled me. It was purely a Mexican costume, and consisted of a purple manga, with dark velvet embroidery around the vent and along the borders. As this garment covered the greater part of his person, I could only see that underneath was a pair of green velveteen calzoneros, with yellow buttons, and snow-white 54 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. calzoncillos puffing out along the seams. The bottoms of the calzoneros were trimmed with stamped black leather ; and under these were yellow boots, with a heavy steel spur upon the heel of each. The broad peaked strap that confined the spur, passing over the foot, gave to it that peculiar con- tour that we observe in the picture of armed knights of the olden time. He wore a black broad-brimmed sombrero, girdled by a thick band of gold bullion. A pair of tags of the same material stuck out from the sides : the fashion of the country. The man kept his sombrero slouched towards the light, as I thought or suspected, for the concealment of his face. And yet it was not an ill-favored one. On the contrary, it was open and pleasing : no doubt had been handsome before time, and whatever caused its melancholy expression, had lined and clouded it. It was this expression that had struck me on first seeing the man. Whilst I was making these observations, eyeing him cross- wise all the while, I discovered that he was eyeing me in a similar manner, and with an interest apparently equal to my own. This caused us to face round to each other, when the stranger drew from under his manga a small beaded cigarero, and, gracefully holding out it to me, said — " Quiere a fumar, caballero ? " (Would you smoke, sir ?) " Thank you, yes," I replied in Spanish, at the same time taking a cigar from the case. We had hardly lit our cigarettes when the man again turned to me, with the unexpected question — " Will you sell your horse ? " "No." " Not for a good price ? " " Not for any price." " I would give five hundred dollars for him." " I would not part with him for twice the amount." THE FANDANGO. 55 " I will give twice the amount." " I have become attached to him : money is no object." " I am sorry to hear it. I have traveled two hundred miles to buy that horse." I looked at my new acquaintance with astonishment, involuntarily repeating his last words. " You must have followed us from the Arkansas, then ? " " No, I came from the Rio Abajo." " The Rio Abajo ! You mean from down the Del Norte ? " " Yes." " Then, my dear sir, it is a mistake. You think you are talking to somebody else, and bidding for some other horse." " Oh, no ! He is yours. A black stallion with red nose and long full tail : half-bred Arabian. There is a small mark over the left eye." This was certainly the description of Moro ; and I began to feel a sort of superstitious awe in regard to my mysterious neighbor. " True," replied I : " that is all correct ; but I bought that stallion many months ago from a Louisiana planter. If you have just arrived from two hundred miles down the Rio Grande, how, may I ask, could you have known anything about me or my horse ? " " Dispensadme, caballero ! I did not mean that. I came from below to meet the caravan, for the purpose of buying an American horse. Yours is the only one in the caballada I would buy, and, it seems, the only one that is not for sale ! " " I am sorry for that ; but I have tested the qualities of this animal. We have become friends. No common motive would induce me to part with him." " Ah, sefior ? it is not a common motive that makes me so eager to purchase him. If you knew that, perhaps " he hesitated a moment ; " but no, no, no ! " and after muttering some half-coherent words, among which I could recognize 56 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. the " Buenos noches, caballero ! " the stranger rose up with the same mysterious air that had all along characterized him, and left me. I could hear the tinkling of the small bells upon the rowels of his spurs, as he slowly warped himself through the gay crowd, and disappeared into the night. The vacated seat was soon occupied by a dusky " manola," whose bright nagua, embroidered chemisette, brown ankles, and small blue slippers, drew my attention. This was all I could see of her, except the occasional flash of a very black eye through the loophole of the " rebozo tapado." By de- grees, the rebozo became more generous, the loophole ex- panded, and the outlines of a very pretty and very malicious little face were displayed before me. The end of the scarf was adroitly removed from the left shoulder ; and a nude plump arm, ending in a bunch of small jeweled fingers, hung carelessly clown. I am tolerably bashful ; but at the sight of this tempting partner, I could " hold in " no longer, and bending towards her, I said in my best Spanish, " Do me the favor, miss, to waltz with me." The wicked little manola first held down her head and blushed ; then, raising the long fringes of her eyes, looked up again, and with a voice as sweet as that of a canary-bird, replied — "Con gusto, senor." (With pleasure, sir.) " Nos vamos ! " cried I, elated with my triumph ; and pairing off with my brilliant partner, we were soon whirling about in the " mazy." We returned to our seats again, and after refreshing with a glass of " Albuquerque," a sponge-cake, and a " husk " cigarette, again " took the floor." This pleasurable prog- ram we repeated some half-dozen times, only varying the dance from waltz to polka, for my manola danced the polka as if she had been a born Bohemian. THE FANDANGO. 