CHAPTER 45 OF THE SCALP HUNTERS Within the baronca was the mine. The shafts, rude diggings pierced the cliffs on both sides, like so many caves. The bottom between the cliffs was bisected by a rivulet that murmured among loose rocks. On the banks of this rivulet stood the old smelting houses and ruin ranches of the miners. Most of them were ruthless and crumbling to decay. The ground about them was shaggy and choked up. There were briars, mezcal plants, and cacti, all luxuriant, hearsuit, and thorny. Approaching this point the road on each side of the baronca suddenly dips, the trails converging downward and meeting among the ruins. When in view of these, both parties halted and signaled each other across the ravine. After a short parley it was proposed by the Navajos that the captives and horses should remain on the top of the hill, each trained to be guarded by two men. The rest, eighteen on each side, should descend to the bottom of the baronca. Meet among the houses, and having smoked the calumet, arranged the terms of the exchange. Neither Seguin nor I liked this proposal. We saw that in the event of a rupture in the negotiation, a thing we more than half anticipated, even should our party overpower the other, we could gain nothing. Before we could reach the Navajo captives, up the steep hill, the two guards would hurry them off, or we dreaded to think of it, butcher them on the ground. It was a fearful thought, but there was nothing improbable in it. We knew moreover that smoking the peace-pipe would be another waste of time, and we were on thorns about the approach of Tacoma's party. But the proposal had come from the enemy, and they were obstinate. We could urge no objections to it, without betraying our designs, and we were compelled, though loath, to accept it. We dismounted, leaving our horses in charge of the guard, and descending into the ravine, stood face to face with the warriors of Navajo. They were eighteen-picked men, tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. The expression of their faces was savage, subtle, and grim. There was not a smile to be seen, and the lip that, at that moment, had betrayed one would have lied. There was hate in their hearts and vengeance in their looks. For a moment both parties stood scanning each other in silence. These were no common foes. It was no common hostility that for years had nerved them against each other, and it was no common cause that had now, for the first time, brought them face to face without arms in their hands. A mutual want had forced them to their present attitude of peace, though it was more like a truce between the lion and tiger, which have met in an avenue of the jungly forest and stand eyeing one another. Though by agreement without arms both were sufficiently armed, and they knew that of each other, the handles of tomahawks, the halves of knives, and the shining butts of pistols peeped carelessly out from the dresses both of hunters and Indians. There was little effort made to conceal these dangerous toys, and they were on all sides visible. At length our mutual reconnaissance came to a period, and we proceeded to business. There happened to be no breadth of ground clear of weeds and thorny rubbish where we could seed ourselves for the smoke. Seguin pointed to one of the houses, an adobe structure in a tolerable state of preservation, and several entered to examine it. The building had been used as a smelting-house, and broken trucks and other implements were lying over the floor. There was but one apartment, not a large one either, and near its center stood a brazzaro covered with cold slag and ashes. Two men were appointed to kindle a fire upon the brazzaro, and the rest, entering, took their seats upon the trucks and masses of quartz rock ore that lay around the room. As I was about seeding myself, an object leaped against me from behind, uttering a low whine that ended in a bark. I turned, and beheld the dog alp. The animal frenzied with delight, rushed upon me repeatedly, and it was some time before I could quiet him and take my place. At length we were all seeded upon opposite sides of the fire, each party forming the arc of a circle, concave to the other. There was a heavy door still hanging upon its hinge, and as there were no windows in the house, this was suffered to remain open. It opened to the inside.  It was then lighted and passed from mouth to mouth in profound silence. We noticed that each of the Indians, contrary to their usual custom of taking a whiff or two, smoked long and slowly. We knew it was a ruse to protract the ceremony and gain time. While we, I answer for Seguin and myself, were chafing at the delay. When the pipe came round to the hunters, it passed in quicker time. The unsocial smoke was at length ended, and the negotiation began. At the very commencement of the talk I saw that we were going to have a difficulty. The Navajos, particularly the younger warriors, assumed a bullying and exacting attitude that the hunters were not likely to brook. Nor would they have submitted to it for a moment, but for the peculiar position in which their chief was placed. For his sake they held in, as well as they could, but the tender was apparent, and would not bear many sparks before it blazed up. The first question was in relation to the number of the prisoners. The enemy had nineteen, while we, without including the queen or the Mexican girls, numbered twenty-one. This was in our favor, but to our surprise the Indians insisted that their captives were grown women, that most of ours were children, and that two of the latter should be exchanged for one of the former. To this absurdity Seguin replied that we could not agree, but as he did not wish to keep any of their prisoners he would exchange the twenty-one for the nineteen. Twenty-one, exclaimed Brave, why you have twenty-seven. We counted them on the bank. Six of those you counted are our own people. They are whites and Mexicans. Six whites, retorted the savage. There are but five. Who is the sixth? Perhaps it is our queen. She is light in color. Perhaps the pale chief has mistaken her for a white. Ha, ha, ha! roared the savages in a taunting laugh. Our queen a white. Ha, ha, ha! Your queen, said Seguin, in a solemn voice.  Ha, ha, ha! again how they, in scornful chorus, your daughter, ha, ha, ha! And the room rang with their demonic laughter. Yes, repeated he, in a loud but faltering voice, for now he saw the turn that things were taking. Yes, she is my daughter. How can that be? demanded one of the Braves, an orator of the tribe. You have a daughter among our captives. We know that. She is white as the snow upon the mountaintop. Her hair is yellow as the gold upon these armlets. The queen is dark in complexion. Among our tribes there are many as light as she, and her hair is like the wing of the black vulture. How is that? Our children are like one another. Are not yours the same? If the queen be your daughter, then the golden-haired maiden is not. You cannot be the father of both. But no, continued the subtle savage, elevating his voice, the queen is not your daughter. She is of our race, a child of Montezuma, a queen of the Navajos. The queen must be returned to us, exclaimed several Braves. She is ours. We must have her. In vain, Seguin reiterated his paternal claim. In vain he detailed the time and circumstances of her capture by the Navajos themselves. The Braves again cried out, She is our queen. We must have her. Seguin, in an eloquent speech, appealed to the feelings of the old chief, whose daughter was in similar circumstances. But it was evident that the latter lacked the power, if he had the will, to stay the storm that was rising. The younger warriors answered with shouts of derision, one of them crying out that the white chief was raving. They continued for some time to gesticulate, at intervals declaring loudly, that on no terms would they agree to an exchange unless the queen were given up. It was evident that some mysterious tie bound them to such extreme loyalty. Even the exchange of Tacoma was less desired by them. Their demands were urged in so insulting a manner that we felt satisfied it was their intention, in the end, to bring us to a fight. The rifles, so much dreaded by them, were absent, and they felt certain of obtaining a victory over us. The hunters were equally willing to be at it, and equally sure of a conquest. They only waited the signal from their leader. A signal was given. But to their surprise and chagrin it was one of peace. Seguin turning to them and looking down, for he was upon his feet, cautioned them in a low voice to be patient and silent. Then, covering his eyes with his hand, he stood for some moments in an attitude of meditation. The hunters had full confidence in the talents, as well as bravery of their chief. They knew that he was devising some plan of action, and they patiently awaited their result. On the other side, the Indians showed no signs of impatience. They cared not how much time was consumed, for they hoped that by this time Tacoma's party would be on their trail. They sat still, exchanging their thoughts in grunts and short phrases, while many of them filled up the intervals with laughter. They felt quite easy and seemed not in the least to dread the alternative of a fight with us. Indeed, to look at both parties, one should have said that, man to man, we would have been no match for them. They were all, with one or two exceptions, men of six feet, most of them over it, in height, while many of the hunters were small-bodied men. But among these there was not one white feather. The Navajos knew that they themselves were well armed for close conflict. They knew, too, that we were armed. Ha! they little dreamt how we were armed. They saw that the hunters carried knives and pistols, but they thought that, after the first volley, uncertain and ill-directed, the knives would be no match for their terrible tomahawks. They knew not that from the belts of several of us, El Sol, Seguin, Gary, and myself, hung a fearful weapon, the most fearful of all others in close combat, the Colt revolver. It was then but a new patent, and no Navajo had ever heard its continuous and death-dealing detonations. Brothers said Seguin, again placing himself in an attitude to speak, you deny that I am the father of the girl.  