Chapter Thirty-Seven of the Scalp-Hunters A short hour passes, the bright orb sinks behind us, and the quartz rock sadden into a somber hue, the straggling rays of twilight hover but a moment over the chalky cliffs, and then vanish away its night. Descending the hills in a long string we arrive upon the plain. We turn to the left and keep round the mountain foot, the rock's guidance. We proceed with caution and exchange words only in whispers. We crawl around among the loose boulders that have fallen from above. We turn many spurs that chewed out into the plain. Occasionally we halt and hold counsel. After a journey of ten or twelve miles we find ourselves opposite to the Indian town. We are not over a mile from it. We can see the fires burning on the plain and hear the voices of those who move around them. At this point the band is divided. Mole party remains its cache and a defile among the rocks. These guard the captive chief and the annahoe of the mules. The rest move forward, guided by Ruby, who carries them around the edge of the forest, hearing their dropping a picket of several men as he proceeds. These parties conceal themselves at their respective stations, remain silent and wait from the signal for the bugle, which is to be given at the hour of daybreak. The night passes slowly and silently. The fires one by one go out until the plain is wrapped in the gloom of a moonless night. Dark clouds travel over the sky, portending rain, a rare phenomenon in these regions. The swan utters its wild night. The grouya whoops over the stream and the wolf howls upon the skirts of the sleeping village. The voices of the bull-bat wail through the air, to hear the flap flap of his long wings as he dashes down among the cocaios. We hear the hoof stroke on the hard plain, the crop of the browsing steed, and the twinkling of the bit-ring, where the horses eat bridal, and intervals of drowsy hunter-mutters who is sleep, battling in dreams with some terrible foe. Let's go to the night, these were its voices. They cease as daybreak approaches, the wolf howls no longer, the swan and the blue crane are silent. The night-hawk has filled his ravenous moa, and perches on the mountain pine. The fireflies disappear, chased by the colder hours, and the horses have eaten what grew within their reach, stand in a lounging attitude to sleep. A gray light begins to steal into the valley, flickers along the white cliffs of the quartz mountains. It brings with it a raw, cold air that awakens the hunters. One by one they arouse and fell, they shiver as they stand up and carry their blankets wrapped around their shoulders. They feel weary and look pale and haggard, the gray dawn lands a ghastly hue to their dusty beards and unwashed faces. After a short while they coil up their trail-ropes and fasten them to the rings. They look to their flints and priming and tighten buckles on their belts. They draw forth from the haversacks pieces of dry tahasso, eating it raw. They stand by their horses, ready to mount. It's not time yet. Light is gathering into the valley. The blue mist that hung over the river during the night is rising upward. We can see the town. We can trace the odd outline of the houses, what strange structures they are. Some of them are higher than others, one, two, four stories in height. They are each in form like a pyramid without a tapex. Each upper story is smaller than that below it, the roofs of the lower one serving as terraces for those above. They are a whitish-yellow color of the clay of which they are built. They are without windows, but doors lead into each story from the outside, and latter stretch from terrace to terrace, leaning against the walls. On the tops of some there are poles carrying bannerettes. These are the residents of the principal war chief and the great warriors of the nation. We can see the temple distinctly. It is like the houses in shape, but higher and of a larger dimension. There is a tall shaft rising out of its roof, and a banner with a strange device floating at its peak. Near the houses we see corrals filled with mules and mustang, the livestock of the village. The light grows stronger, forms appear upon the roofs that move along the terraces. They are human forms, enveloped in hanging garments, robe-like, and stripes. We recognize the Navajo blanket, with adultering bands of black and white. Near the glass we can see these forms more distinctly, we can tell they are sick. Their hair hangs loosely upon their shoulders and far down their backs. Most of them are females, girls, and women. There are many children, too. Then there are men, white-haired and old. A few other men appear, but they are not warriors. The warriors are absent. They come down the ladders, descending from terrace to terrace. They go out upon the plain and rekindle the fires. Some carry earthen vessels, olives, upon their heads, and pass down to the river. They go in for water. These are nearly naked. We can see their brown bodies and uncovered breasts, their slaves. See the old men are climbing to the top of the temple. They are followed by women and children, some in white, others in bright-colored costumes. These are girls and young lads, the children of the chiefs. Over a hundred have climbed up. They have reached the highest roof. There is an altar near the staff. A smoke rolls up a blaze. They have kindled the fire upon the altar. Listen! A chant of voices in the beat of an Indian drum. The sound ceases, and they all stand motionless and apparently silent, facing to the east. What does it mean? They are waiting for the sun to appear. These people worship him. The hunters, interested and curious, strain their eyes, watching the ceremony. Top pinnacle of the quartz mountain is on fire. It is the first flash of the sun. The peak is yellowing downward, and the points catch the brilliant beams. They obstruct the faces of the devotees. See! There are white faces. One, two, many white faces, both of women and girls. Oh, God grant that it may be, cries Singwin. Suddenly putting up the glass and raising the bugle to his lip, a few wild notes peel over the valley. The horsemen hear the signal. They debouch from the woods and the files of the mountains. They gallop over the plain, deploying as they go. In a few minutes we have formed an arc of a circle concave to the town. Our horses' heads are turned inwards, and we ride forward, closing upon the walls. We have left the Atahoe in Defile, the captive chief, too, guarded by a few of the men. The notes of the bugles have summoned the attention of the inhabitants. They stand for a while in amazement and without motion. They behold the deploying of the line. They see the horsemen riding inward. Could it be a mock surprise of some friendly tribe? No, that strange voice, the bugle, is new to Indian years, yet some of them have heard it before. They know it to be the war trumpet of the palefaces. For a while their consternation hinders them from action. They stand looking on until we are near. Then they behold palefaces, strange armor, and horses singularly comparison. It is the white enemy. They run from point to point, from street to street. Those who carry water dash down their olas and run screaming to their houses. They climb to the roof, drawing the ladders after them. The troops are exchanged, and exclamations uttered in the voices of men, women, and children. Terror is on every face. Terror displays itself in every movement. Meanwhile, our line has approached until we are within two hundred yards of the wall. We halt for a moment. Twenty men are left as an outer guard. The rest of us, thrown into a body, ride forward, following our leader. CHAPTER XXXVIII ADELIA We direct ourselves to the great building and surround it, again halted. The old men are still upon the roof, standing along the parapet. They are frightened and trembling like children. Do not fear, we are friends, cried Sanguine, speaking in a strange language and making signs to them. His voice is not heard amidst the shrieks and shouting that though continue. The words are repeated and the sign given in a more emphatic manner. The old men crowd along the edge of the parapet. There is one among them who differs from the rest. His snow-white hair reaches below his waist. There are bright ornaments hanging from his ears and over his breast. His attire in white robes appears to be a chief, for the rest obey him. He makes a signal with his hands and his screaming subsides. He stands forward on the parapet, as if to speak to us. Amigos, amigos, he cries, speaking in Spanish. Yes, yes, we are friends, replied Sanguine in the same language. Do not fear us, we came not to harm you. Why harm us? We are at peace with the white pebbles to the east. We are the children of Montezuma. We are the Navajos. What do you want with us? We come for our relatives, your white captives. They are our wives and daughters. White captives? You must mistake us, we have no captives. Those you seek are among the nation of the Apache, far away to the south. No, they are with you, replied Sanguine. I have certain information that they are here. Delay us not, then we have come a far journey for them, and will not go without them. The old man turns to his companion, a converse and a low voice, and exchange signs. Again he faces round to Sanguine. Believe me, Senior Chief, says he, speaking with emphasis. You have been wrongly informed, we have no white captives. That rotten old liar cries will be pushing out of the crowd and raising his cat-skinned cap as he speaks. He knows this chai-ao-dui. The skinless head is discovered to the gaze of the Indians. A murmur indicated of alarm is heard among them. The white-haired chief seems disconcerted. He knows the history of that scalp. A murmur too runs through the ranks of the hunters.  The lie exasperates them, and the ominous click of rifles being cocked is heard on all sides. You have spoken falsely, old man, cries Sanguine. We know you have white captives, bring them forth, then if you would save your own lives. Quick, shouts Gary, raising his rifle in a threatening manner.  Patience, amigo, you shall see our white people, but they are not captives. They are our daughters, the children of Montezuma. The Indian descends to the third story of the temple. He enters a door and presently returns bringing five females dressed in the Navajo costume. They are women and girls, and as anyone could tell at a glance, of the hispano-Mexican race. But there are those present who know them still better. Three of them are recognized by as many hunters, and recognized in return. The girls rush out of the parapet, spits forth their arms, and utter exclamations of joy. Pepe, Raffiella, Esuita, coupling their names with expressions of endearment, they shout to them to come down, pointing to the ladders. Bayon, Nina's, Bayon, a priesta, a priesta. The ladders rest upon the upper terraces. The girls cannot move them. Their late masters stand beside them, frowning and silent. They hope their cries Gary again, threatening with his peace. They hold and help the gals down, or I'll fetch yourselves a tumble and over. They hold, they hold, shout several others in their breath. The Indians place the ladders, and the girls descend, and the next moment leap into the arms of their friends. Two of them remain above, only three have come down. Sanguin has dismounted and passes these threes with a glance. None of them is the direct object of his solitude. He rushes up the ladder, followed by several of the men. He springs from terrace to terrace, upon the third. He presses forward to a spot where stand the two captive girls. His looks are wild in his manner that of a frantic person. They shrink back at his approach, mistaking his intentions. They scream with terror. He pierces them with his look. The instincts of the father are busy. They are baffled. One of the females is old, too old, the other is slave-like and coarse. One dew cannot be, he exclaimed with a sigh. There was a mark, but no, no, no, it can't be. He leans forward, seizing the girl, though not urgently by the rest. Her sleeve is torn open and the arm laid bare to the shoulder. No, no, again, he exclaimed, it's not there, it's not there. He turns from them. He rushes forward to the old Indian who falls back frightened at the glare of his fiery eyes. In a voice of thunder, there are others, bring them forth, old man, or I will hurl you to the earth.    