57 On one of my fingers was a fifty-dollar diamond, which my partner seemed to think was " muy buenito." As her igneous eyes softened my heart, and the champagne was producing a similar effect upon my head, I began to specu- late on the propriety of transferring the diamond from the smallest of my fingers to the largest of hers, which it would, no doubt, have fitted exactly. All at once I became con- scious of being under the surveillance of a large and very fierce-looking lepero, a regular pelado, who followed us with his eyes, and sometimes in persona, to every part of the room. The expression of his swarth face was a mixture of jealousy and vengeance, which my partner noticed, but, as I thought, took no pains to soften down. " Who is he ? " I whispered, as the man swung past us in his chequered scrape'. " Esta mi marido, sehor " (it is my husband, sir), was the cool reply. I pushed the ring close up to the root of my finger, shut- ting my hand upon it tight as a vise. " Vamos a tomar otra copita ! " (let us take another glass of wine !) said I, resolving to bid my pretty " poblana," as soon as possible, a good night. The Taos whisky had by this time produced its effect upon the dancers. The trappers and teamsters had become noisy and riotous. The leperos, who now half filled the room, stim- ulated by wine, jealousy, old hatreds, and the dance, began to look more savage and sulky. The fringed hunting-shirts and brown homespun frocks found favor with the dark-eyed " majas " of Mexico, partly out of a respect for, and a fear of, courage, which is often at the bottom of a love like theirs. Although the trading caravans supplied almost all the commerce of Santa Fe and it was clearly the interest of its inhabitants to be on good terms with the traders, the two 58 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. races, Anglo-American and Hispano-Indian, hated each other thoroughly ; and that hate was now displaying itself on one side in bullying contempt, on the other in muttered " carajos " and fierce looks of vengeance. I was still chatting with my lively partner. We were seated on the banquette where I had introduced myself. On looking casually up, a bright object met my eyes. It appeared to be a naked knife in the hands of " su marido," who was just then lowering over us like the shadow of an evil spirit. I was favored with only a slight glimpse of this dangerous meteor, and had made up my mind to " 'ware steel," when some one plucked me by the sleeve, and turning, I beheld my quondam acquaintance of the purple manga. " Dispensadme, senor " said he, nodding graciously : " I have just learned that the caravan is going on to Chihuahua." " True, there is no market here for our goods." " You go on then, of course ? " " Certainly, I must." " Will you return this way, senor ? " "It is very likely ; I have no other intention at present." " Perhaps then you might be willing to part with your horse ? You will find many as good in the great valley of the Mississippi." " Neither is likely." " But, senor, should you be inclined to do so, will you promise me the refusal of him ? " " Oh ! that I will promise you, with all my heart." Our conversation was here interrupted by a huge, gaunt, half-drunken Missourian, who, trampling rudely upon the stranger's toes, vociferated — " Ye — up, old greaser ! gi' me a char." " Y porque ? " (and why ? ) demanded the Mexican, drawing in his feet, and looking up with astonished indigna- tion. THE FANDANGO. 59 " Porky be durned ! I'm tired jumpin'. I want a seat, that's it, old hoss." There was something so bullying and brutal in the con- duct of this man, that I felt called upon to interfere. " Come 1 said I, addressing him, " you have no right to deprive this gentleman of his seat, much less in such a fashion." " Eh, mister ? who the hades asked you to open yer head ? Ye — up, I say ! " and at the word, he seized the Mexican by the corner of his manga, as if to drag him from his seat. Before I had time to reply to this rude speech and gesture, the stranger leaped to his feet, and with a well-planted blow felled the bully upon the floor. This seemed to act as a signal for bringing several other quarrels to a climax. There was a rush through all parts of the sala, drunken shouts mingled with yells of vengeance, knives glanced from their sheaths, women screamed, pistols flashed and cracked, filling the rooms with smoke and dust. The lights went out, fierce struggles could be heard in the darkness, the fall of heavy bodies amidst groans and curses, and for five minutes these were the only sounds. Having no cause to be particularly angry with anybody, I stood where I had risen, without using either knife or pistol, my frightened " maju " all the while holding me by the hand. A painful sensation near my left shoulder caused me sud- denly to drop my partner ; and with that unaccountable weakness consequent upon the reception of a wound, I felt myself staggering toward the banquette. Here I dropped into a sitting posture, and remained till the struggle was over, conscious all the while that a stream of blood was oozing down my back, and saturating my under garments. I sat thus till the struggle had ended. A light was brought, and I could distinguish a number of men in hunt- ing-shirts moving to and fro with violent gesticulations. 60 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. Some of them were advocating the justice of the " spree," as they termed it ; while others, the more respectable of the traders, were denouncing it. The leperos with the women, had all disappeared, and I could perceive that the " Ameri- canos " had carried the day. Several dark objects lay along the floor : they were bodies of men dead or dying ! One was an American, the Missourian who had been the immedi- ate cause of the fracas; the others were pelados. I could see nothing of my late acquaintance. My fandanguera, too — con su marido — had disappeared ; and on glancing at my left hand, I came to the conclusion that so also had my diamond ring ! " St. Vrain ! St. Vrain ! " I called, seeing the figure of my friend enter at the door. " Where are you, H., old boy ? How is it with you ? all right, eh ? " " Not quite, I fear." " Good heavens ! what's this ? why, you're stabbed in the hump ribs ! Not bad, I hope. Off with your shirt and let's see." '• First let us to my room." " Come then, my dear boy, lean on me — so, so 1 " The fandango was over. Fruit Peddler, Water Carrier, and Market Women. CHAPTER VIII. SECxUIN THE SCALP-HUNTER. HAVE had the pleasure of being wounded in the field of battle. I say pleasure. Under certain circum- stances, wounds are luxuries. You have been carried on a " stretcher " to some secure spot. An aid-de-camp drops from his sweating horse, and announces that "the enemy is in full flight," thus relieving you from the apprehension of being transfixed by some mustached lancer ; a friendly surgeon bends over you, and after groping awhile about your wound, tells you it is " only a scratch," and that it will be well in a week or two; then come visions of glory, the glory of the Gazette ; present pains are forgotten in the contemplation of future triumphs ; the congratulations of friends ; the smiles, perchance, of one dearer than all. Consoled by such anticipations, you lie back on your rude couch, smiling at a bullet-hole through your thigh, or the slash of a saber across your arm. I have had these emotions. How different were the 61 62 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. feelings