This you deny. If you be sincere, then, you cannot object to the proposal I am about to make. Let them be brought before us. Let her be brought. If she fail to recognize and acknowledge her kindred, then shall I yield my claim, and the maiden be free to return with the warriors of Navajo. The hunters heard this proposition with surprise. They knew that Seguin's efforts to awaken any recollection of himself in the mind of the girl had been unsuccessful. What likelihood was there that she would remember her mother? But Seguin himself had little hope of this. And a moment's reflection convinced us that his proposal was based on some hidden idea. He saw that the exchange of the queen was a sine qua non with the Indians, and without this being granted, the negotiations would terminate abruptly, leaving his wife and younger daughter still in the hands of our enemies. He reflected on the harsh lot which would await them in their captivity, while she returned but to receive homage and kindness. They must be saved at every sacrifice. She must be yielded up to redeem them. But Seguin had still another design. It was a strategic maneuver, a desperate and dernier resort on his part. It was this. He saw that, if he could once get the captives, his wife and daughter, down among the houses, there would be a possibility in the event of a fight of carrying them off. The queen, too, might thus be rescued as well. It was the alternative suggested by despair. In a hurried whisper he communicated this to those of his comrades, nearest him, in order to ensure their prudence and patience. As soon as the proposal was made, the Navajos rose from their seeds and clustered together in a corner of the room to deliberate. They spoke in low tones. We could not, of course, understand what was said, but from the expression of their faces and their gesticulations, we could tell that they seemed disposed to accept it. They knew that the queen had not recognized Seguin as her father. They had watched her closely as she rode down the opposite side of the Baranka, in fact, conversed by signals with her before we could interfere to prevent it. No doubt she had informed them of what happened at the canyon, with Tacoma's warriors, and the probability of their approach. They had little fear, then, that she would remember her mother. Her long absence, her age when made captive, her afterlife, and the more-than-kind treatment she had received at their hands, had long since blotted out every recollection of her childhood and its associations. The subtle savages well knew this, and at length, after a discussion which lasted for nearly an hour, they resumed their seeds and signified their ascent to the proposal. Two men, one from each party, were now sent for the three captives, and we sat waiting their arrival. In a short time they were let in. I find difficulty in describing the scene that followed. The meeting of Sagwin with his wife and daughter, my own short embrace and hurried kiss, the sobs and swooning of my betrothed, the mother's recognition of her long-lost child, the anguish that ensued as her yearning heart made its appeals in vain, the half-indignant, half-pitying looks of the hunters, the triumphant gestures and ejaculations of the Indians, all formed points in a picture that lives with painful vividness in my memory, though I am not sufficiently master of the author's art to paint it. In a few minutes the captives were let out of the house, guarded by two men, while the rest of us remained to complete the negotiation. The Scalp Hunters, by Thomas Main Reid, Chapter 46. A Conflict with Closed Doors. The occurrence did not improve the temper of either party, particularly that of the hunters. The Indians were triumphant, but not a whit the less inclined to obstinacy and exaction. They now returned to their former offer. For those of our captives that were woman-grown, they would exchange one for one, and for their chief Tacoma they offered to give two. For the rest they insisted on receiving two for one. By this arrangement we could ransom only about twelve of the Mexican women, but finding them determined, Seguin at length assented to these terms, provided they would allow us the privilege of choosing the twelve to be exchanged. To our surprise and indignation this was refused.  The air was filled with the electricity of anger.  The Indians scowled on us, glancing malignantly out of their oblique eyes. There was triumph too in their looks. For they believed themselves far stronger than we. On the other side sat the hunters quivering under a double indignation. I say double, I can hardly explain what I mean. They had never before been so braved by Indians. They had in all their lives been accustomed, partly out of bravado and partly from actual experience, to consider the red men their inferiors in subtlety and courage, and to be thus bearded by them, fill the hunters, as I have said, with a double indignation. It was like the bitter anger which the superior fills toward his resisting inferior, the lord to his rebellious serf, the master to his last slave, who has turned and struck him. It was thus the hunters felt. I glanced along their line. I never saw faces with such expression as I saw there and then. Their lips were white and drawn tightly over their teeth. Their cheeks were set and colorless, and their eyes protruding forward seemed glued in their sockets. There was no motion to be detected in the features of any, saving the twitching of angry muscles. Their right hands were buried in the bosoms of their half-open shirts, each I knew grasping a weapon, and they appeared not to sit but to crouch forward, like panthers quivering upon the spring. There was a long interval of silence on both sides. It was broken by a cry from without. The scream of the war eagle. We should not have noticed this, knowing that these birds were common in the members, and one might have flown over their ravine. But we thought, or fancied, that it had made an impression upon our adversaries. They were men not apt to show any sudden emotion, but it appeared to us that, all at once, their glances grew bolder and more triumphant. Could it have been a signal? We listened for a minute. The scream was repeated. And although it was exactly after the manner of a bird well known to us, the white-headed eagle, we sat with unsatisfied and tearful apprehensions. The young chief, he in the Hussar dress, was upon his feet. He had been the most turbulent and exacting of our opponents. He was a man of most villainous and licentious character, so Rube had told us, but nevertheless holding great power among the Braves. It was he who had spoken in refusal of Seguin's offer, and was now about to assign his reasons. We knew them without that. Why, said he, looking at Seguin as he spoke, why is it that the white chief is so desirous of choosing among our captives? Is it that he wishes to get back the yellow haired maiden? He paused a moment, as if for a reply, but Seguin made none. If the white chief believes our queen to be his daughter, would not he wish that her sister should be her companion, and return with her to our land? Again he paused, but as before Seguin remained silent. The speaker proceeded, why not let the yellow haired maiden return with us and become my wife? Who am I that ask this? A chief of the Navajos, the descendants of the great Montezuma, the son of their king. The savage looked around him with a vaunting air as he uttered these words. Who is she, he continued, that I am thus begging for a bride. The daughter of one who is not even respected among his own people. The daughter of a kulada. I looked at Seguin. I saw his form dilating. I saw the big veins swelling along his throat. I saw gathering in his eyes that wild expression I had once before noticed. I knew that the crisis was near. Again the eagle screamed. But proceeded the savage, seeming to draw new boldness from the signal. I shall beg no more. I love the white maiden. She must be mine. And this very night shall she sleep. He never finished the sentence. Seguin's bullet had sped, piercing the center of his forehead. I caught a glimpse of the red round hole with its circle of blue powder as the victim fell forward on his face. All together we sprang to our feet, as one man rose hunters and Indians, as if from one throat peeled the double shout of defiance, and as if by one hand knives, pistols and tomahawks were drawn together. The next moment we closed and battled. Oh, it was a fearful strife. As the pistols cracked, the long knives glittered, and the tomahawks swept the air. A fearful, fearful strife. You would suppose that the first shock would have prostrated both ranks. It was not so. The early blows of a struggle like this are wild and well-perried, and human life is hard to take. What were the lives of men like these? A few fell. Some recoiled from the collision, wounded and bleeding, but still to battle again. Some fought hand to hand, while several pairs had clutched, and were striving to fling each other in the desperate rustle of death. Some rushed for the door, intending to fight outside. A few got out, but the crowd pressed against it. The door closed. Dead bodies fell behind it. We fought in darkness. We had lied enough for our purpose. The pistols flashed at quick intervals, displaying the horrid picture. The light gleamed upon fiend-like faces, upon red and waving weapons, upon prostrate forms of men, upon others struggling in every attitude of deadly conflict. The yells of the Indians and the not less savage shouts of their white foe men had continued from the first, but the voices grew hoarser, and the shouts were changed groans and oaths and short earnest exclamations. At intervals were heard the quick percussions of blows and the dull, sodden sound of falling bodies. The room became filled with smoke and dust and choking sulfur, and the combatants were half stifled as they fought. At the first break of the battle I had drawn my revolver and fired it in the face of the closing foe men. I had fired shot after shot, some at random, others directed upon a victim.  