Where is she, the young queen? The Indian points to the south. Oh, Mandu, Mandu, cries sanguine in his native tongue, and with an accentuation that expresses its complete righteousness. I can't believe him, Cap, I've seen a heap of engines in my time. He's a lion, old Varmin. It is true, he lied directly, but she, she may have gone. Not a bit of it, lions is his trade. He's there great medicine, a humbug, a gal is what they call mystery queen. She knows a heap and helps whole whitey hair in his tricks and sacrifices. He don't want to lose her. She's here somewhere, I'll bet be bound she's hidden. That's for certain. Men, cries sanguine, rushing forward to the parapet.  The hunters rush for ladders and they seize those of the great building, and soon possess themselves of others.  There are Indian men in some of the houses, lagging braves, boys and dandies. Some of these resists, they are slaughtered scalp and flung over the parapets. Crowds alive, guarded in front of the temple girls and women of all ages. Sanguine's eye is busy, his heart is yearning. At the arrival of each new group, he scans their faces in vain. Many of them are young and pretty, but Brown is a fallen leaf. She is not yet brought up. I see the three captive Mexicans standing with their friends. They should know where she may be found. Find them. Ha! You are right. I did not think of that. Come, come. We run together down the ladders and approach the delivered captives. Sanguine hurriedly describes the object of a search. Oh! Must be the mystery queen, says one. Yes, yes, cries Sanguine in a trembling anxiety. It is. She is the mystery queen. She is in the town, then adds another. Where? Where? ejaculates the half frantic father. Where? Where? Echo the girls questioning one another. I saw her this morning, a short time ago, just before you came up. I saw him hurry her off, adds a second, pointing toward the old Indian. He has hidden her. Ah! Cabal cries another, perhaps in the estuva. The estuva. What is it? Where the sacred fire burns, where he makes his medicine? Where is it? Lead me to it. Ah! We do not know the way. It is the sacred place where they burn people. But senor, it is in this temple, somewhere under the ground. He knows. None but he is permitted to enter it. The estuva is a fearful place, an indefinite idea that his daughter may be in danger crosses the mind of Sanguine. Perhaps she is dead already. Or dying by some horrid means. He is struck, so are we, with the expression of sullen malice that displays itself upon the continents of the medicine chief. This is altogether an Indian expression that of dog or determination to die, rather than yield what he has made up his mind to keep. It is the look of demonic cunning, characteristic of men of his peculiar calling among the tribes. Haunted by this thought, Sanguine runs to the ladder and again springs upward to the roof, followed by several of the band. He rushes upon the lying priest, clutching him by the long hair. Lead me to her, he cries in a voice of thunder. Lead me to this queen, this mystery queen. She is my daughter.  No white man, she is not. The queen is ours. She is the daughter of the son.  Tempt me no longer, old man, no longer, I say. Look forth, if the hair of her head has been harmed. All these shall suffer. I will not live a living thing in your town. Lead me on. Bring me to the estava. To the estava, to the estava, shouted several voices. Strong hands grasp the garments of the Indian and are twined into his loose hair. Knives, already red and reeking, are brannished before his eyes. He is forced from the roof and hurried down the ladders. He seizes to resist, for he sees that resistance is death. And half-drag, and half-leading, he conducts them to the ground floor of the building. He enters by a passage covered with a shaggy hide to the buffalo. Sanguine follows, keeping his eye and hand upon him. We crowd after, close upon the heels of both. We pass through a dark ways, descending, as we go, through an intricate labyrinth where we arrive in a large room, dimly lit. Gasly images are before us and around us, the mystic symbols of a hard religion. The walls are hung with the hideous shapes and skins of wild beasts. We can see the fierce vestige of the grizzly bear, the white buffalo, of the panther and the ravenous wolf. We can recognize the horns and frontlets of the elk, the simeron and the grim bison. Here and there are idle figures of grotesque and monstrous forms, carved from wood in the red chai stone of the desert. A lamp is flickering with a feeble glare, and on a brazzaro near the center of the room burns a small bluish flame. It is the sacred fire. The fire for centuries has blazed to the god Katsukokakel. We do not stay to examine these objects. The fumes of the charcoal almost suffocate us. We run in every direction, overturning the idols and dragging down the sacred skins. There are huge serpents gliding over the floor and hessing about our feet. They have been disturbed and frightened by the unwanted intrusion. We too are frightened. For we hear the dreaded rattle of the Kokutelis. The men leap from the ground and strike at them with the butts of their rifles. They crush many of them on their stone pavement. There are shouts and confusions. We suffer from the exhalations of the charcoal. We shall be stifled. We're sangrant. Where has he gone? Then there are screams. It is a female voice. There are voices of men too. We rush towards the spot where they are heard. We dash aside the walls of the pendant's skins. We see the chief. He has a female in his arms, a girl, a beautiful girl, robed in gold and bright flumes. She is screaming as we enter and struggling to escape him. He holds her firmly and has torn open the fawn-skinned sleeve of her tunic. He is gauging on her left arm, which is bare to the bosom. It is she, it is she, he cries, in a voice trembling with emotion. Oh God, it is she, Adalia, Adalia, do you not know me, your father? Her screams continue. She pushes him off, stretching out her arms to the Indian and calling upon him to protect her.  He heeds him not. She turns her face from him and crouches down, hugging the knees of the priest.  Again Sanguine speaks in the Indian tongue and with imploring accents. Adalia, Adalia, I am your father.  Makes me not away, white man, away. Dear, dearest Adalia, do not repel me, your father, you remember? Father, my father was a great chief. He is dead. This is my father now. The son is my father. I am a daughter of Montezuma. I am the queen of the Navajos. As she utters these words, a chain seems to come over her spirit. She crouches no longer. She rises to her feet. Our screaming has ended and she stands in a attitude of pride and indignation. Oh Adalia, contended Sanguine, more earnest than ever. Look at me, look. Do you not remember? Look in my face. Oh heaven here. See, here is your mother, Adalia. See, this is her picture. Your angel mother, look at it. Look, look, oh Adalia. Sanguine, while he is speaking, draws a miniature from his bosom and holds it before the eyes of the girl. It arrests her attention. She looks upon it, but without any signs of recognition. It is to her only a curious object. She seems struck with his manner, but in treating. She seems to regard him with wonder. Still, she repels him. It is evident she knows him not. She has lost every recollection of him and his. She has forgotten the language of her childhood. She has forgotten her father, her mother. She has forgotten all. I could not restrain my tears as I looked upon the face of my friend, or I had grown to consider him such. A friend who has received a mortal wound, yet still lives. He stood in the center of the group, silent and crushed. His head had fallen upon his breast. His cheek was blanched and bloodless, and his eyes wandered with an expression of imbecility. He was painful to behold. I could not imagine a terrible conflict that was raging within him. He made no further efforts to entreat the girl. He no longer offered to approach her, but stood for some moments in the same attitude without speaking a word. Bring her away, he muttered at length, and a voice husky and broken. Bring her away, perhaps, in God's mercy. She may yet remember. End of CHAPTER XXXVIII CHAPTER XXXIX. THE WHITE SCALP. We repast the horrid chamber, and emerged upon the lowermost terrace of the temple. As I walked forward to the parapet, there was a scene below that filled me with apprehension. A cloud seemed to fall over my heart. In front of the temple were the women of the village, girls, women, and children. In all about two hundred, they were variously attired. Some were wrapped in their striped blankets, some wore tilmas, and tunics of embroidered fawn skin, plumed and painted with dyes of vivid color. Some were dressed in the garb of civilized life, in rich satins that had been worn by the dames of the Del Norte, in flounces that had fluttered in the dance around the ankles of some gay Maya. Not a few in the crowd were entirely nude. They were all Indians, but of lighter and darker shades, differing in color as an expression of face. Some were old, wrinkled in course. But there were many of them young, noble-like, and altogether beautiful. They were grouped together in various attitudes. They had ceased their screaming, but murmured among themselves in low and plainte of exclamations. As I looked, I saw blood running from their ears. It had dappled their throats and spurred it over their garments. A glance satisfied me as to the cause of this. They'd been rudely robbed of their golden hangings. Near and around them stood the scalp hunters in groups and afoot. They were talking in whispers and low mutterings. There were objects about their persons that attracted my eye. Curious articles of ornament or use peeped out from their pouches and haversacks, bead strings and pieces of metal. Gold it was, hung around their necks and over their breasts. These were the plundered bejouterie of the savage maidens. There were other objects upon which my eye rested with feelings of deeper pain. Stuck behind the belts of many were scalps, fresh and reeking. Their knife-hills and fingers were red. There was blood upon their hands. There was gloom in their glances. The picture was appalling. And adding to its awful impression, black clouds were at the moment rolling over the valley and swathing the mountains in their opaque masses. The lightning jetted from peak to peak, followed by short claps of close and deafening thunder. Bring up the atahoe! shouted Seguin, as he descended the ladder with his daughter. A signal was given, and shortly after the mules, in charge of the aryeros, came stringing across the plain. Collect all the dry meat that can be found. Let it be packed as speedily as possible. In front of most of the houses, there were strings of atahoe hanging against the walls. There were also dried fruits and vegetables, chili, roots of the commas, and skin bags filled with pinons and chokeberries. The meat was soon brought together, and several of the men assisted the aryeros in packing it. There will be barely enough, said Seguin. Here, Rube, continued he, calling to the old trapper, pick out your prisoners. Twenty will be as many as we can take. You know them. Choose those most likely to tempt an exchange. So, saying, the chief turned off towards the atahoe, leading his daughter with the intention of mounting her on one of the mules. Rube proceeded to obey the orders given to him. In a short time, he had collected a number of unresisting captives, and put them aside from the rest. There were principally girls and young lads whose dress and features bespoke them of the noblesse of the nation, the children of chiefs and warriors. This movement was not regarded in silence. The men had drawn together and commenced talking in loud and mutinous language. Wah! exclaimed Kirk, a fellow of brutal aspect. There are wives at peace, boys. Why not every man help himself? Why not? Kirk is right, rejoined another, and I've made up my mind to have one or bust. But how are you going to feed him on the road? We hadn't meat if we take one apiece. Meat be hanged, ejaculated the second speaker. We can reach the Del Norte in four days or less. What do we want with so much meat? There's meat aplenty, rejoined Kirk. That's all the captain's paliver. If it runs out, we can keep the women and take one of them's handiest to carry. This was said with a significant gesture and a ferocity of expression revolting to behold. Now, boys, what say ye? I freeze to Kirk'er, and I, and I. I'm not going to advise anybody, added the brute. You may all do as you please about it, but this nigger's not going to starve in the midst of plenty. Right, comrade, right, I say. Wow, first spoke, first pick, I reckon. That's mountain law. So, old gal, I cottons to you. Come along, will'er. Saying this, he seized one of the Indians, a large, fine-looking woman, roughly by the wrist, and commenced dragging her towards the Atoho. The woman screamed and resisted, frightened, not at what had been said, for she did not understand it, a terrified by the roughian expression that was plainly legible in the countenance of the man.   