I experienced while smarting under wounds that came by the steel of the assassin ! My earliest anxiety was about the " depth " of my wound. Was it mortal ? This is generally the first question a man puts to himself, after discovering that he has been shot or stabbed. A wounded man cannot always answer it either. One's life-blood may be spurting from the artery at each palpitation, while the actual pain felt is not worth the prick- ing of a pin. On reaching the Fonda, I sank exhausted on my bed. St. Vrain split my hunting-shirt from cape to skirt, and com- menced examining my wound. I could not see my friend's face as he stood behind me, and I waited with impatience. " Is it deep ? " I asked. " Not deep as a draw-well, nor wide as a wagon-track," was the reply. " You're quite safe, old fellow ; thank Prov- idence, and not the man who handled that knife, for the fellow plainly intended to do for you. It is the cut of a Spanish knife, and a devilish gash it is. By Jove ! Haller, it was a close shave. One inch more, and the spine, my boy ! But you're safe, I say. Here, Gode ! that sponge ! " " Parbleu ! " muttered Gode', with true Gallic aspirate, as he handed the wet rag. I felt the cold application. Then a bunch of soft raw cotton, the best dressing it could have, was laid over the wound, and fastened by strips. The most skilful surgeon could have done no more. " Close as a clamp," added St. Vrain, as he fastened the last pin, and placed me in the easiest position. " But what started the row ? and how came you to cut such a figure in it ? I was out, thank God ! " " Did you observe a strange-looking man " " What 1 with the purple manga ? " " Yes." SEGUIN THE SCALP-HUNTER. 63 " He sat beside us ? " "Yes." " Ha ! No wonder you say a strange-looking man ; stranger than he looks too. I saw him, I know him, and perhaps not another in the room could say that. Ay, there •was another," continued St. Vrain, with a peculiar smile ; " but what could have brought him there is that which puzzles me. Armijo could not have seen him : but go on." I related to St. Vrain the whole of my conversation with the stranger, and the incidents that led to the breaking up of the fandango. " It is odd — very odd ! What the deuce could he want with your horse? Two hundred miles, and offers a thou- sand dollars ! " " Enfant de garce, capitaine ! " (Gode had called me captain ever since the ride upon the buffalo) ; "if monsieur come two hunred mile, and vill pay un mille thousan dollar, pe Gar 1 he Moro like ver, ver moch. Un grand passion pour le cheval. Pourquois : vy he no like him ver sheep ? vy he no steal 'im ? " I started at the suggestion, and looked toward St. Vrain. " Vith permiss of le capitaine, I vill le chavel cache," con- tinued the Canadian moving towards the door. " You need not trouble yourself, old Nor'-west, as far as that gentleman is concerned. He'll not steal your horse ; though that's no reason why you should not fulfil your in- tention, and cache the animal. There are thieves enough in Santa Fe to steal the horses of a whole regiment. You had better fasten him by the door here." Gode after devoting Santa Fe and its inhabitants to a much warmer climate than Canada, passed to the door, and disappeared. " Who is he ? " I asked, " this man, about whom there seems to be so much that is mysterious ? " 6 4 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. " Ah ! if you knew. I will tell you some queer passages by and by, but not to-night. You have no need of excite- ment. That is the famous Seguin — the Scalp-hunter." " The Scalp-hunter ! " " Ay ! you have heard of him, no doubt ; at least you would, had you been much among the mountains." Exterminating Supernumerary Dogs in Mexico. " I have, innocent — The hellish ruffian 1 The wholesale butcher of A dark waif danced against the wall : it was the shadow of a man. I looked up. Seguin was before me 1 St. Vrain on seeing him enter had turned away and stood looking out of the window. I was on the point of changing my tirade into the apos- trophic form, and at the same time ordering the man out of my sight, when something in his look influenced me to re- SEGUIN THE SCALP-HUNTER. 65 main silent. I could not tell whether he had heard or under- stood to whom my abusive epithets had been applied ; but there was nothing in his manner that betrayed his having done so. I observed only the same look that had at first attracted me : the same expression of deep melancholy. Could this man be the hardened and heartless villain I had heard of, the author of so many atrocities ? 11 Sir," said he, seeing that I remained silent, " I deeply regret what has happened to you. I was the involuntary cause of your mishap. Is your wound a severe one ? " " It is not," I replied, with a dryness of manner that seemed somewhat to disconcert him. " I am glad of that," he continued, after a pause. " I came to thank you for your generous interference. I leave Santa Fe in ten minutes. I must bid you farewell." He held forth his hand. I muttered the word " farewell," but without offering to exchange the salutation. The stories of cruel atrocity connected with the name of this man came into my mind at the moment, and I felt a loathing for him. His arm remained in its outstretched position, while a strange expression began to steal over his countenance, as he saw that I hesitated. " I cannot take your hand," I said at length. " And why ? " he asked, in a mild tone. " Why ? it is red, red ! Away, sir, away ! " He fixed his eyes upon me with a sorrowful look. There was not a spark of anger in them. He drew his hand within the folds of his manga, and uttering a deep sigh, turned and walked slowly out of the room. St. Vrain, who had wheeled round at the close of this scene, strode forward to the door, and stood looking after him. I could see the Mexican, from where I lay, as he crossed the quadrangular patio. He had shrugged himself closely in his manga, and was moving off in an attitude that 5 66 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. betokened the deepest dejection. In a moment he was out of sight, having passed through the saguan, and into the street. " There is something truly mysterious about that man. Tell me, St. Vrain " " Hush-sh ! look yonder ! " interrupted my friend, pointing through the open door. I looked out into the moonlight. Three human forms were moving along the wall, toward the entrance of the patio. Their height, their peculiar attitudes, and the stealthy silence of their steps, convinced