This had occupied but as many seconds of time. Mechanically I stuck the empty weapon behind my belt, and guided by an impulse made for the door. Before I could reach it it was closed and I saw that to get out was impossible. I turned to search for an antagonist. I was not long in finding one. By the flash of a pistol I saw one of the Indians rushing upon me with upraised hatchet. Up to this time something had hindered me from drawing my knife. I was now too late, and holding out my arms to catch the blow I ducked my head towards the savage. I felt the keen blade cutting the flesh as it glanced along my shoulder. I was but slightly wounded. He had missed his aim from my stooping so suddenly. But the impetus brought our bodies together and the next moment we grappled. We stumbled over a heap of rock and for some moment struggled together upon the ground, neither able to use his weapon. Again we rose, still locked in the angry embrace. Again we were falling with terrible force. Something caught us in our descent. It shook. It gave way with a crashing sound, and we fell headlong into the broad and brilliant light. I was dazzled and blinded. I heard behind me a strange rumbling, like a noise made by falling timbers. But I heeded not that. I was too busy to speculate upon causes. The sudden shock had separated us, and both rose at the same instant, again to grapple, and again to come together to the earth. We twisted and wiggled over the ground among weeds and thorny cacti. I was every moment growing weaker, while the sinewy savage, used to such combats, seemed to be gaining fresh nerve and breath. Thrice he had thrown me under, but each time I had clutched his right arm and prevented the descending blow. I had succeeded in drawing my knife as we fell through the wall, but my arm was also held fast, and I was unable to use it. As we came to the ground for the fourth time, my antagonist fell under me. A cry of agony passed from his lips. His head cogled over among the weeds, and he lay in my arms without struggling. I felt his grasp gradually relaxing. I looked in his face. His eyes were glassy and upturned. God was gurgling through his teeth. I saw that he was dead. To my astonishment I saw this, for I knew I had not struck him as yet. I was drawing my arm from under him to do so, when I noticed that he ceased to resist. But the knife now caught my eye. It was red, blade and haft, and so was the hand that clasped it. As we fell I had accidentally held it point upward, my antagonist had fallen upon the blade. I now thought of my betrothed and entwining myself from the lithe and nervolous limbs of the savage. I rose to my feet. The ranch was in flames. The roof had fallen in upon the brazzaro, and the dry shingles had caught the blaze. Men were crawling out from the burning ruin. But not to run away. No, under its lurking flames, amidst the hot smoke, they still battled fierce and foaming and frenzied. I did not stay to recognize whom they were, these tireless combatants. I ran forward looking on all sides for the objects of my solicitude. The wave of female dresses caught my eye, far up the cliff, on the road leading to the Navajo captives. It was they. The three were climbing the steep path, each urged onward by a savage. My first impulse was to rush after, but at that moment fifty horsemen made their appearance upon the hill and came galloping downward. I saw the madness of attempting to follow them and turned to retreat towards the other side, where we had left our captives and horses. As I ran across the bottom, shots rang in my ear, proceeding from our side of the baronca. Looking up, I described the mounted hunters coming down at a gallop, pursued by a cloud of savage horsemen. It was the band of Dakoma. Uncertain what to do, I stood for a moment where I was, and watched the pursuit. The hunters, unreaching the ranches, did not halt, but galloped on down the valley, bearing as they went. A body of Indians swept on after them, while another body pulled up, clustered around the blazing ruin, and commenced searching among the walls. I was yet screened in the thicket of cacti, but I saw that my hiding-place would soon be pierced by the eyes of the subtle savages, and dropping upon my hands and knees I crept into the cliff. Unreaching it, I found myself close to the mouth of a cave, a small shaft of the mine, and into this I at once betook myself. I had crawled was of irregular outlines. Rocks jutted along the sides, and between these small lateral shafts had been dug where the miners had followed the ramifications of the quissa. The cave was not a deep one, the vein had not proved profitable, and had been abandoned for some other. I kept up it till I was fairly in the dark, and then groping against one side I found a recess, in which I ensconced myself. By peeping around the rock I could see out of the cave and some distance over the bottom of the baranka, where the bushes grew thin and straggling. I had hardly seated myself when my attention was called to a scene that was passing outside. Two men on their hands and knees were crawling through the cactus plants in front of the cave. Beyond them half a dozen savages on horseback were beating the thicket, but had not yet seen the men. These I recognized easily. They were Gold and the Doctor. The latter was nearer me, and as he scrambled on over the shingle something started out of the rocks within reach of his hand. I noticed that it was a small animal of the armadillo kind. I saw him stretch forward, clutch it, and with a pleased look deposit it in a bag that was by his side. All this time the Indians were whooping and yelling behind him, and not fifty yards distant. Doubtless the animal was of some new species, but the zealous naturalist never gave it to the world. He had scarcely drawn forth his hand again when a cry from the savages announced that he and Gold were discovered, and the next moment both lay upon the ground pierced with lances, and to all appearance dead. Their pursuers now dismounted with the intention of scalping them. Poor Rector, his cap was pulled off, the bleeding trophy followed, and he lay with the red skull towards the cave, a hideous spectacle. Another Indian head alighted and stood over the Canadian with his long knife in his hand, although pitying my poor follower, and altogether in no humour for mirth, knowing what I did, I could not help watching the proceedings with some curiosity. The savage stood for a moment admiring the beautiful curls that embellished the head of his victim. He was no doubt thinking what handsome fringes they would make for his leggings. He appeared to be an ecstasy of delight, and from the flourishes which he made with his knife I could see that it was his intention to skin the whole head.  With a cry of terror, the savage dropped the wig, and running backward fell over the body of the doctor. The cry attracted his comrades, and several of them dismounting approached the strange object with looks of astonishment. One more courageous than the rest picked up the wig, which they all proceeded to examine with curious minuteness. Then one after another went up to the shining skull and passed his fingers over its smooth surface, all the while uttering exclamations of surprise. They tried on the wig, took it off, and put it on again, turning it various ways.  It was altogether a curious scene, and under other circumstances might have amused me. There was something irresistibly comic in the puzzled looks of the actors, but I had been too deeply affected by the tragedy to laugh at the farce. There was too much of horror around me. One perhaps dead, she gone forever, the slave of the brutal savage, my own peril too at the moment. For I knew not how soon I would be discovered and dragged forth. This affected me least of all, my life was now of little value to me, and so I regarded it. But there is an instinct so-called of self-preservation even when the will ceases to act. Hopes soon began to shape themselves in my mind, and along with these the wish to live. Thoughts came. I might organize a powerful band. I might yet rescue her. Yes, even though years might intervene, I would accomplish this. She would still be true. She would never forget. Poor Seguin, what a life of hope withered in an hour. He himself sealing the sacrifice with his blood. But I would not despair. Even with his fate for a warning. I would take up the drama where he had ended. The curtain would rise upon new scenes, and I would not abandon the stage until I had accomplished a more joyous finale. Or failing this, had reached the denouement of death or vengeance.  I could now understand how holy was his hate for the ruthless red man. I too had imbibed the passion. With such reflections passing hastily for the scene I have described, and the sequent thoughts did not occupy much time, I turned my eyes inwards to examine whether I was sufficiently concealed in my niche. They might take it into their heads to search the shaft. As I endeavored to penetrate the gloom that extended inwards, my gaze became riveted on an object that caused me to shrink back with a cold shutter. Notwithstanding the scenes I had just passed through, this was the cause of still another agony. In the thick of the darkness I could distinguish two small spots, round and shiny. They did not scintillate, but rather glistened with a steady greenish luster. I knew that they were eyes. I was in the cave with a panther, or with a still more terrible companion, the grizzly bear. My first impulse was to press back into the recess where I had hidden myself. This I did until my back leaned against the rocks. I had no thoughts of attempting to escape out. That would have been from the frying pan into the fire, for the Indians were still in front of the cave. Moreover, any attempt to retreat would only draw on the animal, perhaps at that moment straining to spring. I cowered closely, groping along my belt for the handle of my knife. I clasped this at length and drawing it forth waited in a crouching attitude. During all this time my eyes had remained fixed on the lustrous orbs before me. I saw that they were fixed upon mine, and watched me without as much as winking. Mine seemed to be possessed of abstract volition. I could not take them off. They were held by some terrible fascination, and I felt or fancied that the moment this should be broken the animal would spring upon me. I had heard of fierce brutes being conquered by the glance of the human eye, and I endeavored to look back at my vis-à-vis with interest. We sat for some time, neither of us moving an inch. I could see nothing of the animal's body, nothing but the green gleaming circles that seemed set in a ground of ebony. As they had remained motionless so long I conjectured that the owner of them was still lying in his lair, and would not make his attack until something disturbed him, perhaps until the Indians had gone away. The thought now occurred to me that I might better arm myself. I knew that a knife would be of little avail against a grizzly bear. My pistol was still in my belt, but it was empty. Would the animal permit me to load it? I resolved to make the attempt. Still leaving my eyes to fulfill their office, I felt for my flask and pistol, and finding both ready, I commenced loading. I proceeded with silence and caution, for I knew that these animals could see in the dark, and that in this respect my vis-à-vis had the advantage of me. I felt the powder in with my finger, and pushing the ball on top of it rolled the cylinder to the right notch, and cocked. As the spring clicked I saw the eyes start. It will be on me now. Quick as the thought, I placed my finger to the trigger, but before I could level a voice with a well-known accent restrained me. "'Hold on, there,' cried the voice. "'Why didn't you say your hide were white? I thought it was some sneak-an-engine. Who are you anyhow? Taint Bill Gary? No, Billy, taint you, fellow?' "'No,' said I, recovering from my surprise, it's not Bill. I'm out to guess that. Bill would've known me sooner. He would've known the glint of this nigger's eyes as I would hisn. Ah, poor Billy, as I feared that trapper's rubbed out. And there ain't many more of his sort in the mountains. No, there ain't.' Roddett continued the voice with a fierce emphasis. This comes to lay in one's rifle a-hint him. If I'd have had targets with me, I wouldn't have been hiding here like a scared possum, but she are gone, that little gun are gone, and the mar too, and here I am, without either beast or reapon. Cust the luck.' And the last words were uttered with an angry hiss that echoed through every part of the cave. "'You're the young feller, the captain's friend, ain't ye?' inquired the speaker with a sudden change of tone. "'Yes,' I replied. I didn't see you were coming in, or I'm out to spoke sooner.  