Wah, don't be so scared. Come, mount here, gie up. And with this exclamation, he lifted the woman upon one of the mules. If ye don't sit still, I'll tie ye, mind that. And he held up the lasso, making signs of determination. A hoarded scene now ensued. A number of the scalpenters followed the example of their roughian comrade. Each one chose the girl or woman he had fancied and commenced herring her off to the Atoho. The woman shrieked, the men shouted and swore. Several scrambled for the same prize. A girl more beautiful than her companions. A quarrel was the consequence. Oaths and ejaculations rang out. Knives were drawn and pistols cocked. Toss up for her, cried one. Aye, that's fair, toss up, toss up, shouted several. The hint was adopted, the lots were cast, and the savage bell became the property of the winner. In the space of a few minutes, nearly every mule in the Atoho carried an Indian damsel. Some of the hunters had taken no part in this sabine proceeding. Some disapproved of it, for all were not bad, from motives of humanity. Others did not care for being, hampered with a squaw, but stood apart, savagely laughing at the scene. During all this time, Segwin was on the other side of the building with his daughter. He'd mounted her upon one of the mules and covered her shoulders with his Serape. He was making such preparations for her journey as the tender solicitudes of the father suggested. The noise at length attracted him and leaving her in charge of his servants, he hurried round to the front. Comrades, cried he, glancing at the mounted captives and comprehending all that had occurred. There are too many here. Are these whom you have chosen? This question was directed to the trapper Rube. No, replied the latter, thems them, when he pointed to the party he had picked up. Dismount these then and place those you have selected upon the mules. We have a desert to cross and it will be as much as we can do to pass it with that number. And without appearing to notice the scowling looks of his followers, he proceeded, in company with Rube and several others to execute the command he had given. The indignation of the hunters now showed itself in open mutiny. Fierce looks were exchanged and threats uttered aloud. By heaven, cried one, I'll have my gal along or her scalp. Via, exclaimed another in Spanish. Why take any of them? They're not worth the trouble after all. There's not one of them worth the price of her own hair. Take the heart and then leave the niggers. Suggested a third. I say so, too. And I, I vote with you, Hoss. Comrades, said Segwin, turning to the mutineers and speaking in a tone of extreme mildness. Remember your promise. Count the prisoners as we agree. I will answer for the payment of all. Can you pay for them now? Asked a voice. You know that would be impossible. Pay for them now, pay for them now. Cash or sculps, says I. Carajo! Where is the captain to get the money when we reach El Paso more than here? He's neither a Jew nor a banker. And it's news to me if he's grown so rich. Where, then, is all the money to come from? Not from the cavildo. Unless the sculps are forthcoming, I'll warrant that. True, Jose, they give no money to him, more than to us. And we can get it ourselves if we show the skins for it. That we can. Wow, what courtesy for us. Now that he has got what he wanted. Not a nigger's scalp. He wouldn't let us go by the Prieto when we could have gathered the shining stuff in chunks. Now he wants us to throw away this chance, too. We'd be green fools to do it, I say. It struck me at this moment that I might interfere with success. Money seemed to be what the mutineers wanted. At least it was their alleged grievance. And rather than witness the fearful drama which appeared to be on the eve of the enactment, I would have sacrificed my fortune. Men, cried I, speaking so that I could be heard above the den. If you deem my word worth listening to, it is this. I have sent a cargo to Chihuahua with the last caravan. By the time we get back to El Paso, the traders will have returned and I shall be placed in possession of funds double what you demand. If you will accept my promise, I shall see that you be paid. Wow, that talks all very well, but what do we know of you or your cargo? Vaya, a bird in the hands worth two in the bush. He's a trader. Who's gonna take his word? Rot his cargo, scalps of cash, cash or scalps. That's this nigger's advice. And if you don't take it, boys, you may leave it. But it's all the pay you'll ever crook your claws on. The men had tasted blood and, like the tiger, they thirsted for more. There were glaring eyes on all sides and the countenances of some exhibited an animal ferociousness, hideous to look upon. The half-robber discipline that hitherto ruled in the band seemed to have completely departed in the authority of the chief to be said at defiance. On the other sides stood the females, clinging and huddling together. They could not understand the mutinous language, but they saw threatening attitudes and angry faces. They saw knives drawn and heard the caulking of guns and pistols. They knew there was danger and they crouched together, whimpering with fear. Up to this moment, Segwin had stood giving directions for the mounting of his captives. His manner was strangely abstracted, as it had been ever since the scene of meeting with his daughter. That greater care gnawing at his heart seemed to render him insensible to what was passing. He was not so. As Kircher ended, for he was the last speaker, a change came over Segwin's manner, quick as a flash of lightning. Suddenly rousing himself from his attitude of indifference, he stepped forward in front of the mutineers. "'Dare!' shouted he, in a voice of thunder. "'Dare to dishonor your oaths! By heavens! The first man who raises knife or rifle shall die on the instant!' There was a pause and a moment of deep silence. "'I have made a vow,' continued he, "'that should it please God to restore me my child, this hand should be stained with no more blood. "'Let any man force me to break that vow, and by heaven his blood shall be the first to stain it.' A vengeful murmur ran through the crowd, but no one replied.  "'Up with that knife, quick, or I will send this bullet through your ruffian heart!' Segwin had drawn his pistol, and stood in an attitude that told he would execute the threat. His form seemed to have grown larger, his eye dilated, flashing as it rolled, and the man shrank before its glance. He saw death in it if he disobeyed, and with a surly murmur he fumbled mechanically at his belt, and thrust the blade back into its sheath. But the mutiny was not yet quelled. These were men not so easily conquered. Fierce exclamation still continued. And the mutineers again began to encourage one another with shouts. I had thrown myself alongside the chief with my revolvers cocked and ready, revolved to stand by him to the death. Several others had done the same, among whom were Rube, Gary, Sanchez the Bullfighter, and the Maricopa. The opposing parties were nearly equal, and a fearful conflict would have followed had we fought. But at this moment an object appeared that stifled the resentment of all. It was the common enemy. Away on the western border of the valley we could see dark objects, hundreds of them, coming over the plain. They were still at a great distance, but the practised eyes of the hunters knew the medical ants. They were horsemen, they were Indians. They were our pursuers, the Navajos.  Yonder! cried Seguin. Yonder our scalps enough to satisfy you, but let us see to our own. Come to your horses. On with the Itaho. I will keep my word with you at the pass. Mount, my brave fellow, as mount! The last speech was uttered in a tone of reconciliation, but it needed not that to quicken the movements of the hunters. They knew too well their own danger. They could have sustained the attack among the houses, but it would only have been until the return of the main tribe when they knew that every life would be taken. To make a stand at the town would be madness, and it was not thought of. In a moment we were in our saddles, strung out with the captives and provisions, was hurrying off toward the woods. We purposed passing the defile that opened eastward, as our retreat by the other route was now cut off by the advancing horsemen. Seguin had thrown himself at the head, leading the mule upon which his daughter was mounted. The rest followed, straggling over the plain without rank or order. I was among the last to leave the town. I'd lingered behind purposely, fearing some outrage, and determined, if possible, to prevent it. At length thought I, they have all gone, and putting spurs to my horse, I galloped after. When I had ridden about a hundred yards from the walls, a loud yell rang behind me, and, raining in my horse, I turned in the saddle and looked back. Another yell, wild and savage, directed me to the point whence the former had come. On the highest roof of the temple two men were struggling. I knew them at a glance, and I knew, too, it was a death struggle. One was the medicine chief, as I could tell by the flowing white hair. Certain leggings for the naked ankles, the close-fitting skull cap, enabled me easily to distinguish his antagonist. It was the earless trapper. The conflict was a short one. I had not seen the beginning of it, but I soon witnessed the denouement. As I turned, the trapper had forced his adversary against the parapet, and with his long muscular arm was bending him over its edge. In the other hand, uplifted, he brandished his knife. I saw a quick flash as the blade was plunged. A red gush spurred it over the garments of the Indian. His arms dropped, his body doubled over the wall, balanced a moment, and then fell with a dull, sodden sound upon the terrace below. The same wild whoop again rang in my ears, and the hunter disappeared from the roof. I turned to ride on. I knew it was the settling of some old account, the winding up of some terrible revenge. The clattering of hoofs sounded behind me, and a horseman rode up alongside. I was turning my head that it was the trapper. Fair swap, they say, ain't no stealing. Pretty hard to it, er. Wah! It won't neither match nor patch