me they were In- dians. The next moment they were lost under the dark shadows of the saguan. " Who are they ? " I inquired. " Worse enemies to poor Seguin than you would be, if you knew him better. I pity him if these hungry hawks overtake him in the dark. But no ; he's worth warning, and a hand to help him, if need be. He shall have it. Keep cool, Harry ! I will be back in a jiffy." So saying, St. Vrain left me ; and the moment after I could see his light form passing hastily out of the gate. I lay reflecting on the strangeness of the incidents that seemed to be occurring around me. I was not without some painful reflections. I had wounded the feelings of one who had not injured me, and for whom my friend evidently entertained a high respect. A shod hoof sounded upon the stones outside : it was Gode with my horse ; and the next moment I heard him hammering the picket-pin into the pavement. Shortly after, St. Vrain himself returned. " Well," I inquired, " what happened you ? " " Nothing much. That's a weasel that never sleeps. He had mounted his horse before they came up with him, and was very soon out of their reach." SEGUIN THE SCALP-HUNTER. 67 " But may they not follow him on horseback ? " " That is not likely. He has comrades not far from here, I warrant you. Armijo — and it was he sent those villains on his track — has no force that dare follow him when he gets upon the wild hills. No fear for him once he has cleared the houses." " But, my dear St. Vrain, tell me what you know of this singular man. I am wound up to a pitch of curiosity." " Not to-night, Harry ; not to-night. I do not wish to cause you further excitement ; besides, I have reason to leave you now. To-morrow, then. Good night 1 good night ! " And so saying, my mercurial friend left me to Gode* and a night of restlessness. Indian Pottery Decorator. Pottery Merchant. CHAPTER IX. LEFT BEHIND. N the third day after the fandango, it is announced that the caravan will move onward to Chihuahua. The day arrives, and I am unable to travel with it. My surgeon, a wretched leech of a Mexican, assures me that it will be certain death to attempt the journey. For want of any op- posing evidence, I am constrained to believe him. I have no alternative but adopt the joyless resolve to remain in Santa Fe until the return of the traders. Chafing on a feverish bed, I take leave of my late com- panions. We part with many regrets ; but above all, I am pained at bidding adieu to St. Vrain, whose light-hearted companionship has been my solace through three days of suffering. He has proved my friend ; and has undertaken to take charge of my wagons, and dispose of my goods in the market oi Chihuahua. 68 LEFT BEHIND. 69 " Do not fret, man," says he, taking leave. " Kill time with the champagne of El Paso. We will be back in a squirrel's jump ; and, trust me, I will bring you a mule-load of Mexican shiners. God bless you ! Good-by ! " I can sit up in my bed and, from the open window, see the white tilts of the wagons, as the train rolls over a neigh- boring hill. I hear the cracking whips and the deep-toned " wo-ha " of the teamsters ; I see the traders mount and gallop after ; and I turn upon my couch with a feeling of loneliness and desertion. For days I lie tossing and fretting, despite the consola- tory influence of the champagne, and the rude but kindly attentions of my voyageur valet. I rise at length, dress myself, and sit in my " ventana." I have a good view of the plaza and the adjacent streets, with their rows of brown adobe houses, and dusty ways between. I gaze, hour after hour, on what is passing without. The scene is not without novelty as well as variety. Swarthy, ill-favored faces appear behind the folds of dingy rebozos. Fierce glances lower under the slouch of broad sombreros. Poblanas with short skirts and slippered feet pass my win- dow ; and groups of " tame " Indians, pueblos, crowd in from the neighboring rancherias, belaboring their donkeys as they go. These bring baskets of fruit and vegetables. They squat down upon the dusty plaza, behind piles of prickly pears, or pyramids of tomatoes and chile. The women, light-hearted hucksters, laugh and sing and chatter continuously. The tortillera, kneeling by her metatk, bruises the boiled maize, claps it .into thin flakes, flings it on the heated stone, and then cries, " Tortillas / tortillas calieutes ! " The cocinera stirs the peppery stew of chile Colorado, lifts the red liquid in her wooden ladle, and invites her customers by the expressions : " Chile bueno I excellente I " " Carbon 1 70 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. carbon ! " cries the charcoal-burner. " Agua ! agua limpia /" shouts the aguadore. " Pan fino, pan bianco /" screams the baker ; and other cries from the venders of atole, htievos, and leche, are uttered in shrill discordant voices. Such are the voices of a Mexican " plaza." They are at first interesting. They become monotonous, then disagreeable ; until at length I am tortured, and listen to them with a feverish excitement. After a few days I am able to walk, and go out with my faithful Gode. We stroll through the town. It reminds me of an extensive brick-field before the kilns have been set on fire. We encounter the same brown adobes everywhere ; the same villainous-looking leperos lounging at the corners ; the same bare-legged slippered wenches ; the same strings of belabored donkeys ; the same shrill and detestable cries. We pass by a ruinous-looking house in a remote quarter. Our ears are saluted by voices from within. We hear shouts of " Mneran los Yankies ! Abajo los Americanos!" No doubt the pelado, to whom I was indebted for my wound, is among the ruffians who crowd into the windows ; but I know the lawlessness of the place too well to apply for jus- tice. We hear the same shouts in another street ; again in the plaza ; and Gode and I re-enter the Fonda with a conviction that our appearance in public might be attended with danger. We resolve, therefore, to keep within doors. In all my life I never suffered ennui, as when cooped up in this semi-barbarous town, and almost confined within the walls of its filthy Fonda. I felt it the more that I had so lately enjoyed the company of such free jovial spirits, and I could fancy them in their bivouacs on the banks of the Del Norte, carousing, laughing, or listening to some wild moun- tain story. LEFT BEHIND. 