Who did ye think this child were?' "'I did not think you were any one. I took you for a grizzly bear.' "'Ha, ha, ha! Yee, hee, I thought so, when I heard the click of your pistol. Yee, hee, if ever I sets my peepers on Bill Gary again.  Old Rube took for a grizzly. If that ain't—ha, ha, ha, hee, hee, ho, ho!' And the old trapper chuckled at the conceit, as if he had just been witnessing some scene of amusement. And there was not an enemy within a hundred miles of him. "'Did you see any thing of Seguin?' I asked, wishing to learn whether there was any probability that my friend still lived. "'Did I? I did. And a sight that were. Did he ever see a cat-a-mount grizz?' "'I believe I have,' said I. "'Well, that were him. He were in the shanty when it felled. So were I myself. But I went there long after. I creeped out summers about the door, and just then I seed the cap hand to hand with an engine in a stand-up tussle. But it didn't last long.  He did. "'But what of Seguin? Did you see him afterwards?' "'Did I see him afterwards?' "'No, I didn't. I fear he is killed. That ain't likely, young feller. He knows these diggins better than any of us. And he ought to know whore to casher, I reckon. He's did that. I'll be bound.' "'I, if he would,' said I, thinking that Seguin might have followed the captives and thrown away his life recklessly. "'Don't be scared about him, young feller. The cap ain't a going to put his fingers into a bee's nest, where there's no honey. He ain't. But where could he have gone when you did not see him afterwards? Where could he have gone? Fifty ways he could have gone through the brush. I didn't think a look an hour to him. He left the engine where he had throwed him, without raising the hire. So I stooped down to get it. And when I risen again, he went there know-how. But that engine whore. Lord, that engine are some pumpkins, ye are. What Indian do you mean? Him has joined us on the Del Norte. The Coco. El Sol. What of him? Is he killed? While he ain't, I reckon. Nor can't it be. That's his child's opinion of it. He came from under the ranch-arter it tumbled, and his fine dress looked as spick as if it had been just tuck out of a bandy-box. There were two at him, and lore how he fit them. I tackled on one of them, a height, and get him a settler in the hump-ribs. But the way he finished the other were a caution to Crockett, toward the puttiest lick I ever seen in these here mountains. And I've seen a good few, I reckon. How was it? He know the engine that are the Coco fit with a hatchet? Yes. Well, then. That serves a disparate weepin, for them as he knows how to use it. And he does. That engine does. Teller had a hatchet, too, but he didn't keep it long. Toer clinked out of his hands in a minute, and then the Coco got a down blow at him. Why, it were a down blow, and it won't nothing else. It split the niggers head clear down to the threpple. It was separated into two halves as if it had been clove with a broad ax. If he had a seed the varmint when he came to the ground, he'd have thought he were double-headed. And just then I spied the engines that coming down both sides of the bluff, and have in neither beast nor weepin, except in a knife, this child took an ocean, once safe to be there any longer. And cached, he did. CHAPTER 48 OF THE SCALEPUNTERS This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. THE SCALEPUNTERS BY TOMAS MAIN REED CHAPTER 48 Our conversation had been carried on in a low tone. For the Indians still remained in front of the cave. Many others had arrived and were examining the skull of the Canadian with the same looks of curiosity and wonderment that had been exhibited by their comrades. Ruben I sat for some time in silence watching them. The trapper had flitted near me so that he could see out and talk in whispers. I was still apprehensive that the savages might search the cave. CHAPTER 49 Taint likely, said my companion, they mount if there hadn't been so many these diggings, do ye see? There's a grist of them, more than a hundred on the other side, and most of the men who got clear took fur or down. It's my notion that the engines seed that, and won't disturb if there ain't that dog. CHAPTER 49 I well understood the meaning of the emphasis with which these last words were repeated. My eyes simultaneously with those of the speaker had fallen upon the dog, Elp. He was running about in front of the cave. I saw at a glance he was searching for me. The next moment he had struck the trail where I had crawled through the cacti and came running down in the direction of the cave. On reaching the body of the Canadian, which lay directly in his track, he stopped for a moment and appeared to examine it. Then, ottering a short Yelp, he passed on to that of the doctor where he made a similar demonstration. He ran several times from one to the other, but at length left them, and with his nose once more to the ground disappeared out of our view. His strange actions had attracted the attention of the savages, who, one and all, stood watching him. My companion and I were beginning to hope that he had lost me. When to our dismay he appeared a second time, coming down the trail as before, this time he leaped over the bodies and the next moment sprang into the mouth of the cave. A Yelp from without told us that we were lost. We endeavored to drive the dog out again and succeeded, Rube having wounded him with his knife, but the wounded self and the behavior of the animal outside convinced our enemies that someone was within the shaft. In a few seconds the entrance was darkened by a crowd of savages shouting and yelling. "'Now show your shooting, young feller,' said my companion, "'it's the new kind of pistol you've got. Load every barrel of it.' "'Shall I have time to load them?' "'Plenty of time. They ain't going to come in without a light. "'Turgan for a torch to the shanty. Quick, will ya. Slap in the farder.' Without waiting to reply I caught hold of my flask and loaded the remaining five chambers of the revolver. I had scarcely finished when one of the Indians appeared in front with a flaming brand, and was about stooping into the mouth of the cavern. "'Now's your time,' cried Rube.  Fetch him.' I fired, and the savage, dropping the torch, fell dead upon the top of it. An angry yell from without followed the report, and the Indians disappeared from the front. Shortly after an arm was seen reaching in, and the dead body was drawn back out of the entrance. "'What will they do next, thank you?' I inquired of my companion. "'I can't tell exactly yet.  I guess we'll get a lot of them before begins in.' "'Cuss the luck, that gun targets. If only I had that little piece here.' "'You've got six shots, have ye? Good. E-mount chock up the cave with their carcriages before they can reach us. It are a great weapon, and no mistakes. I cede the cap, use it. Lower how he made it tell on them niggers in the shanty.' "'There ain't many of them about, I reckon. Load sure, young feller. There's plenty of time. They knows what you've got there.' "'During all this dialogue, none of the Indians made their appearance, but we could hear them on both sides of the shaft without. We knew they were deliberating on what plan they would take to get at us. As Rube suggested, they seemed to be aware that the shot had come from a revolver. Doubtless some of the survivors of the late fight had informed them of the fearful havoc that had been made among them with our pistols, and they dreaded to face them. What other plan would they adopt? Carve us out.' "'They mount,' said Rube, in answer to my question, and kin if they try. There ain't a big show of itland here except in we's chaw-donics. But there's another way, if they only have the gumption to go about it, that'll get us sooner than starving. Ha! ejaculated the speaker, with emphasis. I thought so. There are going to smoke us. Looky yander.' "'I looked forth. At a distance I saw several Indians coming in the direction of the cave, carrying large bundles of brushwood. Their intention was evident.' "'But can they do this?' I inquired, doubting the possibility of our enemies being able to effect their purpose in that way. Can we not bear the smoke?' "'Barrot, you're green, young feller. Do we know what sort of brush they were toting yander?' "'No,' said I. "'What is it?' "'It are the stink-plant then. And the stinkiest plants he ever smelt, I reckon. The smoke it would choke a skunk out of a persimmon log. I tell a youngun, we'll either be smoked out or smothered where we are. And this child ain't fit engine for thirty year and are better to go under that away. When it gets to its worst, I'm going to make a rush. That's what I'm going to do, young feller.' "'But how?' I asked hurriedly. How shall we act then? How! You're game to the toes, ain't ye? I'm willing to fight to the last. While then, here's how. And the only how. When they've raised the smoke so that they can't see us a common, we'll streak out among them. You have the pistol and can go foremost.  I'll follow close on your heels. If we can once get through the thick of them, we mount make the brush and creep under it to the big caves on the other side. Them caves jines one another, and we mount dodge them there. I see the time this cune could have run a bit. But these hair-jaints ain't as supple as they were promised. We can try never them less. And mind, young feller, it's our only chance. Do we hear?' I promised to follow the directions that my never-despairing companion had given me. "'They won't get ol' rubes scalp yet, they won't. He he he.' I turned towards him. The man was actually laughing at this wild and strangely timed chest. It was awful to hear him. Several armfuls of brush were now thrown into the mouth of the cave. I saw that it was the creosote plant, the idea dondo.  