mine, but it makes one's feelings, either. Puzzled at this speech, I turned to ascertain its meaning. I was answered by the sight that met my eye. An object was hanging from the old man's belt, like a streak of snow-white flax. But it was not that. It was hair. It was a scalp. There were drops of blood struggling on the silvery strands as they shook, and across them, near the middle, was a broad red band. It was the track of the trapper's knife where he had wiped it. End of Chapter 39 The White Scalp Chapter 40 of The Scalp Hunters This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Dion Giants, Salt Lake City, Utah. The Scalp Hunters by Thomas Main Read. Chapter 40 The Fight in the Pass We entered the woods and followed the Indian trail upstream. We hurried forward as fast as the Atau could be driven. A scramble of five miles brought us to the eastern end of the valley. Here the Sierras impinged upon the river, forming a canyon. It was a grim gap, similar to that we had passed on entering from the west, but still more careful in its features. Unlike the former, there was no road over the mountains, on either side. The valley was headed in by precipitous cliffs, and the trail lay through the canyon, up the bed of the stream. The ladder was shallow. During freshettes it became a torrent, and then the valley was inaccessible from the east, but that was a rare occurrence in these rainless regions. We entered the canyon without halting and galloped over the detritus and round huge boulders that lay in its bed. Far above us rose the frowning cliffs, thousands of feet overhead. Great rocks scarped out, abutting over the stream. Shaggy pines hung top downward, clinging in their seams. Shapeless bunches of cacti and mescals crawled along the cliffs, their picturesque but gloomy foliage adding to the wildness of the scene. It was dark within the pass, from the shadow of the jetting masses, but now darker than usual for black storm clouds were swathing the cliffs overhead. Through these, at short intervals, the lightning forked and flashed, glancing in the water at our feet. The thunder in quick, sharp percussions broke over their ravine, but as yet it rained not. We plunged hurriedly through the shallow stream, following the guide. These were places not without danger, where the water went around the angles of the cliff with an impetuosity that almost lifted our horses from their feet. But we had no choice, and we scrambled on, urging our animals with voice and spur. After riding for a distance of several hundred yards, we reached the head of the canyon and climbed out on the bank. Now Kappen cried the guide, raining up and pointing to the entrance, here is your place to make stand. We can keep them back till in the guts. That's what we can do. You are sure there is no pass that leads out but this one? Narrow a crack that a cat could get out at. That are aseptan they go back by the other end, and that'll take them around about a two days, I reckon. We will defend this, then. Dismount, men. Throw yourselves behind the rocks. If he take my advise, Kapp, I'd let the mules and women keep forward with a lot of the men to look after him. Them that's idland, the meanest critters. It'll be nose and tail when we do go, and if they starts now, you'll see what can easy catch up with them to the other side of the pair are. You are right, Rube. We cannot stay long here. Our provisions will give out. They must move ahead. Is that mountain near the line of our course? Thank you. As Sigwen spoke, he pointed to a snow-crowned peak that towered plain, far off to the eastward. The trail we ought to take for the old mine passes close by it, Captain, to the south-art Ayan's snowy there's a pass. It's the way I got clear myself. Very well. The party can take the mountain for their guide. I will dispatch them at once. About twenty men who rode the poorest horses were selected from the band. These, guarding the Atahoe and captives, immediately set out and rode off in the direction of the snowy mountain. El Sol went with this party, in charge of Dakoma and the daughter of our chief. The rest of us prepared to defend the pass. Our horses were tied in a defile and we took our stands where we could command the embouchure of the canyon with our rifles. We waited in silence for the approaching foe. As yet no war-hoop had reached us but we knew that our pursuers and we knelt behind the rocks, straining our eyes down the dark ravine. It is difficult to give an idea of our position by the pen. The ground we had selected as the point of defense was unique in its formation and not easily described. Yet it is necessary you should know something of its peculiar character in order to comprehend what followed. The stream, after meandering over a shallow, shingly channel, entered the canyon through a vast, gate-like gap between two giant portals. One of these was the abrupt ending of the granite ridge, the other a detached mass of stratified rock. Below this gate the channel widened for a hundred yards or so where its bed was covered with loose boulders and logs of drift timber. Still farther down the cliffs approached each other so near that only two horsemen could ride between them abreast. And beyond this the channel again widened and the bed of the stream filled with rocks, huge fragments that had fallen from the mountain. The place we occupied was among the rocks and drift within the canyon and below the great gap which formed its mouth. We had chosen the position from necessity as at this point the bank shelved out and offered away to the open country by which our pursuers could outflank us should we allow them to get so far up. It was necessary therefore to prevent this and we placed ourselves to defend the lower or second narrowing of the channel. We knew that below that point beatling cliffs walled in the stream on both sides so that it would be impossible for them to ascend out of its bed. If we could restrain them from making a rush at the shelving bank we should have them panned up from any farther advance. They could only flank our position by returning to the valley and going about by the western end a distance of fifty miles to the east. At all events we should hold them in check until the Atahoe had got a long start and then trusting to our horses we intended to follow it in the night. We knew that in the end we should have to abandon the defense as the want of provisions would not allow us to hold out for any length of time. At the command of our leader we had thrown ourselves among the rocks. The thunder was now peeling over our heads and reverberating through the canyon. Black clouds rolled along the cliffs split and torn by brilliant jets. Big drops still falling thinly, slapped down upon the stones. As Seguin had told me, rain, thunder, and lightning are rare phenomena in these regions, but when they do occur it is without violence which characterizes the storms of the tropics. The elements escaping from their wanted continents rage in fiercer war. The long-gathering electricity suddenly displaced from its equilibrium seems to revel in havoc rending asunder the harmonies of nature. The eye of the geonossist in scanning the features of this plateau land could not be mistaken in the character of its atmosphere. The dread canyons, the deep baroncas, the broken banks of streams, and the clay-cut channels of the arroyos all testified that we were in a land of sudden floods. A way to the east towards the headwaters of the river we could see that the storm was raging in its full fury. The mountains in that direction were no longer visible. Thick rain-clouds were descending upon them and we could hear the so of the falling water. We knew that it would soon be upon us. Let's keep in them anyhow inquired a voice. Our pursuers had time to have been up. The delay was unexpected. The Lord only knows, answered another, I suppose they're putting on fresh coat of paint at the town.  Look to your priman-houses, that's my advice. By gosh, it's a-gonna come down in spouts. That's the game, boys. Hooray for that, cried old Rube. Why, do you want to get soaked, old Case? That's exactly what this child wants. Well, it's more than I do. I'd like to know what you want to get wet for. Do you wish to put your old carcass into an A.G.? If it rains two hours, do you see, continued Rube, without paying attention to the last interrogatory? We needn't stay here, do you see? Why not, Rube, inquired Seguin, with interest? Why, Cap, replied the guide, I'd see the skiff of a shower making this higher crick that you wouldn't care to wait it. Hooray! It were a common, sure enough, hooray. As the trapper uttered these clouds came rolling down from the east until its giant winds canopied the defile. It was filled with rumbling thunder, breaking at intervals into louder percussions as the red bolts passed hissing through it. From this cloud the rain fell, not in drops, but as the hunter had predicted, in spouts, the men hastily throwing the skirts of their hunting shirts over their gunlocks remained silent under the pelting of the storm. Another sound heard between the peels now called our attention. It resembled a continuous noise of train of wagons passing along a gravelly road. It was the sound of hoofstrokes on the shingly bed of the canyon. It was the horse-tread of the approaching Navajos. Suddenly it ceased. They had halted. For what purpose? Perhaps to reconnoiter. This conjecture proved to be correct. For in a few minutes a small red object appeared over a distant rock. It was the forehead of an Indian with its vermillion paint. It was too distant for the range of a rifle and the hunters watched it without moving. Soon another appeared and another and then a number of dark forms were seen lurking from rock to rock as they advanced up the canyon. Our pursuers had dismounted and were approaching us on foot. Our faces were concealed by the rack that covered the stones and the Indians had not yet discovered us. They were evidently endowed as to whether we had gone on and this was their vanguard making the necessary reconnaissance. In a short time the forebost, by starts and runs, had got close up to the narrow part of the canyon. There was a boulder below this point and the upper part of the Indians head showed itself for an instant over the rock.  