71 God6 shared my feelings, and became as desponding as myself. The light humor of the voyageur disappeared. The song of the Canadian boatman was heard no longer ; but, in its place, French and English oaths were sputtered plentifully, and hurled at everything Mexican. I resolved at length to put an end to our sufferings. Indian Funeral Rites in Mexico. " This life will never do, Gode," said I, addressing my compagnon. " Ah ! monsieur, nevare ! nevare it vill do. Ah ! ver doll. It is like von assemblee of le Quaker." "I am determined to endure it no longer." " But what can monsieur do ? How, capitaine ? " " By leaving this accursed place, and that to-morrow." " But is monsieur fort ? strongs beaucoup ? strongs to ride ? " " I will risk it, Gode. If I break down, there are other 72 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. towns on the river where we can halt. Anywhere better than here." " C'est vrai, capitaine. Beautiful village down the river. Albuquerque ; Tome : ver many village. Mon Dieu ! all better. Santa Fe is one camp of cussed tief. Ver good for us go, monsieur ; ver good." " Good or not, Gode, I am going. So make your prepa- rations to-night, for I will leave in the morning before sun- rise." " Dieu merci ! It will be von grand plaisir to makes ready." And the Canadian ran from the room, snapping his fingers with delight. I had made up my mind to leave Santa Fe at any rate. Should my strength, yet but half restored, hold out, I would follow, and if possible overtake the caravan. I knew it could make but short journeys over the deep sand roads of the Del Norte'. Should I not succeed in coming up with it, I could halt in Albuquerque or El Paso, either of which would offer me a residence at least as agreeable as the one I was leaving. My surgeon endeavored to dissuade me from setting out. He represented that I was in a most critical condition ; my wound far from being cicatrised. He set forth in most eloquent terms the dangers of fever, of gangrene, of hemor- rhage. He saw I was obstinate, and concluded his monitions by presenting his bill. It amounted to the modest sum of one hundred dollars ! It was an extortion. What could I do ? I stormed and protested. The Mexican threatened me with " governor's " justice. Gode swore in French, Spanish, Eng- lish, and Indian. It was all to no purpose. I saw that the bill would have to be paid, and I paid it, though with indif- ferent grace. The leech disappeared, and the landlord came next. He, like the former, made earnest entreaty to prevent me from LEFT BEHIND. 73 setting forth. He offered a variety of reasons to de- tain me. " Do not go ; for your life, senor, do not ! " " And why, good Jose' ? " I inquired. " Oh, senor, los Indios bravos ! los Navajoes ! carrambo ! " " But I am not going into the Indian country. I travel down the river, through the towns of New Mexico." " Ah ! senor ! the towns ! no hay seguridad. No, no ; there is safety nowhere from the Navajo. Hay novedades ; news this very day. Polvidera ; pobre Polvidera ! It was attacked on Sunday last. On Sunday, senor, when they were all en la misa. Pues, senor, the robbers surrounded the church ; and oh, carrambo ! they dragged out the poor people — men, women, and children ! Pues, senor ; they kill the men ; and the women : Dios de mi alma ! " " Well, and the women ? " " Oh, senor ! they are all gone : they were carried to the mountains by the savages. Pobres mugeres ! " " It is a sad story, truly ; but the Indians, I understand, only make these forays at long intervals. I am not likely to meet with them now. At all events, Jose, I have made up up my mind to run the risk." " But, senor," continued Jose, lowering his voice to a confidential tone, " there are other ladrones besides the Indians : white ones, muchos, muchissimos ? Ay, indeed, mi arao, white robbers ; blancos, blancos y mu y feos, carrai ! " And Jose closed his fingers as if clutching some imagi- nary object. This appeal to my fears was in vain. I answered it by pointing to my revolvers and rifle, and to the well-filled belt of my henchman Gode'. When the Mexican Boniface saw that I was determined to rob him of all the guests he had in his house, he retired sul- 74 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. lenly, and shortly after returned with his bill. Like that of the t: medico," it was out of all proportion ; but I could not help myself, and paid it. By gray dawn I was in my saddle ; and, followed by Gode* and a couple of heavily packed mules, I rode out of the ill-favored town, and took the road for the Rio Abajo. Mexican Crab and Land Shells. CHAPTER X. THE DEL NORTE. OR days we journey clown the Del Norte". We pass through nu- merous villages, many of them types of Santa Fe'. We cross the zequias and irrigating canals, and pass along fields of bright green maize plants. We see vineyards and grand haciendas. These appear richer and more prosperous as we approach the southern part of the province, the Rio Abajo. In the distance both east and west, we descry dark moun- tains rolled up against the sky. These are the twin ranges of the Rocky Mountains. Long spurs trend towards the river, and in places appear to close up the valley. They add to the expression of many a beautiful landscape that opens before us as we move onward. 75 76 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. We see picturesque costumes in the villages and along the highways : men dressed in the chequered serapd or the striped blankets of the Navajoes ; conical sombreros with broad brims ; calzoneros of velveteen, with their rows of shining castle-tops, and fastened at the waist by the jaunty sash. We see mangas and tilmas, and men wearing the sandal as in Eastern lands. On the women we observe the graceful rebozo, the short nagua, and the embroidered chemisette. We see rude implements of husbandry : the creaking car- reta, with its block wheels ; the primitive plow of the fork- ing tree-branch, scarcely scoring the soil; the horn-yoked oxen ; the goad ; the clumsy hoe in the hands of the peon serf : these are all objects that are new and curious to our eyes, and that indicate the lowest order of agricultural knowledge. Along the roads we meet numerous atajos, in charge of their arrieros. We observe the mules, small, smooth, light- limbed, and vicious. We glance at the heavy alparejas and bright worsted apishamores. We notice the tight wiry mus- tangs, ridden by the arrieros ; the high-peaked saddles and hair bridles ; the swarth faces and pointed beards of the riders : the huge spurs that tinkle at every step ; the excla- mations, " Hola, mula ! malraya ! vaya ! " We notice all these, and they tell us we are journeying in the land of the Hispano-American. Under other circumstances these objects would have inter- ested me. At that time, they appeared to me like the pic- tures of a panorama, or the changing scenes of a continuous dream. As such have they left their impressions on my memory. I was under the incipient delirium of fever. It was as yet only incipient ; nevertheless, it distorted the images around me, and rendered their impressions unnatural and wearisome. My wound began to pain me afresh, and THE DEL NORTE. 