More was piled on, and the fetid vapor, impelled by some influence from without, began to reach our nostrils and lungs, causing an almost instantaneous feeling of sickness and suffocation. I could not have borne it long. I did not stay to try how long. For at that moment I heard Rube crying out, "'Now's your time, young feller. Out and gin fits!' With a feeling of desperate resolve I clutched my pistol and dashed through the smoking brushwood. I heard a wild and deafening shout. I saw a crowd of men, of fiends. I saw spears and tomahawks and red knives raised and---- End of Section 48 CHAPTER 49 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. The Scalp Hunters by Thomas Main Reed. CHAPTER 49 A NOVEL MODE OF ECUITATION When consciousness returned I found that I was lying on the ground and my dog, the innocent cause of my captivity, was licking my face. I could not have been long senseless for the savages were still gesticulating violently around me. One was waving them back. I recognized him. It was Dakoma. The Chief uttered a short harangue that seemed to quiet the warriors. I could not tell what he said, but I heard him use frequently the word Ketzelkotl. I knew that this was the name of their God, but I did not understand at the time what the saving of my life could have to do with him. I thought that Dakoma was protecting me from some feeling of pity or gratitude and I endeavored to recollect whether I had shown him any special act of kindness during his captivity. I had sadly mistaken the motives of that splendid savage. My head felt sore. Had they scalped me? With the thought I raised my hand passing it over my crown. No. My favorite brown curls were still there. But there was a deep cut along the back of my head, the dent of a tomahawk. I had been struck from behind as I came out and before I could fire a single bullet. Where was Rube? I raised myself a little and looked around. He was not to be seen anywhere. Had he escaped as he intended? No. It would have been impossible for any man, with only a knife, to have fought his way through so many. Moreover I did not observe any commotion among the savages as if an enemy had escaped them.  What then had—ha! Now I understood in its proper sense Rube's jest about his scalp. It was not a double entendre, but a moat of triple ambiguity. The trapper instead of following me had remained quietly in his den, where no doubt he was at that moment watching me, his scapegoat, and chuckling at his own escape. The Indians, never dreaming that there were two of us in the cave and satisfied that it was now empty, made no further attempts to smoke it. I was not likely to undeceive them. I knew that Rube's death or capture could not have benefited me, but I could not help reflecting on the strange stratagem by which the old fox had saved himself. I was not allowed much time for a reflection. Two of the savages seizing me by the arms dragged me up to the still-blazing ruin. Oh heavens! Was it for this Tacoma had saved me from their tomahawks? For this the most cruel of deaths? They proceeded to tie me hand and foot. Several others were around submitting to the same treatment. I recognized Sanchez, the bullfighter, and the red-haired Irishman. There were three others of the band whose names I had never learnt. We were in an open space in front of the burning ranch. We could see all that was going on. The Indians were clearing it of the fallen and charred timbers to get at the bodies of their friends. I watched their proceedings with less interest as I now knew that Seguin was not there. It was a horrid spectacle when the rubbish was cleared away, laying bare the floor of the ruin.  Their dresses were burned off, but by the parts that remained still intact from the fire we could easily recognize to what party each had belonged. The greater number of them were Navajos. There were also the bodies of hunters smoking inside their cinderish shirts. I thought of Gary, but as far as I could judge he was not among them. There were no scalps for the Indians to take. The fire had been before them, and had not left a hair upon the heads of their dead foemen. Seemingly mortified at this they lifted the bodies of the hunters, and tossed them once more into the flames that were still blazing up from the piled rafters. They gathered the knives, pistols, and tomahawks that lay among the ashes, and carrying what remained of their own people out of the ruin, placed them in front. They then stood around them in a circle, and with loud voices chanted a chorus of vengeance. During all this proceeding we lay where we had been thrown.  We saw the fire still blazing, and we saw that the bodies of our late comrades had been thrown upon it. We dreaded a similar fate for our own. But we soon found that we were reserved for some other purpose. Six mules were brought up, and upon these we were mounted in a novel fashion. We were first set astride on the bare backs with our faces turned tailwards. Our feet were then drawn under the necks of the animals, where our ankles were closely corded together. We were next compelled to bend down our bodies until we lay along the backs of the mules, our chins resting on their rumps. In this position our arms were drawn down until our hands met underneath, where they were tied tightly by the wrists. The attitude was painful, and to add to this our mules, not used to be thus packed, kicked and plunged over the ground to the great mirth of our captors. This cruel sport was kept up even after the mules themselves had got tired of it, by the savages pricking the animals with their spears and placing branches of the cactus under their tails. We were fainting when it ended. Our captors now divided themselves into two parties, and started up the baronca, taking opposite sides. One went with the Mexican captives and the girls and children of the tribe. The larger party, under Tacoma, now had chief, for the other had been killed in the conflict, guarded us. We were carried up that side on which was the spring, and arriving at the water were halted for the night. We were taken off the mules and securely tied to one another, our guard watching us without intermission till morning. We were then packed as before and carried westward across the desert. CHAPTER 50. A FAST DIE. After a four-day's journey, painful even to be remembered, we re-entered the valley of Navajoa. The other captives, along with the great Cabalada, had arrived before us, and we saw the plundered cattle scattered over the plain. As we approached the town, we were met by crowds of women and children far more than we had seen on our former visit. These were guests who had come in from other villages of the Navajos that lay farther to the north. They were there to witness the triumphant return of the warriors, and partake of the great feast that always follows a successful foray. I noticed many white faces among them, with features of the Iberian race, they had been captives, they were now the wives of warriors, they were dressed like the others, and seemed to participate in the general joy. They, like Seguin's daughter, had been indianized. There were many mestizos, half-bloods, the descendants of Indians and their Mexican captives, the offspring of many a Sabine wedding. We were carried through the streets and out to the western side of the village. The crowd followed us with mingled exclamations of triumph, hatred, and curiosity. At the distance of a hundred yards or so from the houses, and close to the riverbank, our guards drew up. I had turned my eyes on all sides as we passed through, as well as my awkward position would permit I could see nothing of her, or any of the female captives. Where could they be? Perhaps in the temple. This building stood on the opposite side of the town, and the houses prevented me seeing it. Its top only was visible from the spot where we had been halted. We were untied and taken down. We were happy at being relieved from the painful attitude in which we had ridden all the way. We congratulated ourselves that we should now be allowed to sit upright. Our self-congratulation was brief. We soon found that the change was from the frying pan into the fire. We were only to be turned. We had hitherto lain upon our bellies. We were now to be lain upon our backs. In a few moments the change was accomplished, our captors handling us as unceremoniously as though we had been inanimate things. Indeed we were nearly so. We were spread upon the green turf on our backs. Around each man four long pins were driven into the ground, in the form of a parallelogram. Our arms and legs were stretched out to their widest, and rawhide thongs were looped about our wrists and ankles. These were passed over the pins and drawn so tightly that our joints cracked with the cruel tension. Thus we lay, faces upturned, like so many hides spread out to be sun-dried. We were placed in two ranks end-wise, in such a manner that the heads of the front rank men rested between the feet of their respective rears. As there were six of us in all, we formed three files, with short intervals between. Our attitudes and fastenings left us without the power of moving a limb. The only member over which we had any control was the head. And this, thanks to the flexibility of our necks, we could turn about, so as to see what was going on in front or on either side of us. As soon as we were fairly staked down, I had the curiosity to raise my head and look around me. I found that I was rear rank, right file, and that my file leader was the C. Devont soldier, O'Cork. The Indian guards, after having stripped us of most of our clothing, left us, and the girls and squaws now began to crowd around.  I was struck with their ludicrous gestures and their strange exclamations, and the puzzled expression of their countenances. "'Taya! Taya!' cried they, and the whole crowd burst into shrill screams of laughter. What could it mean? Barney was evidently the subject of their mirth, but what was there about him to cause it, more than about any of the rest of us? I raised my head to ascertain. The riddle was solved at once. One of the Indians, in going off, had taken the Irishman's cap with him, and the little round red head was exposed to view. It lay midway between my feet, like a luminous ball, and I saw that it was the object of diversion. By degrees the squaws drew nearer until they were huddled up in a thick crowd around the body of our comrade. At length one of them stooped and touched the head, drawing back her fingers with a start and a gesture as though she had burned them. This elicited fresh peals of laughter, and very soon all the women of the village were around the Irishman, scrooging one another to get a closer view. None of the rest of us were heated except to be liberally trampled upon, and half a dozen big, heavy squaws were standing upon my limbs, the better to see over one another's shoulders. As there was no great stock of clothing to curtain the view I could see the Irishman's head gleaming like a meteor through the forest of ankles. After a while the squaws grew less delicate in their touch, and catching hold of the short stiff bristles endeavored to pluck them out, all the while screaming with laughter. I was neither in the state of mind nor the attitude to enjoy a joke, but there was a language in the back of Barney's head, an expression of patient endurance, that would have drawn smiles from a grave-digger, and Sanchez and the others were laughing aloud. For a long time our comrade endured the inflection and remained silent, but at length it became too painful for his patients, and he began to speak out. Ara, now girls, said he, in a tone of good-humored entreaty, will yez be easy? Did yez never see red hair for? The squaws on hearing the appeal, which of course they understood not, only showed their white teeth in loud laughter. In trough, and I've had yez on the side at the old cova-carc beyond, I could show yez as much, as it is a content ye for ye lives. Ara, now, keep off me. Be the powers, ye're