The head disappeared and the moment after an object was seen down upon us at the base of the boulder. It was the brown arm of the savage lying palm upward. We knew that the leaden messengers had done their work. The pursuers, though at the expense of one of their number, had now ascertained the fact of our presence as well as our position. And the advanced party were seen retreating as they had approached. The men who had fired reloaded their pieces and kneeling down as before watched with sharp eyes and cocked rifles. It was a long time before we heard anything more of the enemy, but we knew that they were deliberating on some plan of attack. There was but one way by which they could defeat us by charging up the canyon and fighting us hand to hand. By an attack of this kind their main loss would be in the first volley. They might ride upon us before we could reload and far outnumbering us would soon decide the day with their long lances. We knew all this but we knew, too, that a first volley, when well delivered, invariably staggers an Indian charge and we relied on such a hope for our safety. We had arranged to fire by platoons and thus have the advantage of a second discharge should the Indians not retreat at the first. For nearly an hour the hunters crouched under the drenching rain, looking only to keep dry the locks of their pieces. The water in muddy rivulets began to trickle through the shingle line around the rocks, covered the wide channel in which we now stood, ankle deep. Both above and below us, the stream, gathered up by the narrowing of the channel, was running with considerable velocity. The sun had set, at least it seems so, in the dismal ravine where we were. We were growing impatient for the appearance of our enemy. Perhaps they have gone round, suggested one. Nar, there await until night. They'll try it then. Wait then, muttered Rube. If they're green enough, a half an hour moral do, or this child don't understand weather signs. Hissed, hissed, cried several voices together. See, they are coming. All eyes were bent down the pass. A crowd of dark objects appeared in the distance, filling up the bed of the stream. They were the Indians and on horseback. We knew from this that they were about to make a dash. Their movements, too, confirmed it. They had formed too deep and held their bows ready to deliver a flight of arrows as they galloped up. Look out, boys, cried Rube. There are coming now in earnest. Look to your sights, and give them goes. Do you hear? As the trapper spoke, two hundred voices broke into a simultaneous yell. It was the war cry of the Navajos. As its vengeful notes rang up the canyon, they were answered by loud cheers from the hunters, mingled with the wild hoops of their Delaware and shawano allies. The Indians halted for a moment beyond the narrowing of the canyon until those who were rearmost should close up. Then, unturing another cry, they dashed forward into the gap. So sudden was their charge that several of them had got fairly through before a shot was fired. Then came the reports of the guns, the crack, crack, crack of rifles, the louder sounds of the Spanish pieces, mingled with the whizzing sound of Indian arrows. Shouts of encouragement and defiance were given on both sides and groans were heard as the grooved bullet or the poisoned barb tore up the yielding flesh. Several of the Indians had fallen at the first volley. A number had ridden forward to the spot of our ambush and fired their arrows in our faces. But our rifles had not all been emptied, and these daring savages were seen to pass from their saddles at the straggling and successive reports. The main body wheeled behind the rocks and were now forming for a second charge. This was the moment of danger. Our guns were idle and we could not prevent them from passing the gap and getting through to the open country. Isasa Gwendra his pistol and rushed forward calling upon those who were similarly armed to follow his example. We ran after our leader fighting the charge. It was soon to come. For the enemy exasperated by many circumstances were determined on our destruction cost what it might. Again we heard their fierce war cry and amidst its wild echoes the savages came galloping into the gap. Now is your time! cried a voice. Fire! Hooray! The cracks of fifty pistols were almost simultaneous. The foremost horses reared up and fell back kicking and sprawling in the gap. They fell, as it were, in a body, completely choking up the channel. Those who came on behind urged their animals forward. Some stumbled on the heap of fallen bodies. Their horses rose and fell again, trampling both dead and living among their feet. Some struggled over and fought us with their lances. We struck back with our clubbed guns and closed upon them with our knives and tomahawks. The stream rose against the rocks, pent back by the prostrate animals. We fought thigh deep in the gathering flood. The thunder roared overhead and the lightning flashed in our faces as though the elements took part in the conflict. The yelling continued wild and vengeful as ever. The hunters answered it with fierce shouts. Oaths flew from foaming lips and men grappled in the embrace that ended only in death. And now the water, gathered into a deep dam, lifted the bodies of the animals that had hitherto obstructed it and swept them out of the gap. The whole force of the enemy would be upon us. Good heavens, they are crowding up and our guns are empty. At this moment a new sound echoed in our ears. It was not the shouts of men, nor the detonation of guns, nor the peeling of the thunder. It was the horse roaring of the torrent. A warning cry was heard behind us. A voice called out, for your lives, to the bank, to the bank. I turned and beheld my companions rushing for the slope, uttering words of terror and caution. At the same instant my eye became fixed upon an approaching object. Not twenty yards above where I stood, and just entering the canyon, came a brown and foaming mass. It was water, bearing on its crusted front huge logs of drift and the torn branches of trees. It seemed as though the sleuths of some great dam had been suddenly carried away, and this was the first gush of the escaping flood. As I looked it struck the portals of the canyon with a concussion like thunder, and then, rearing back, piled up to a height of twenty feet. The next moment it came surging through the gap. I heard their terrified cry as the Indians wheeled their horses and fled. I ran for the bank, followed by my companions. I was impeded by the water, which already lies, but with desperate energy I plunged and weltered through it till I had gained a point of safety. I had hardly climbed out when the torrent rolled past with a hissing, seething sound. I stood to observe it. From where I was I could see down the ravine for a long reach. The Indians were already in full gallop and I saw the tails of their hind most horses just disappearing around the rocks. The bodies of the dead and wounded were still on the channel. There were hunters as well as Indians. The wounded screamed as they saw the coming flood. Those who had been our comrades called to us for help. We could do nothing to save them. Their cries had hardly reached us when they were lifted upon the crest of the whirling current, like so many feathers, and carried off with the velocity of projectiles. There's three good fellows gone under—wa! Who are they? asked Seguin, and the men turned round with looking looks. There's one Delaware and big Jim Harris, and who is the third man that's missing? Can anyone tell? I think, Captain, it's Kirk'er. It is Kirk'er, by the Tarnall. I seed him down. Wa! They'll lift his heart to a certainty. I, they'll fish him out below. That's a sure case. They'll fish out a good hall of their own, I reckon. It'll be a tight race, anyhow. I've heard of a horse runnin' again a thundershower, but them niggers'll make good time, if their tails aren't wet afore they get together and they will. As the trapper spoke, the floating and still struggling bodies of his comrades were carried to a bend in the canyon and whirled out of sight. The channel was now filled with the foaming yellow flood that frothed against the rocks as it forged onward. Our danger was over for the time. The canyon was impassable, and after gazing for a while upon the torrent, most of us with feelings of awe, we turned away and walked toward the spot where we had left our horses. CHAPTER 41 OF THE SCALP HUNTERS This is a LibriVox recording. A LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Dion Giants, by Thomas Main Read. CHAPTER 41 THE BARONCA We staked our horses upon the open plane and, returning to the thicket, cut down wood and kindled fires. We felt secure. Our pursuers, even had they escaped back to the valley, could not now reach us, except by turning the mountains or waiting for the falling of the flood. We knew that that would be as sudden as its rise, should the rain cease, but the fires were soon blazing under shelter of the overhanging rocks and the dried meat was broiled for our suppers, and eaten with sufficient relish. Supper ended, we sat, with smoking garments around the river. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We felt secure. We hours. It was then resolved that we should continue our journey. It was near midnight when we drew our pickets and rode off. The rain had partially blinded the trail, made by Il Sol and his party, but the men who now followed it were not much used to guide posts, and Rube, acting as leader, lifted it at a trot. At intervals the flashes of lightning showed the mule tracks in the mud, and the white peak that beckoned us in the distance. We travelled all night, an hour after sunrise we overtook the Ataho near the base of the snow mountain. We halted in the mountain pass, and after a short while spent in cooking and eating breakfast continued our journey across the Sierra. The road led through a dry ravine, into an open plain, that stretched east and south beyond the reach of our vision. It was a desert. I will not detail the events that occurred to us in the passage of that terrible hornada. They were similar to those we experienced in the deserts to the West. We suffered from thirst, making one stretch of sixty miles without water. We passed over sage-covered plains, without a living object to break the death-like monotony that extended around us. We cooked our meals over the blaze of the Artemisia, but our provisions gave out, and the pack-mules one by one fell under the knives of the hungry hunters. By night we camped without fires. We dared not kindle them. For, though as yet no pursuers had appeared, we knew they must be on our trail. We had travelled with such speed that they had not been able to come up with us. For three days we headed towards the southeast. On the evening of the third we described the membrous mountains, towering up on the eastern border of the desert. The peaks of these were well known to the hunters, and became our guides as we journeyed on. We approached the membrous in a diagonal direction, as it was our purpose to pass through the Sierra by the route of the old mine, once the prosperous property of our chief. To him every feature of the landscape was a familiar object. I observed that his spirits rose as we proceeded onward. At sundown we reached the head of the Barranca del Oro, a vast cleft that traversed the plain leading down to the deserted mine. This chasm, like a fissure caused by some terrible earthquake, extended for a distance of twenty miles. On either side was a trail, for on both the table-plane ran in horizontally to the very lips of the abyss. About midway to the mine, on the left brow, the guide knew of a spring, and we proceeded towards this with the intention of camping by the water. We dragged wearily along. It was near midnight when we arrived at the spring. Our horses were unsettled and staked on the open plain. Here Seguin had resolved that we should rest longer than usual. A feeling of security had come over him, as he approached these well- remembered scenes. There was a thicket of young cotton-trees and willows fringing the spring, and in the heart of this a fire was kindled. Another mule was sacrificed to the mains of hunger. And the hunters, after devouring the tough stakes, flung themselves upon the ground and slept. The horse-guard only, out by the cabalada, stood leaning upon his rifle, silent and watchful. Resting my head in the hollow of my saddle, I lay down by the fire. Seguin was near me with his daughter. The Mexican girls and the Indian captives lay clustered over the ground. Wrapped in their tilmas and striped blankets. They were all asleep, or seemed so. I was as worried as the rest, but my thoughts kept me awake. My mind was busy with the bright future. Soon thought I, shall I escape from these horrid scenes. Soon shall I breathe a purer atmosphere in the sweet companionship of my beloved Zoe. Beautiful Zoe! Before two days have passed I shall again be with you. Press your impassioned lips. Call you my loved, my own. Again shall we wander through the silent garden by the river groves. Again shall we sit upon the moss-grown seeds in the still evening hours. Again shall we utter those wild words that caused our hearts to vibrate with mutual happiness. Zoe! Pure and innocent as the angels! The childlike simplicity of that question. Enrique, what is to marry? Ah, sweet Zoe! You shall soon learn. E'er long I shall teach you. E'er long wilt thou be mine. For ever mine. Zoe! Zoe! Are you awake?  