77 the hot sun, and the dust, and the thirst, with the miserable accommodations of New Mexican posadas, vexed me to an excess of endurance. On the fifth day after leaving Santa Fe, we entered the wretched little " pueblo " of Parida. It was my intention to have remained there all night, but it proved a ruffian sort of Domestic Bliss among the Peons. place, with meager chances of comfort, and I moved on to Socorro. This is the last inhabited spot in New Mexico, as you approach the terrible desert, the Jornada del Muerte. Gode had never made the journey, and at Parida I had obtained one thing that we stood in need of : a guide. He had volunteered ; and as I learnt that it would be no easy task to procure one at Socorro, I was fain to take him along. 78 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. He was a coarse, shaggy looking customer, and I did not at all like his appearance ; but I found, on reaching Socorro, that what I had heard was correct. No guide could be hired on any terms, so great was their dread of the Jornada and its occasional denizens, the Apaches. Socorro was alive with Indian rumors, novedades. The Indians had fallen upon an atajo near the crossing of Fra Cristobal, and murdered the arrieros to a man. The village was full of consternation at the news. The people dreaded an attack, and thought me mad when I made known my in- tention of crossing the Jornada. I began to fear they would frighten my guide from his engagement, but the fellow stood out stanchly, still express- ing his willingness to accompany us. Without the prospect of meeting the Apache savages, I was but ill prepared for the Jornada. The pain of my wound had increased, and I was fatigued and burning with fever. But the caravan had passed through Socorro only three days before, and I was in hopes of overtaking my old com- panions before they could leave El Paso. This determined me to proceed in the morning, and I made arrangements for an early start. Gode and I were awake before dawn. My attention went out to summon the guide and saddle our animals. I remained in the house making preparations for a cup of coffee before starting. I was assisted by the landlord of the posada, who had risen, and was stalking about in his serape\ While thus engaged I was startled by the voice of Gode calling from without, " Mon maitre ! mon maitre ! the rascal have him run vay 1 " " What do you mean ? Who has run away ? " " Oh, monsieur la Mexicaine, vith von mule, has robb, and run vay. Allons, monsieur, allons ! " I followed the Canadian to the stable with a feeling of THE DEL NORTE. 79 anxiety. My horse — but no — thank heaven, he was there 1 One of the muies, the macho, was gone. It was the one which the guide had ridden from Parada. " Perhaps he is not off yet," I suggested. " He may still be in the town." We sent and went in all directions to find him, but to no purpose. We were relieved at length from all doubts by the arrival of some early market men, who had met such a Cock-fighting in Mexico : Often Ends in a Fist Fight. man as our guide far up the river, and riding a mule at full gallop. What should we do ? Follow him to Parida ? No ; that would be a journey for nothing. I knew that he would not be fool enough to go that way. Even if he did, it would have been a fool's errand to seek for justice there, so I deter- mined on leaving it over until the return of the traders would enable me to find the thief, and demand his punishment from the authorities. 80 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. My regrets at the loss of my macho were not unmixed with a sort of gratitude to the fellow when I laid my hand upon the nose of my whimpering charger. What hindered him from taking the horse instead of the mule ? It is a question I have never been able to answer to this day. I can only- account for the fellow's preference for the mule on the score ot downright honesty, or the most perverse stupidity. I made overtures for another guide. I applied to the Bon- iface of Socorro, but without success. He knew no " mozo" who would undertake the journey. " Los Apaches ! los Apaches ! " I appealed to the peons and loiterers of the plaza. " Los Apaches ! " Wherever I went, I was answered with " Los Apaches," and a shake of the forefinger in front of the nose ; a negative sign over all Mexico. " It is plain, Gode, we can get no guide. We must try this Jornada without one. What say you, voyageur ? " " I am agree, mon maitre ; allons ! " And, followed by my faithful compagnon, with our remain- ing pack-mule, I took the road that leads to the desert. That night we slept among the ruins of Valverde ; and the next morning, after an early start, embarked upon the "J our ~ ney of Death." Domestic Life Among the Peons: Preparing a Meal. CHAPTER XI. THE "JOURNEY OF DEATH." §H| N two hours we reached the crossing at Fra Cristobal. Here the road parts from the river, and strikes into the waterless desert. We plunge through the shallow ford, coming out on the eastern bank. We fill our " xuages" with care, and give our animals as much as they will drink. After a short halt to refresh ourselves, we ride onward. We have not traveled far before we recognize the appro- priate name of this terrible journey. Scattered along the 82 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. path we see the bones of many animals. There are human bones too I That white spheroidal mass, with its grinning rows and serrated sutures, that is a human skull. It lies beside the skeleton of a horse. Horse and rider have fallen together. The wolves have stripped them at the same time- They have dropped down on their thirsty track, and perished in despair, although water, had they known it, was within reach of another effort ! We see the skeleton of a mule, with the alpereja still buckled around it, and an old blanket flapped and tossed by many a whistling wind. Other objects, that have been brought there by human aid, strike the eye as we proceed. A bruised canteen, the frag- ments