trampin' the toes off me feet. Ach, don't rub me, holy mother, will yez leave me alone? Devil will save ye for the set of— The tone in which the last words were uttered showed that a cork had at length lost his temper. But this only increased the assiduity of his tormentors, whose mirth now broke beyond bounds. They plucked him harder than ever, yelling all the while, so that, although he continued to scold, I could only hear him at intervals, ejaculating. Mother of Moses, Tarn, Nages, holy vismint, and a variety of similar exclamations. This scene continued for several minutes, and then all at once there was a lull and a consultation among the women that told us they were devising some scheme. Several girls were sent off to the houses. These presently returned, bringing a large ola. And another vessel of smaller dimensions. What did they intend to do with these? We soon learned. The ola was filled with water from the adjacent stream and carried out, and the smaller vessel was set down beside Barney's head. We saw that it contained the yucca-soap of the northern Mexicans. They were going to wash out the red. The Irishman's handstays were now loosened, so that he could sit upright, and a copious coat of the soft soap was laid on his head, completely covering his hair. A couple of sinewy squads then took hold of him by the shoulders, and with bunches of bark fibres applied the water and scrubbed it in lustily. The applications seemed to be anything but pleasant to Barney, who roared out, ducking his head on all sides to avoid it. But this did not serve him. One of the squads seized the head between her hands and held it steady, while the other set to it afresh and rubbed harder than ever. The Indians yelled and danced around, but in the midst of all I could hear Barney sneezing and shouting in a smothered voice, Holy Mother, ch, ch, yes, may rub ch, till you fetch the skin off, ah, ch, ch, and it won't ch, come out. I tell you, ch, ch, it's in the grain, itch, ch, it won't come out, itch, itch, be me soul it won't, itch, itch, itch. But the poor fellow's expostulations were in vain. The scrubbing continued, and with fresh applications of the yucca for ten minutes or more, and then the great Ola was lifted and its contents dashed upon his head and shoulders. What was the astonishment of the women to find that instead of modifying the red color it only showed forth, if possible, more vivid than ever. Another Ola of water was lifted and soused about the Irishman's ears, but with no better effect. Barney had not had such a washing for many a day, at least not since he had been under the hands of the regimental barber. When the squas saw that, in spite of all their efforts, the dyes still stuck fast, they desisted, and our comrade was again staked down. His bed was not so dry as before, neither was mine, for the water had saturated the ground about us and we lay in mud. But this was a small vexation, compared with many others we were forced to put up with. For a long time the Indian women and children clustered around us, each in turn minutely examining the head of our comrade. We too came in for a share of their curiosity, but O'Cork was the elephant. They had seen hair like ours, often times upon their Mexican captives, but beyond a doubt Barney's was the first red pole that had ever been scratched in the valley of Navajoa. Darkness came on at length, and the squas returned to the village, leaving us in charge of the guards, who all the night sat watchfully beside. CHAPTER 51 Astonishing the natives Up to this time we had no knowledge of the fate that was designed for us, but from all that we had ever heard of these savages, as well as from our own experience of them, we anticipated that it would be a cruel one. Sanchez, however, who knew something of their language, left us no room to doubt such a result. He had gathered from the conversation of the women what was before us. After these had gone away he unfolded the programme as he had heard it. Tomorrow, said he, they will dance the Mamacic, the great dance of Montezuma. That is a fate among the girls and women. Next day will be a grand tournament in which the warriors will exhibit their skill in shooting with the bow, in wrestling, and in feats of horsemanship. If they would let me join them, I could show them how. Sanchez, besides being an accomplished Herrero, had spent his earlier years in the circus, and was, as we all knew, a most splendid horseman. On the third day, continued he, we are to run amok, if you know what that is. We had all heard of it. And on the fourth? Well, upon the fourth? They will roast us. We might have been more startled at this abrupt declaration, had the idea been new to us, but it was not. The probability of such an end had been in our thoughts ever since our capture. We knew that they did not save us at the mine for the purpose of giving us an easier death, and we knew, too, that these savages never made men prisoners to keep them alive. Rube was an exception, but his story was a peculiar one, and he escaped only by his extreme cunning. Their god, continued Sanchez, is the same as that of the Mexican Aztecs. For these people are of that race, it is believed. I don't know much about that, though I've heard men talk of it. He is called by a queer, hard name. Karay, I don't remember it. Quetzalcoatl? Kval, that's the word. Puez, senores. He is a fire-god, and fond of human flesh, prefers it roasted, so they say. That's the use we'll be put to. They'll roast us to please him, and at the same time to satisfy themselves. Dos pajarros al-ngolpe, two birds with one stone. That this was to be our fate was no longer probable, but certain, and we slept upon the knowledge of it the best way we could. In the morning we observed dressing and painting among the Indians, after that began dancing, the dance of the Mamanchic. This ceremony took place upon the prairie at some distance out in front of the temple. As it was about commencing we were taken from our spread positions and dragged up near it in order that we might witness the glory of the nation. We were still tied, however, but allowed to sit upright. This was some relief, and we enjoyed the change of posture much more than the spectacle. I could not describe the dance even if I had watched it, which I did not. As Sanchez had said it was carried on only by the women of the tribe, processions of young girls, gaily and fantastically attired, and carrying garlands of flowers, circled and leaped through a variety of figures. There was a raised platform upon which a warrior and maiden represented Manizuma and his queen, and around these the girls danced enchanted. The ceremony ended by the dancers kneeling in front in a grand semi-circle. I saw that the occupants of the throne were Dakoma and Adelaide. I fancied that the girl looked sad. Poor Seguin, thought I, there is none to protect her now. Even the false father, the medicine chief, might have been her friend. He too is out of the way, and—but I did not occupy much time with thoughts of her. There was a far more painful apprehension than that. My mind, as well as my eyes, had dwelt upon the temple during the ceremony. We could see it from the spot where we had been thrown down, but it was too distant for me to distinguish the faces of the white females that were clustered along its terraces. She no doubt was among them, but I was unable to make her out. Perhaps it was better I was not near enough. I thought so at the time. I saw Indian men among the captives, and I had observed Dakoma, previous to the commencement of the dance, proudly stand before them in all the paraphernalia of his regal robes. Rube had given me the character of this chief, brave but brutal. My heart was oppressed with a painful heaviness as we were hurried back to our former places. Most of the next night was spent by the Indians in feasting. Not so with us. We were rarely and scantily fed, and we suffered too from thirst. Our savage guards scarcely daining to supply us with water, though a river was running at our feet. Another morning and the feasting recommenced. More sheep and cattle were slaughtered, and the fires steamed anew with the red joints that were suspended over them. At an early hour the warriors arrayed themselves, though not in war attire, and the tournament commenced. We were again dragged forward to witness their savage sports, but placed still farther out on the prairie. I could distinguish upon the terrace of the temple, the widest dresses of the captives. The temple was their place of abode. Sanchez had told me this. He had learned it from the Indians as they conversed one with another. The girls were to remain there until the fifth day. That after our sacrifice. Then the chief would choose one of the number for his own household, and the warriors would gamble for the rest. Oh, these were fearful hours. Sometimes I wished that I could see her once again before I died, and then reflection whispered me, it was better not. The knowledge of my fate would only add fresh bitterness to hers. Oh, these were fearful hours. I looked at the savage tournament. These were feats of arms and feats of equitation. Men rode at a gallop with one foot only to be seen over the horse. And in this attitude, through the javelin, or shot the unerring shaft. Others vaulted from horse to horse as they swept over the prairie at racing speed. Some leaped to their saddles, while their horses were running at a gallop, and some exhibited feats with the lasso. Then there was a mock encounter in which the warriors unhorsed each other as knights of the Olden Time. It was, in fact, a magnificent spectacle, a grand hippodrome of the desert, but I had no eyes for it. It had more attraction for Sanchez. I saw that he was observing every new feat with interested attention. All at once he became restless. There was a strange expression on his face. Some thought, some sudden resolve, had taken possession of him. Say to your braves, said he, speaking to one of our guards in the Navajo tongue, say that I can beat the best of them at that. I could teach them to ride a horse. The savage reported what his prisoner had said, and shortly after several mounted warriors rode up, and replied to the taunt. You, a poor white slave, ride with the warriors of Navajo? Ha, ha, ha! Can you ride upon your head, inquired the torero? On our heads, how?  No, nor you, nor anyone. We are the best riders on the plains. We cannot do that. I can, affirmed the bullfighter, with emphasis. He is boasting. He is a fool, shouted several. Let us see, cried one. Give him a horse. There is no danger. Give me my own horse, and I will show you. Which is your horse? None of them now, I suppose, but bring me that spotted mustang, and clear me a hundred lengths of him on the prairie, and I shall teach you a trick. As I looked to ascertain what horse Sanchez meant, I saw the mustang which he had ridden from the del Norte. I noticed my own favourite, too, browsing with the rest. After a short consultation among themselves the torero's request was acceded to. The horse he had pointed out was lassoed out of the cabalada and brought up, and our comrade's thongs were taken off. The Indians had no fear of his escaping. They knew that they could soon overtake such a steed as the spotted mustang. Moreover, there was a picket constantly kept at each entrance of the valley. Even could he beat them across the plains, it would be impossible for him to get to the open country. The valley itself was a prison. Sanchez was not long in making his preparations.  