Or am I present in your dreams? Do you long for my return? As I, to hasten it? Oh, that night were passed. I cannot wait for rest. I could ride on sleepless, tireless, on, on. My eye rested upon the features of Adelaide, upturned and shining in the blaze of the fire. I traced the outlines of her sister's face, the high noble front, the arched eyebrow, and the curving nostril. But the brightness of complexion was not there. The smile of angelic innocence was not there. The hair was dark, the skin browned, and there was a wildness in the expression of the eye, stamped no doubt by the experience of many a savage scene. Still she was beautiful, but it was beauty of a far less spiritual order than that of my betrothed. Her bosom rose and fell in short irregular pulsations. Once her twice while I was gazing she half awoke and muttered some words in the Indian tongue. Her sleep was troubled and broken. During the journey Seguin had waited upon her with all the tender solicitude of a father, but she had received his attentions with indifference, or at most regarded them with a cold thankfulness. It was difficult to analyze the feelings that actuated her. Most of the time she remained silent and sullen. The father endeavored once her twice to resuscitate the memories of her childhood, but without success, and with sorrow at his heart he had each time relinquished the attempt. I thought he was asleep. I was mistaken. On looking more attentively in his face I saw that he was regarding her with deep interest and listening to the broken phrases that fell from her lips. There was a picture of sorrow and anxiety in his look that touched me to the heart. As I watched him the girl murmured some words, to me unintelligible, but among them I recognized the name Dekoma. I saw that Seguin started as he heard it. Poor child said he, seeing that I was awake, she is dreaming, and a troubled dream it is. I have half a mind to wake her out of it. She needs rest, I replied. I, if that be rest, listen, again. Dekoma. It is the name of the captive chief. I, they were to have been married according to their laws. But how did you learn this? From Rube he heard it while he was a prisoner at the town. And did she love him, do you think? No, it appears not. She had been adopted as the daughter of the medicine chief, and Dekoma claimed her for a wife. On certain conditions she was to have been given to him, but she feared not loved him, as her words now testify. Poor child! A wayward fate has been hers. In two journeys more her sufferings will be over. She will be restored to her home, to her mother. Ah, if she should remain thus it will break the heart of my poor Adelaide. Fear not, my friend, time will restore her memory. I think I have heard of a parallel circumstance, among the frontier settlements of the Mississippi. Oh, true, there have been many. We will hope for the best. Once in her home the objects that surrounded her in her younger days may strike a chord in her recollection. She may yet remember all. May she not? Hope, hope. At all events the companionship of her mother and sister will soon win her from the thoughts of savage life. Fear not, she will be your daughter again. I urged these ideas for the purpose of giving consolation. Seguin made no reply, but I saw that the painful and anxious expression still remained clouding his features. My own heart was not without its heaviness. A dark foreboding began to creep into it from some undefined cause. Were his thoughts in communion with mine? How long, I asked, before we can reach her house on the Del Norte. I scarce knew why I was prompted to put this question. Some fear that we were still in peril from the pursuing foe. The day after tomorrow he replied, by the evening, Heaven grant we may find them safe. I started as the words issued from his lips. They had brought pain in an instant. This was the true cause of my undefined forebodings. You have fears, I inquired hastily. I have. Of what? Of whom? The Navajos. The Navajos? Yes. My mind has not been easy since I saw them go eastward from the pinion. I cannot understand why they did so. Thus they meditated an attack on some settlements that lie on the old Laño's trail. If not that, my fears are that they have made a descent on the valley of El Paso, perhaps on the town itself. One thing may have prevented them from attacking the town. The separation of Tacoma's party which would leave them too weak for that. But still the more danger to the small settlements both north and south of it. The uneasiness I had hitherto felt arose from an expression which Seguin had dropped at the pinion spring. My mind had dwelt upon it, from time to time, during our desert journeyings. But as he did not speak of it afterwards I thought that he had not attached too much importance to it. I had reasoned wrongly. It is just probable, continued the Chief, that the Pasinos may defend themselves. They have done so hitherto with more spirit than any of the other and hence their long exemption from being plundered. Partly that and partly because our band has protected their neighbourhood for a length of time which the savages well know. It is to be hoped that the fear of meeting with us will prevent them from coming into the Hornada north of town. If so, ours have escaped. God grant, I faltered, that it may be thus. Let us sleep, added Seguin. Perhaps our apprehensions are idle, and they can benefit nothing. Tomorrow we shall march forward without halt, if our animals can bear it. Go to rest, my friend, you have not much time. So saying he laid his head in his saddle and composed himself to sleep. In a short while, as if by an act of volition, he appeared to be in a profound slumber. With me it was different.  I began to imagine scenes that might be enacting at the very moment, my betrothed struggling in the arms of some savage, for these southern Indians I knew possessed none of the chivalrous delicacy that characterised the red men of the forest. I fancied her carried into a rude captivity, becoming the squaw of some brutal brave, and with the agony of the thought I rose to my feet and rushed out upon the prairie. Half frantic I wandered, not heeding whither I went. I must have walked for hours, but I took no note of the time. I strayed back upon the edge of the baronca. The moon was shining brightly, but the grim chasm yawning away into the earth at my feet lay buried in silence and darkness. My eye could not pierce its fathomless gloom. I saw the camp and the cabalada far above me on the bank, but my strength was exhausted, and giving away to my weariness I sank down upon the very brink of the abyss. The keen torture that had hitherto sustained to me was followed by a feeling of utter lassitude. Sleep conquered agony, and I slept. CHAPTER 42 THE FOOL. I must have slept an hour or more. Had my dreams been realities they would have filled the measure of an age. At length the raw air of the morning chilled and awoke me. The moon had gone down, for I remembered that she was close to the horizon when I last saw her. Still it was far from being dark, for I could see to a considerable distance through the fog. Perhaps the day is breaking, I thought, and I turned my face to the east. It was as I had guessed. The eastern sky was streaked with light. It was morning. I knew it was the intention of Seguin to start early, and I was about summoning resolution to raise myself when voices broke on my ear. There were short exclamatory phrases and hoof strokes upon the prairie turf. They are up and preparing to start, with this thought I leaped to my feet and commenced hurrying towards the camp. I had not walked ten paces when I became conscious that the voices were behind me. I stopped and listened. Yes, beyond a doubt I was going from them. I had mistaken the way to the camp, and I stepped forward to the edge of the baronca for the purpose of assuring myself. What was my astonishment to find that I had been going in the right direction, and that the sounds were coming from the opposite quarter? My first thought was that the band had passed me, and were moving on the route. But no, Seguin would not. Oh, he is sent of a party to search for me. It is they. I called out hello to let them know where I was. There was no answer, and I shouted again louder than before. All at once the sounds ceased. I knew the horsemen were listening, and I called once more at the top of my voice. There was a moment's silence. Then I could hear a muttering of many voices and the trampling of horses as they galloped towards me. I wondered that none of them had yet answered my signal. But my wonder was changed into consternation when I perceived that the approaching party were on the other side of the baronca. Before I could recover from my surprise they were opposite me, and reigning up on the bank of the chasm. They were still three hundred yards distant, the width of the gulf, but I could see them plainly through the thin and filmy fog. They were appeared in all about a hundred horsemen, and their long spears, their plumed heads, and half-naked bodies, told me at a glance they were Indians. I stayed to inquire no further, but ran with all my speed for the camp. I could see the horsemen on the opposite cliff, keeping pace with me at a slow gallop. On reaching the spring I found the hunters in surprise, and vaulting into their saddles. Seguin and a few others had gone out on the extreme edge and were looking over. They had not thought of an immediate retreat, as the enemy, having the advantage of the light, had already discovered the strength of our party. Though only a distance of three hundred yards separated the hostile bands, twenty miles would have to be passed before they could meet in battle. On this account Seguin and the hunters felt secure for the time, and it was hastily resolved to remain where we were until we had examined who and what were our opponents. They had halted on the opposite bank and sat in their saddles, gazing across. They seemed puzzled at our appearance. It was still too dark for them to distinguish our complexions. Soon, however, it grew clearer. Our peculiar dress and equipment were recognized, and a wild yell the Navajo war cry came peeling over the Abyss. It's Tacoma's party, cried a voice. They have taken the wrong side of the gully. No, exclaimed another. There's too few of them for Tacoma's men. There ain't over a hundred. Maybe the flood took the rest, suggested the first speaker. Why, how could they have missed our trail that's as plain as a wagon-track? Taint them know-how. Who, then? It's Navajo. I could tell their yelp if I were sleeping. Them's head chief's niggers, said Rube at this moment, riding forward. Look, Yander's the old skunk his self on the spotted hoss. You think it is they, Rube? answered Seguin. Sure a shooting-cap. But where are the rest of his band? These are not all. They ain't far off, I'll be bound. Hish! I hear them a-coming. Yander's a crowd. Look, boys, look! Through the fog, now floating away a dark body of mounted men were seen coming up the opposite side. They advanced with shouts and ejaculations as though they were driving cattle. It was so. As the fog rose up we could see a drove of horses, horned cattle, and sheep covering the plain to a great distance. Behind these rode mounted Indians who galloped to and fro, goading the animals with their spears and pushing them forward. Lord, what a plunder, exclaimed one of the hunters. Aye, them's the fellers have made something by their expedition. We are coming back empty as we went. Wah! I had been engaged, settling my horse, and at this moment came forward it was not upon the Indians that my eye rested, nor upon the plundered cattle, another object attracting my gaze and sent the blood curdling to my heart. Away in the rear of the advancing drove I saw a small party, distinct from the rest, their light dresses fluttering in the wind, told me that they were not Indians, they were women, they were captives. There appeared to be about twenty in all. But my feelings were such that I took little heat of their number. I saw that they were mounted, and that each was guarded by an Indian who rode by her side. With a palpitating heart I passed my eye over the group from one to the other, but the distance was too great to distinguish the features of any of them. I turned towards the chief.   