of a glass bottle, an old hat, a piece of saddle-cloth, a stirrup red with rust, a broken strap, with many like symbols, are strewn along our path, speaking a melancholy language. We are still only on the border of the desert. We are fresh. How when we have traveled over and neared the opposite side ? Shall we leave such souvenirs ? We are filled with painful forebodings, as we look across the arid waste that stretches indefinitely before us. We do not dread the Apache. Nature herself is the enemy we fear. Taking the wagon tracks for our guide, we creep on. We grow silent, as if we were dumb. The mountains of Cris- tobal sink behind us, and we are almost " out of sight of land." We can see the ridges of the Sierra Blanca away to the eastward ; but before us, to the south, the eye encounters no mark or limit. The sun grows hotter and hotter. I knew this would be the case when we started. It was one of those cool morn- ings with fog on the river and in the air. In all my wander- ings through many climes, I have observed such mornings to be the harbingers of sultry hours at noon. The sun is climbing upward, and every moment his rays be- THE JOURNEY OF DEATH. 83 come fiercer and more fervid. There is a strong wind blow- ing, but it does not fan us into coolness. On the contrary, it lifts the burning crystals, and spits them painfully in our faces. The sun has climbed to the zenith. We toil on through the yielding sand. For miles we see no traces of vegeta- The Jornada, or Journey of Death : Northern Mexico. tion. The wagon tracks guide us no longer. The drift has obscured them. We enter a plain covered with artemisia and clumps of the hideous greasewood. The warped and twisted branches impede our progress. For hours we ride through thickets of the bitter sage, and at length enter another region, sandy and rolling. Long arid spurs shoot down from the mountains, and decline into 84 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. ridges of dry shifting sand. Now not even the silvery leaf of the artemisia cheers our path. Before us we see nothing but barren waste, trackless and treeless. A tropical sun glances up from the brilliant surface, and we are almost blinded by the refracted rays. The wind blows more lightly, and clouds of dust load the air, sweeping slowly along. We push forward without guide or any object to indicate our course. We are soon in the midst of bewilderment. A scene of seeming enchantment springs up around us. Vast towers of sand, borne up by the whirlblast, rise verti- cally to the sky. They move to and fro over the plain. They are yellow and luminous. The sun glistens among their floating crystals. They move slowly, but they are ap- proaching us. I behold them with feelings of awe. I have heard of trav- elers lifted in their whirling vortex, and dashed back again from fearful heights. The pack-mule, frightened at the phenomenon, breaks the lasso and scampers away among the ridge. Gode has gal- lope'd in pursuit. I am alone. Nine or ten gigantic columns now appear, stalking over the plain and circling gradually around me. There is some- thing unearthly in the sight. They resemble creatures of a phantom world. They seem endowed with demon life. Two of them approach each other. There is a short ghastly struggle that ends in their mutual destruction. The sand is precipitated to the earth, and the dust floats off in dun shapeless masses. Several have shut me within a space, and are slowly clos- ing upon me. My dog howls and barks. The horse cowers with affright, and shivers between my thighs, uttering ter- rified expressions. I am irresolute. I sit in my saddle waiting the result, with THE "JOURNEY OF DEATH." 85 an indescribable feeling. My ears are filled with a buzzing sound, like the hum of machinery. My eyes distort the nat- ural hues into a fiery brightness. My brain reels. Strange objects appear. The fever is upon me ! The laden currents clash in their wild torsion. I am twisted around and torn from my saddle. My eyes, mouth, and ears are filled with dust. Sand, stones, and branches strike me spitefully in the face ; and I am flung with vio- lence to the earth ! I lay for a moment where I had fallen, half buried and blind. I could perceive that thick clouds of dust were still sweeping over me. I was neither stunned nor hurt ; and I began to grope around me, for as yet I could see nothing. My eyes were full of sand, and pained me exceedingly. Throwing out my arms, I felt for my horse ; I called him by name. A low whimper answered me. I staggered towards the spot, and laid my hands upon him ; he was down upon his flank. I seized the bridle, and he sprang up ; but I could feel that he was shivering like an aspen. I stood by his head for nearly half an hour, rubbing the dust from my eyes, and waiting until the simoom might settle away. At length the atmosphere, grew clearer, and I could see the sky ; but the sand still drifted along the ridges, and I could not distinguish the surface of the plain. There were no signs of Gode. He might be near me notwithstanding ; and I shouted loudly, calling him by name. I listened, but there was no answer. Again I raised my voice, and with a like result. There was no sound but the singing of the wind. I mounted and commenced riding over the plain in search of my comrade. I had no idea of what direction he had taken. I made a circuit of a mile or so, still calling his name as I went, I received no reply, and could see no traces upon 86 THE SCALP- HUNTERS. the ground. I rode for an hour, galloping from ridge to ridge but still without meeting any signs of my comrade or the mules. I pulled up in despair. I had shouted until I was faint and hoarse. I could search no longer. I was thirsty, and would drink. O God 1 my xuages are broken ! The pack-mule has carried off the water-skin. The crushed calabash still hung upon its thong ; but the last drops it had contained were trickling down the flanks of my horse. I knew that I might be fifty miles from water ! You cannot understand the fearfulness of this situation. You live in a northern zone ; in a land of pools and streams and limpid springs. You have never felt thirst. You know not the want of water. It gushes from every hill-side, and you have grown fastidious about its quality. You complain of its hardness, its softness, or its want of crystal purity. How unlike the denizen of the desert, the voyageur of the prairie sea ! Water is his chief care, his ever-present solici- tude ; water the divinity he worships. Hunger he can stifle, so long as a patch of his leathern garment hangs to him. Should game not appear, he can trap the marmot, catch the lizard, and gather the prairie crickets. He knows every root and seed that will sustain life. Give him water, and he will live and struggle on. He will, in time, crawl out of the desert. Without this, he may chew the leaden bullet or the pebble of chalcedony. He may split the spheroid cactus, and open the intestines of the butchered buffalo, but in the end he must die. Without water, even in the midst of plenty, plenty of food, he must die. Ha ! you know not thirst. It is a fearful thing. In the wild western desert it is the thirst that kills. No wonder I was filled with despair. I believed myself to be about the middle of the Jornada. I knew that I could never reach the other side without water. The yearning had THE "JOURNEY OF DEATH." 