After practicing thus for a while he dropped the bridle and uttered a peculiar cry, unhearing which the animal fell into a slow gallop around the circle. When the horse had accomplished two or three rounds the torero leaped upon his back and performed the well-known feat of riding on his head. Although a common one among professional equestrians, it was new to the Navajos, who looked on with shouts of wonder and admiration. They caused the torero to repeat it again and again, until the spotted mustang had become all of one color. Sanchez, however, did not leave off until he had given his spectators the full program of the ring and had fairly astonished the natives. When the tournament was ended and we were hauled back to the riverside, the torero was not with us. Fortunate Sanchez, he had won his life. Henceforth he was to be riding, master, to the Navajo Nation. CHAPTER 52 RUNNING AMUK Another day came, our day for action. We saw our enemies making their preparations. We saw them go off to the woods and return bringing clubs freshly cut from the trees. We saw them dress as for ball play or running. At an early hour we were taken forward to the front of the temple. On arriving there I cast my eyes upward to the terrace. My betrothed was above me. I was recognized. There was mud upon my scanty garments and spots of blood. There was dust in my hair. There were scars upon my arms. My face and throat were stained with powder, blotches of black burnt powder. In spite of all I was recognized, the eyes of love saw through all. I find no scene in all my experience so difficult to describe as this. Why? There was none so terrible, none in which so many wild emotions were crowded into a moment. A love like ours, tantalized by proximity, almost within reach of each other's embrace, yet separated by relentless fate and that forever. The knowledge of each other's situation, the certainty of my death. These and a hundred kindred thoughts rushed into our hearts together. They could not be detailed. They cannot be described. Words will not express them. You may summon fancy to your aid. I heard her screams, her wild words and wilder weeping. I saw her snowy cheeks and streaming hair as frantic. She rushed forward on the parapet as if to spring out. I witnessed her struggles as she was drawn back by her fellow captives, and then all at once she was quiet in their arms. She had fainted and was born out of my sight. I was tied by the wrists and ankles. During the scene I had twice risen to my feet, forced up by my emotions, but only to fall down again. I made no further effort. But lay upon the ground in the agony of impotence. It was but a short moment, but oh, the feelings that passed over my soul in that moment. It was the compressed misery of a lifetime. For a period of perhaps half an hour I regarded not what was going on around me. My mind was not abstracted, but paralyzed. Absolutely dead. I had no thoughts about anything. I awoke at length from this stupor. I saw that the savages had completed their preparations for the cruel sport. Two rows of men extended across the plain to a distance of several hundred yards. They were armed with clubs, and stood facing each other with an interval of three or four paces between their ranks. Down the interval we were to run, receiving blows from everyone who could give them as we passed. Should any of us succeed in running through the whole line, and reach the mountain foot before we could be overtaken, the promise was that our lives should be spared. Is this true, Sanchez?" I whispered to the Torero, who was standing near me. No! was the reply given also on a whisper. It is only a trick to make you run better, and show them the more sport.  I heard them say so. Indeed it would have been slight grace had they given us our lives on such conditions. For it would have been impossible for the strongest and swiftest man to have passed through between their lines. Sanchez! I said again, addressing the Torero. Segwin was your friend. You will do all you can for her? Sanchez well knew whom I met. I will, I will, he replied, seeming deeply affected. Brave Sanchez, tell her how I felt for her. No, no, you need not tell her that. I scarce knew what I was saying. Sanchez! I again whispered, a thought that had been in my mind now returning. Could you not, a knife, a weapon, anything, could you not drop one, when I am set loose? It would be of no use. You could not escape if you had fifty. It may be that I could not, I would try, at the worst I can but die, and better die with a weapon in my hands. It would be better, muttered the Torero in reply. I will try to help you to a weapon, but my life may be— He paused. If you look behind you, he continued, in a significant manner, while he appeared to examine the tops of the distant mountains. You may see a tomahawk. I think it is held carelessly. It might be snatched. I understood his meaning, and stole a glance around. Dakoma was at a few paces distance. Superintending the start. I saw the weapon in his belt. It was loosely stuck. It might be snatched. I possess extreme tenacity of life with energy to preserve it. I have not illustrated this energy in the adventures through which we have passed. For up to a late period I was merely a passive spectator of the scenes enacted, and in general disgusted with their enactment. But at other times I have proved the existence of those traits in my character. In the field of battle to my knowledge I have saved my life three times by the quick perception of danger and the promptness to ward it off. Either less or more brave I should have lost it. This may seem an enigma. It appears a puzzle. It is an experience. In my earlier life I was addicted to what are termed manly sports. In running and leaping I never met my superior, and my feats in such exercises are still recorded in the memories of my college companions. Do not rung me, and think that I am boasting of these peculiarities. The first is but an accident in my mental character, and others are only rude accomplishments which now in my more matured life I see but little reason to be proud of. I mention them only to illustrate what follows. Ever since the hour of my capture I had busyed my mind with plans of escape, not the slightest opportunity had as yet offered, all along the journey we have been guarded with the most zealous vigilance. During this last night a new plan had occupied me. It had been suggested by seeing Sanchez upon his horse. I had matured it all, except getting possession of a weapon, and I had hopes of escape, although I had neither time nor opportunity to detail them to the terrarium. It would have served no purpose to have told him them. I knew that I might escape, even without the weapon. But I needed it in case there might be in the tribe a faster runner than myself. I might be killed in the attempt. That was likely enough, but I knew that death could not come in a worse shape than that in which I was to meet it on the morrow. Weapon or no weapon, I was resolved to escape or die in attempting it. I saw them untieing all cork. He was to run first. There was a circle of savages around the starting point, old men and idlers of the village who stood there only to witness the sport. There was no apprehension of our escaping, that was never thought of, an enclosed valley with guards at each entrance, of horses standing close by that could be mounted in a few minutes. It would be impossible for any of us to get away from the ground. At least so thought they. O'Cork started. Poor Barney, his race was not a long one. He had not run ten paces down the Living Avenue when he was knocked over and carried back, bleeding and senseless, amidst the yells of the delighted crowd. Another of the men shared a similar fate and another, and then they unbound me. I rose to my feet, and during the short interval allowed me, stretched my limbs, and viewing my soul and body with all the energy that my desperate circumstances enabled me to concentrate within them. The signal was again given for the Indians to be ready, and they were soon in their places brandishing their long clubs and impatiently waiting for me to make this start. Dakoma was behind me, with a side glance I had marked well where he stood, and backing towards him under pretence of getting a fairer break, I came close up to the savage. Then suddenly, wheeling, with the spring of a cat and the dexterity of a thief, I caught the tomahawk and jerked it from his belt. I aimed a blow, but in my hurry missed him. I had no time for another. I turned and ran. He was so taken by surprise that I was out of his reach before he could make a motion to follow me. I ran, not for the open avenue, but to one side of the circle of spectators where were the old men and idlers. These had drawn their hand weapons and were closing towards me in a thick rank. Instead of endeavouring to break through them, which I doubted my ability to accomplish, I threw all my energy into the spring and leaped clear over their shoulders. Two or three stragglers struck at me as I passed them, but missed their aim. In the next moment I was out upon the open plain, with the whole village yelling at my heels. I well knew for what I was running. Had it not been for that I should never have made the start. I was running for a cabalada. I was running too for my life, and it required no encouragement to induce me to make the best of it. I soon distanced those who had been nearest me at starting. But the swiftest of the Indians were the young men who had formed the lines, and I saw that these were now forging ahead of the others. Still they were not gaining upon me. My school training stood me in service now. After a miles chase I saw that I was within less than half of that distance of the cabalada, and at least three hundred yards ahead of my pursuers. But to my horror, as I glanced back I saw mounted men. They were still far behind, but I knew they would soon come up. Was it possible he could hear me? I knew that in these elevated regions sounds are heard twice the ordinary distance, and I shouted at the top of my voice. Moro! Moro! I did not halt, but ran on, calling as I went. I saw a sudden commotion among the horses. Their heads were tossed up, and then one dashed out from the drove and came galloping towards me. I knew the broad black chest and red muzzle. I knew them at a glance. It was my brave steed, my Moro. The rest followed, trooping after, but before they were up to trample me I had met