I snatched up the telescope to assure myself, but it needed not that. As I was raising it, an object running along the opposite side caught my eye. It was the dog, Alp. I leveled the glass, and the next moment was gazing through it on the face of my betrothed. No closer did she seem that I could hardly restrain myself from calling to her. I could distinguish her pale, beautiful features, her cheek was wan with weeping, and her rich golden hair hung disheveled from her shoulders, reaching to the withers of her horse. She was covered with a sorape, and a young Indian rode beside her mounted upon a showy horse, and dressed in the heavy elements of a Mexican hussar. I looked at none of the others, though a glance showed me her mother in the string of captives that came after. The drove of horses and cattle soon passed up, and the females with their guards arrived opposite us. The captives were left back on the prairie while the warriors rode forward to where their comrades had halted by the brow of the baronca. It was now bright day. The fog had cleared away, and across the impassable gulf the hostile bands stood gazing at each other. CHAPTER XXVIII New Misery It was a most singular rencontre. Here were two parties of men, heart foes to one another, each returning from the country of the mother, loaded with plunder and carrying a train of captives. They had met midway and stood within musket range, gazing at each other with feelings of the most bitter hostility, and yet a conflict was as impossible as though twenty miles of the earth's surface lay between them. On one side were the Navajos, with consternation in their looks, for the warriors had recognized their children. On the other stood the scalp hunters, not a few of whom, in the captive train of their enemies, could distinguish the features of a wife, a sister, or a daughter. Each gazed upon the other with hostile hearts and glances of revenge. Had they met thus on the open prairie, they would have fought to the death. It seemed as though the hand of God had interposed to prevent the ruthless shedding of blood, which but for the gulf that lay between these foemen would certainly have ensued. I cannot describe how I felt at the moment. I remember that, all at once I was inspired with a new vigor both of mind and body. Hitherto I had been little more than a passive spectator of the events of our expedition. I had been acting without any stimulating heart motive. Now I had one that roused me too. A desperate energy. A thought occurred to me, and I ran up to communicate it. Seguin was beginning to recover from the terrible blow. The men had learnt the cause of his strange behavior and stood around him, some of them endeavoring to console him. Few of them knew ought of the family affairs of their chief, but they had heard of his earlier misfortunes. The loss of his mind, the ruin of his property, the captivity of his child. Now when it became known that among the prisoners of the enemy were his wife and daughter, even the rude hearts of the hunters were touched with pity at his more than common sufferings. Compassionate exclamations were heard from them. Mingled with expressions of their determination to restore the captives or die in the attempt. It was with the intention of exciting such a feeling that I had come forward. It was my design out of my small stock of world's wealth to set a premium on devotedness and valor, but I saw that nobler motives had anticipated me and I remained silent. Seguin seemed pleased at the loyalty of his comrades and began to exhibit his wanted energy. Hope again had possession of him. The men clustered round him to offer their advice and listen to his directions. We can fight them, Captain. Even handed, said the trapper Gary. There ain't over two hundred. Just a hundred and ninety-six interposed a hunter, without the women. I've counted them. That's their number. Well, continued Gary, there's some difference between us in point of plot, I reckon, and what's wanting in number will make up our rifles. I never vales two to one with engines and a trifle throwed in, if you like. Look at the ground, Bill. It's all plain. Where would we be after a volley? They'd have the advantage with their bows and lances. Why? They could spear us to pieces there. I didn't say we could take them on the Parara. We can follow them till they're in the mountains and get them among the rocks. That's what I advise. I. They can't run away from us with that drove. That's certain. They have no notion of running away. They will most likely attack us. That's just what we want, said Gary. We can go yonder and fight them till they've had a belly full. The trapper, as he spoke, pointed to the foot of the membre that lay about ten miles off to the eastward. Maybe they'll wait till more comes up. There's more of head-chiefs' party than these. There were nearly four hundred when they passed the Pinone. Rube, where can the rest of them be? demanded Seguin. I can see down to the mine, and they're not upon the plain. Ain't it going to be, Cap? Some luck in that, I reckon. The old fool has sent a party by the other's trail. On the wrong scent, them is. Why do you think they have gone by the other trail? Why, Cap, it stands for reason. If they were a come on a height. Some of them niggers on the other side would have gone back before this to hurry him up, do you see? There ain't gone nair a one, as I see'd. You are right, Rube, replied Seguin, encouraged by the probability of what the other had asserted. What do you advise us, continued he, appealing to the old trapper, whose counsel he was in the habit of seeking in all cases of similar difficulty. Well, Cap, it's a twistified piece of business as it stands, and I ain't figured out to my satisfaction just yet. If you give me a couple of minutes, I'll answer you to the best of my possibilities. Very well, we will wait for you. Men, look to your arms and see that they are all in readiness. During this consultation, which had occupied but a few seconds of time, we could see that the enemy was similarly employed on the other side, they had drawn around their chief, and from their gesticulations it was plain that they were deliberating how they should act. Our appearance, with the children of their principal men as captives, had filled them with consternation at what they saw, and apprehensions of a fearful kind for what they saw not. Returning from a successful foray, laden with spoil, and big with the prospect of feasting and triumph, they suddenly perceived themselves out-generaled at their own game. They knew we had been to their town. They conjectured that we had plundered and burnt their houses and massacred their women and children. They fancied no less, for this was the very work in which they had themselves been engaged, and their judgment was drawn from their own conduct. They saw moreover that we were a large party able to defend what we had taken, at least against them, for they knew well that, with their firearms, the scalp-hunters were an overmatch for them when there was anything like an equality of numbers. With these ideas, then, it required deliberation on their part, as well as with us, and we knew that it would be some time before they would act. They, too, were in a dilemma. The hunters obeyed the injunctions of Seguin and remained silent, waiting upon Rube to deliver his advice. The old trapper stood apart, half resting upon his rifle, which he clutched with both hands near the muzzle. He had taken out the stopper and was looking into the barrel as if he were consulting some oracular spirit that he kept bottled up within it. It was one of Rube's peculiar ways, and those who knew this were seen to smile as they watched him. After a few minutes spent in this silent entreaty, the oracle seemed to have sent forth its response, and Rube, returning the stopper to its place, came walking forward to the chief. Billy's right, Cap. If them engines must be fit, it's got to be dead where there's rocks or timber. They'd whip us to shucks on the parrera. That's settled. While there's two things. They'll either come back at us, if so be, yonder's our ground, hear the speaker pointed to a spur of the membrane. Or we'll be obliged to follow them. If so be, we can do it as easy as falling off a log. They ain't overleg free. But how should we do for provisions in that case? We could never cross the desert without them. Why, Cap, there's no difficulty about that. With the pareras as dry as they are, I could stampede that whole cavillard as easy as a gang of buffalers, and we come in for a share of them, I reckon. There's a worse thing than that, this child smells. What? I'm afraid we might fall in with Tacoma's niggers on the back track. That's what I'm afeard on. True, it is most probable. It er, unless they got overtook in the canyon, and I don't think it. They understand that crick too well. The probability of Tacoma's band soon joining those of the head chief was apparent to all, and cast a shadow of despondency over every face. They were no doubt still in pursuit of us, and would soon arrive on the ground. Now, Cap, continued the trapper, I gain you my notion of things, if so be we're bound to fight. But I have my be hopes we can get back the women without wasting our gun fodder. How, how, eagerly inquired the chief and others. Why, just this away, replied the trapper, almost irritating me with the prolixity of his style. You see them engines on the other side of the gully? Yes, yes, hastily replied Seguin. Well, you see these here, and the speaker pointed to our captives. Yes, yes.  They eat them by times. That's true. But there's a religious reason for that. Not many here understands, I reckon. And what would you have us do? I just heist a bit a white rag and offer to swap prisoners. They'll understand it and come to terms, I'll be bound. That putty little gal with the long hairs had chief daughter, and the rest belongs to main men of the tribe. I picked him for that. Besides, there's Dakoma and the young queen. They'll bite their nails off about them. He can give up the chief and trade them out of the queen best way you can. I will follow your advice, cried Seguin, his eye brightening with the anticipation of a happy result. There's no time to be wasted, then, Cap. If Dakoma's men makes their appearance, all I've been a sayin' won't be worth the skinna of sand rat. Not a moment shall be lost, and Seguin gave orders to make ready the flag of peace. It'll be better, Cap, first to get him a good side of what we got. They ain't seed, Dakoma yet, nor the queen. They're in the bushes. Right, answered Seguin. Comrades, bring forward the captives to the edge of the baranka. Bring the Navajo chief. Bring the— My daughter. The men hurried to obey the command, and in a few minutes the captive children, with Dakoma and the mystery queen, were led forward to the very brink of the chasm. The sarapes that had shrouded them were removed, and they stood exposed in their usual costumes before the eyes of the Indians. Dakoma still wore his helmet, and the queen was conspicuous in the rich plume embroidered tunic. They were at once recognized. A cry of singular import burst from the Navajos as they beheld these new proofs of their discomforture. The warriors unslunged their lances and thrust them into the earth with impotent indignation. Some of them drew scalps from their belts, stuck them on the points of their spears, and shook them at us over the brow of the abyss. They believed that Dakoma's band had been destroyed, as well as their women and children, and they threatened us