87 already begun. My throat and tongue felt shriveled and parched. Thirst and fever had done it. The desert dust, too, had contributed its share. Fierce desires already gnawed me with ceaseless tooth. I had lost all knowledge of the course I should take. The mountains, hitherto my guide, seemed to trend in every direc- tion. Their numerous spurs puzzled me. I remembered hearing of a spring, the Ojo del Muerto, that was said to lie westward of the trail. Sometimes there was water in the spring. On other occasions travelers had reached it only to find the fountain dried up, and leave their bones upon its banks. So ran the tales in Socorro. For some minutes I vacillated ; and then, pulling the right rein of my bridle almost involuntarily, I headed my horse westward. I would seek the spring, and, should I fail to find it, push on to the river. This was turning out of my course ; but I must reach the water and save my life. I sat in my saddle, faint and choking, leaving my animal to go at will. I had lost the energy to guide him. He went many miles westward, for the sun told me the course. I was suddenly roused from my stupor. A glad sight was before me. A lake ! — a lake shining like crystal. Was I certain I saw it ? Could it be the mirage ? No. Its outlines were too sharply defined. It had not that filmy whitish appearance which distinguishes the latter phenome- non. No. It was not the mirage. It was water ! I involuntarily pressed the spur against the side of my horse ; but he needed not that. He had already eyed the water, and sprang forward inspirited with new energy. The next moment he was in it up to his flanks. I flung myself from the saddle with a plunge. I was about to lift the water in my concave palms, when the actions of my horse attracted me. Instead of drinking greedily, he stood tossing his head with snorts of disappointment. My 88 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. dog, too, refused to lap, and ran along the shore whining and howling. I knew what this meant ; but, with that common obstinacy which refuses all testimony but the evidence of the senses, I lifted some drops in my hand, and applied them to my lips. They were briny and burning. I might have known this before reaching the lake, for I had ridden through a salt incrustation that surrounded it like a belt of snow. But my brain was fevered ; my reason had left me. It was of no use remaining where I was. I climbed back into my saddle, and rode along the shore, over fields of snow-white salt. Here and there my horse's hoof rang against bleaching bones of animals, the remains of many a victim. Well was this lake named the Laguna del Muerto : the " Lake of Death ! " Reaching its southern point, I again headed westward, in hopes of striking the river. From this time until a later period, when I found myself in a far different scene, I have no distinct memories. In- cidents I remember, unconnected with each other, but never- theless real. These are linked in my memory with others so wild and improbable that I can only consider the latter as fancies of the madness that was then upon me. But some were real. My reason must have returned at intervals, by some strange oscillation of the brain. I remember dismounting on a high bank. I must have traveled unconsciously for hours before, for the sun was low down on the horizon as I alighted. It was a very high bank — a precipice — and below me I saw a beautiful river sweep- ing onward through groves of emerald greenness. I thought there were many birds fluttering in the groves, and their voices rang in delicious melody. There was fragrance on the air, and the scene below me seemed an Elysium. I thought that around where I stood all was bleak, and barren, THE "JOURNEY OF DEATH." 89 and parched with intolerable heat. I was tortured with a slakeless thirst that grew fiercer as I gazed on the flowing water. These were real incidents. All this was true. ****** I must drink. I must to the river. It is cool sweet water. Oh! I must drink. What! A horrid cliff! No; I will not go down there. I can descend more easily here. Who are these forms ? Who are you, sir ? Ah ! it is you, my brave Moro ; and yo.u, Alp. Come ! come ! Follow me ! Down ; down to the river ! Ah ! again that accursed cliff ! Look at the beautiful water ! It smiles. It ripples on, on, on ! Let us drink. No, not yet ; we cannot yet. We must go farther. Ugh ! Such a height to leap from ! But we must drink, one and all. Come, Gode' ! Come, Moro, old friend ! Alp, come on ! We shall reach it ; we shall drink. Who is Tantalus ? Ha ! ha ! Not I ; not I ! Stand back, fiends ! Do not push me over ! Back ! Back, I say ! Oh! ****** I thought that forms — many of them — forms strange and fiend-like, clustered around me, and dragged me to the brink of the cliff. I was launched out into the air. I felt myself falling, falling, falling, and still came no nearer to the green trees and the bright water, though I could see them shining below me. I am upon a rock, a mass of vast dimensions ; but it is not at rest. It is swimming onward through empty space. I cannot move myself. I lie helpless, stretched along its surface, while it sweeps onward. It is an aerolite. It can be nothing but that. O God ! there will be a terrible col- lision when it strikes some planet world ! Horror ! horror ! ****** I am lying on the ground, the ground of the earth. It 90 THE SCALP-HUNTERS. upheaves beneath me, and oscillates to and fro like the undulations of an earthquake ! # # # # * # Part of all this was a reality ; part was a dream, a dream that bore some resemblance to the horrors of a first intoxica- tion. INDIAN DuM^g :iLlfc5g£^«a^a^sSg*»f^**a BbafcC