with shouts and gestures. In the midst of all this we noticed a movement among the more staid warriors. A consultation was going on. It ended. A party were seen to gallop toward the captive women, who had been left far back upon the plain. Great heavens, cried eyes, struck with a horrid idea. They are going to butcher them, quick with the flag. But before the banner could be attached to its staff, the Mexican women were dismounted, their ribosos pulled off, and they were led forward to the precipice. It was only meant for a counter-vaunt. The retaliation of a pang for it was evident the savages knew that among their captives were the wife and daughter of our chief. These were placed conspicuously in front upon the very brow of the baronca. Chapter 44 of The Scalp Hunters This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Daniel Noonan. The Scalp Hunters by Thomas Mayne Reed. The Flag of Truce. They might have spared themselves the pains. That agony was already felt, but indeed a scene followed that caused us to suffer afresh. Up to this moment we had not been recognized by those near and dear to us. The distance had been too great for the naked eye, and our browned faces and travel-stained tub elements were of themselves a disguise. But the instincts of love are quick and keen, and the eyes of my betrothed were upon me. I saw her start forward. I heard the agonized scream, a pair of snow-white arms were extended, and she sank, fainting upon the cliff. At the same instant, Madame Seguin had recognized the chief, and had called him by name. Seguin shouted to her in reply, and cautioned her in tones of entreaty to remain patient and silent. Several of the other females, all young and handsome, had recognized their lovers and brothers, and a scene followed that was painful to witness. But my eyes were fixed upon her. I saw that she recovered from her swoon. I saw the savage in Hussar trappings dismount, and lifting her in his arms carry her back upon the prairie. I followed them with impotent gaze. I saw that he was paying her kind detentions, and I almost thanked him, though I knew it was but the selfish gallantry of the lover. In a short while he rose to her feet again, and rushed back towards the baronca. I heard my name uttered across the ravine. Hers was echoed back, but at the moment both mother and daughter were surrounded by their guards, and carried back. Meanwhile the white flag had been got ready, and Seguin, holding it aloft, stood out in front. We remained silent, watching with eager glances for the answer. There was a movement among the clustered Indians. We heard their voices in earnest talk, and saw that something was going on in their midst.  It was a bleached fawnskin. In his right hand he carried a lance. We saw him place the fawnskin on the blade of the lance, and stand forward holding it aloft. Our signal of peace was answered. Silence, men! cried Seguin, speaking to the hunters. And then, raising his voice, he called aloud in the Indian language. Navajos, you know whom we are. We have passed through your country, and visited your head town. Our object was to search for our dear relatives, who we knew were captives in your land. Some we have recovered, but there are many others we could not find. That these might be restored to us in time, we have taken hostages, as you see. We might have brought away many more, but these we considered enough. We have not burned your town. We have not harmed your wives, your daughters, nor your children. With the exception of these, our prisoners, you will find all as you left them. A murmur ran through the ranks of the Indians. It was a murmur of satisfaction. They had been under the full belief that their town was destroyed, and their women massacred. And the words of Seguin, therefore, produced a singular effect. We could hear joyful exclamations, and phrases interchanged among the warriors. Silence was again restored. And Seguin continued, We see that you have been in our country. You have made captives as well as we. You are red men. Red men can feel for their kindred as well as white men. We know this. And for that reason, I have raised the banner of peace, that each may restore to the other his own. It will please the Great Spirit, and will give satisfaction to both of us. For that which you hold is of most value to us. And that which we have is dear only to you. Navajos, I have spoken. I await your answer. When Seguin had ended, the warriors gathered around the head chief. And we could see that an earnest debate was going on amongst them. It was plain there were dissenting voices. But the debate was soon over. And the head chief stepping forward gave some instructions to the man who held the flag. The latter, in a loud voice, replied to Seguin's speech as follows. White chief, you have spoken well. And your words have been weighed by our warriors. You ask nothing more than what is just and fair. It would please the Great Spirit and satisfy us to exchange our captives. But how can we tell that your words are true?  How can we know that this is true? Our town is far off. So are our women, if they still be alive. We cannot ask them. We have only your word. It is not enough. Seguin had already anticipated this difficulty, and had ordered one of our captives, an intelligent lad, to be brought forward. The boy at this moment appeared by his side. Question him, shouted he, pointing to the captive lad. And why may we not question our brother, the chief Dakoma? The lad is young. He may not understand us. The chief could assure us better. Dakoma was not with us at the town. He knows not what was done there. Let's Dakoma answer that. Brother, replied Seguin, you are wrongly suspicious, but you shall have his answer. And he addressed some words to the Navajo chief, who sat near him upon the ground. The question was then put directly to Dakoma by the speaker on the other side. The proud Indian, who seemed exasperated with the humiliating situation in which he was placed, with an angry wave of his hand and a short ejaculation answered in the negative. Now brother, proceeded Seguin, you see, I have spoken truly. Ask the lad what you first proposed. The boy was then interrogated as to whether we had burned the town or harmed the women and children. To these two questions, he also returned a negative answer. Well, brother, said Seguin, are you satisfied? For a long time there was no reply. The warriors were again gathered in council and gesticulating with earnestness and energy. We could see that there was a party opposed to Pacific measures who were evidently counseling the others to try the fortunes of a battle. These were the younger braves, and I observed that he in the Hussar costume, who, as Rube informed us, was the son of the head chief, appeared to be the leader of this party. Had not the head chief been so deeply interested in the result, the councils of these might have carried, for the warriors well knew the scourge that would await them among neighboring tribes should they return without captives. Besides, there were numbers who felt another sort of interest in detaining them. They had looked upon the daughters of the Del Norte, and saw that they were fair. But the councils of the older men at length prevailed, and the spokesman replied, The Navajo warriors have considered what they have heard. They believe that the white chief has spoken the truth, and they agree to exchange their prisoners. That this may be done in a proper and becoming manner. They propose that 20 warriors be chosen on each side, that these warriors may lay down their arms on the prairie in presence of all, that they shall then conduct their captives to the crossing of the Baranka by the mine, and there settle the terms of their exchange. That all the others on both sides shall remain where they now are, until the unarmed warriors have got back with the exchange prisoners, that the white banners shall then be struck, and both sides be freed from the treaty. These are the words of the Navajo warriors. It was some time before Seguin could reply to this proposal. It seemed fair enough. But yet there was a manner about it that led us to suspect some design. And we paused a moment to consider it. The concluding terms intimated an intention on the part of the enemy of making an attempt to retake their captives. But we cared little for this. Provided we could once get them on our side of the Baranka. It was very proper that the prisoners should be conducted to the place of exchange by unarmed men. And twenty was a proper number. But Seguin well knew how the Navajos would interpret the word unarmed. And several of the hunters were cautioned in an undertone to stray into the bushes, and conceal their knives and pistols under the flaps of their hunting shirts. We thought that we observed a similar maneuver going on upon the bank with the tomahawks of her adversaries. We could make but little objection to the terms proposed. And as Seguin knew that time saved was an important object he hastened to accept them. As soon as this was announced to the Navajos, 20 men already chosen, no doubt, stepped out into the open prairie and striking their lances into the ground rested against them, their bows, quivers and shields. We saw no tomahawks. And we knew that every Navajo carries this weapon. They all had their means of concealing them about their persons. For most of them were dressed in the garb of civilized life in the plundered habiliments of the Rancho and Hacienda. We cared little as we too were sufficiently armed. We saw that the party selected were men of powerful strength. In fact, they were the picked warriors of the tribe. Ours were similarly chosen. Among them were El Sol and Garry, Rube and the bullfighter Sanchez. Seguin and I were of the number. Most of the trappers with a few Delaware Indians completed the compliment. The 20 were soon selected. And stepping out on the open ground as the Navajos had done, we piled our rifles in the presence of the enemy. Our captives were then mounted and made ready for starting. The Queen and the Mexican girls were brought forward among the rest. This last was a piece of strategy on the part of Seguin. He knew that we had captives enough to exchange one for one without these. But he saw, as we all did, that to leave the Queen behind would interrupt the negotiation and perhaps put an end to it altogether. He had resolved, therefore, on taking her along, trusting that he could better negotiate for her on the ground. Failing this, there would be but one appeal, two arms. And he knew that our party was well prepared for that alternative. Both sides were at length ready. And at a signal commenced riding down the Baranca in the direction of the mine. The rest of the two bands remained eyeing each other across the gulf with glances of mistrust and hatred. Neither party could move without the other seeing it. For the planes in which they were, though on opposite sides of the Baranca, were but segments of the same horizontal plateau. A horseman proceeding from me, the party could have been seen by the others to a distance of many miles. The flags of truce were still waving. Their spears stuck into the ground. But each of the hostile bands held their horses saddled and bridled, ready to mount at the first movement of the other. End of chapter 44, the flag of truce. Recording by Daniel Noonan


We are in charge of the M161A1. Essentially, without the gun, the jet is more or less not going to function in air to ground. Our job typically consists of maintaining the gun systems. The gun itself can shoot several thousand rounds per minute. That being said, it's going to be kind of tapered off because it can only hold so many rounds in our container compared to the other F-15s currently in use. It's definitely a team building exercise compared to other things as far as when that gun arrives and once we start working it we have to finish it within a set period of time.