my horse and flung myself panting upon his back. I had no rain, but my favourite was used to the guidance of my voice, hands and knees, and directing him through the herd. I headed for the western end of the valley. I heard the yells of the mounted savages as I cleared the cabalada, and looking back I saw a string of twenty or more coming after me as fast as their horses could gallop. But I had no fear of them now. I knew my Moro too well, and after I had cleared the ten miles of valley, and was springing up the steep front of the Sierra, I saw my pursuers still back upon the line. CHAPTER 53 A Conflict upon a Cliff. My horse, idle for days, had recovered his full action, and bore me up the rocky path with proud springy step. My nerves drew vigor from his, and the strength of my body was fast returning. It was well, I would soon be called upon to use it. The picket was still to be passed. While escaping from the town, in the excitement of the more proximate peril, I had not thought of this ulterior one. I now remembered it. It flashed upon me of a sudden, and I commenced gathering my resolution to meet it. I knew there was a picket upon the mountain. Sanchez had said so. He had heard them say so. What number of men composed it? Sanchez had said two, but he was not certain of this. Two would be enough, more than enough for me, still weak, and armed as I was with a weapon, in the use of which I had little skill. How would they be armed? With bows, lances, tomahawks, and knives. The odds were all against me. At what point should I find them? They were vedettes. Their chief duty was to watch the plains without. They would be at some station, then, commanding a view of these. I remembered the road well, the same by which we had first entered the valley. There was a platform near the western brow of the Sierra. I recollected it, for we had halted upon it while our guide went forward to Reconoiter. A cliff overhung this platform. I remembered that, too, for during the absence of the guide, Seguin and I had dismounted and climbed it. It commanded a view of the whole outside country to the south and west. No doubt, then, on that very cliff would the vedettes be stationed. Would they be on its top? If so, it might be best to make a dash and pass them before they could descend to the road, running the risk of their missiles, their arrows, and lenses. Make a dash? No, that would be impossible. I remembered that the path at both ends of the platform narrowed to the width of only a few feet, with the cliff rising above it, and the canyon yawning below. It was, in fact, only a ledge of the precipice, along which it was dangerous to pass even at a walk. Moreover, I had reshawed my horse at the mission. The iron was worn smooth, and I knew that the rock was as slippery as glass. All these thoughts passed through my mind as I neared the summit of the Sierra. The prospect was appalling. The peril before me was extreme, and under other circumstances I would have hesitated to encounter it. But I knew that that which threatened from behind was not less desperate, there was no alternative, and with only half-formed resolutions as to how I should act, I pushed forward. I rode with caution directing my horse as well as I could, upon the softer parts of the trail, so that his hoof-strokes might not be heard. At every turn I halted and scanned the profile of each new prospect, but I did not halt longer than I could help. I knew that I had no time to waste. The road ascended through a thin wood of cedars and dwarf pinions, it would zigzag up the face of the mountain. Near the crust of the Sierra it turned sharply to the right, and trended in to the brow of the canyon. There at the ledge already mentioned became the path, and the road followed its narrow terrace along the very face of the precipice. On reaching this point I caught view of the cliff where I expected to see the vedette. I had guessed correctly he was there, and to my agreeable surprise there was only one, a single savage. He was seated upon the very topmost rock of the Sierra, and his large brown body was distinctly visible, outlined against the pale blue sky. He was not more than three hundred yards from me, and about a third of that distance, above the level of the ledge, along which I had to pass. I halted the moment. I caught sight of him, and sat making a hurried reconnaissance. As yet he had neither seen nor heard me. His back was to me, and he appeared to be gazing intently towards the west. Beside the rock on which he was, his spear was sticking in the ground, and his shield, bow, and quiver were leaning against it. I could see upon his person the sparkle of a knife and tomahawk. I have said my reconnaissance was a hurried one. I was conscious of the value of every moment, and almost at a glance I formed my resolution. That was to run the gauntlet, and attempt passing before the Indian could descend to intercept me. Obedient to this impulse, I gave my animal the signal to move onward. I rode slowly and cautiously for two reasons, because my horse dared not go otherwise, and I thought that, by riding quietly, I might get beyond the vedette without attracting his notice. The torrent was hissing below. Its roar ascended to the cliff. It might drown the sound of the hoof-strokes. With this hope I stole onward. My eye passed rapidly from one to the other, from the savage on the cliff to the perilous path along which my horse crawled, delivering with a fright. When I had advanced about six lengths upon the ledge, the platform came in view, and with it a group of objects that caused me to reach suddenly forward and grasp the forelock of my morrow, a sign by which, in the absence of a bit, I could always halt him. He came at once to a stand, and I surveyed the objects before me with a feeling of despair. They were two horses, a Mustangs, and a man, an Indian. The Mustangs, bridled and saddled, were standing quietly out upon the platform, and a lasso tied to the bit-ring of one of them was coiled around the wrist of the Indian. The latter was sitting upon his hams, close up to the cliff, so that his back touched the rock. His arms lay horizontally across his knees. And upon these his head rested. I saw that he was asleep. Inside him were his bow and quiver, his lance and shield, all leaning against the cliff. My situation was a terrible one. I knew that I could not pass him without being heard, and I knew that pass him I must. In fact, I could not have gone back had I wished it, for I had already entered upon the ledge, and was riding along a narrow shelf where my horse could not possibly have turned himself. All at once the idea entered my mind that I might slip to the ground, still forward, and with my tomahawk. It was a cruel thought, but it was the impulse of instinct, the instinct of self-preservation. It was not decreed that I should adopt so fearful an alternative. Morrow, impatient at being delayed in the perilous position, snorted and struck the rock with his hoof. The clink of the iron was enough for the sharp ears of the Spanish horses they nade on the instant. The savages sprang to their feet, and their simultaneous yell told me that both had discovered me. I saw the vedette upon the cliff pluck up his spear and commenced hurrying downward, but my attention was soon exclusively occupied with his comrade. The latter on seeing me had leaped to his feet, seized his bow, and vaulted, as if mechanically, upon the back of his Mustang. Then, uttering a wild shout, he trotted over the platform, and advanced along the ledge to meet me. An arrow whizzed past my head as he came up, but in his hurry he had aimed badly. Our horses' heads met. They stood muzzle to muzzle with eyes dilated, their red nostrils steaming into each other. Both snorted fiercely as if each was imbued with the wrath of his rider. They seemed to know that a death-stripe was between us. They seemed conscious too of their own danger. They had met at the very narrowest part of the ledge, neither could have turned or backed off again. One or other must go over the cliff, must fall through a depth of a thousand feet into the stony channel of the torrent. I sat with a feeling of utter helplessness. I had no weapon with which I could reach my antagonist, no missile. He had his bow, and I saw him adjusting a second arrow to the string. At this crisis three thoughts passed through my mind. Not as I detail them here, but following each other like quick flashes of lightning. My first impulse was to urge my horse forward, trusting to his superior weight to precipitate the lighter animal from the ledge. Had I been worth a bridle and spurs I should have adopted this plan, but I had neither. And the chances were too desperate without them. I abandoned it for another. I would hurl my tomahawk at the head of my antagonist. No. The third thought. I will dismount and use my weapon upon the Mustang. This last was clearly the best, and obedient to its impulse. I slipped down between Moro and the cliff. As I did so I heard the hiss of another arrow passing my cheek. It had missed me from the suddenness of my movements.  The animal, seeming to guess my intentions, snorted with a fright and reared up, but was compelled to drop again into the same tracks. The Indian was fixing another shaft. Its notch never reached the string. As the hoofs of the Mustang came down upon the rock I aimed my blow. I struck the animal over the eye. I felt the skull yielding before my hatchet, and the next moment horse and rider, the latter screaming and struggling to clear himself of the saddle, disappeared over the cliff. There was a moment's silence, a long moment, in which I knew they were falling, falling, down that fearful depth. Then came a loud splash, the concussion of their united bodies on the water below. I had no curiosity to look over, and as little time. When I regained my upright attitude, for I had come to my knees in giving the blow, I saw the vedette just leaping upon the platform. He did not halt a moment but advanced at a run, holding his spear at the charge. I saw that I should be impaled unless I could parry the thrust. I struck wildly, but with success. The lance blade glinted from the head of my weapon. Its shaft passed me, and our bodies met with a shock that caused us both to reel upon the very edge of the cliff. As soon as I had recovered my balance I followed up my blows, keeping close to my antagonist, so that he could not again use his lance. Seeing this he dropped the weapon and drew his tomahawk. We now fought hand to hand, hatchet to hatchet. Backward and forward along the ledge we drove each other, as the advantage, or the blows, told in favour of either or against him. Several times we grappled and would have pushed each other over, but the fear that each felt of being dragged after, mutually restrained us, and we let go and trusted again to our tomahawks. Not a word passed between us. We had nothing to say, even could we have understood each other. But we had no boast to make, no taunt to urge, nothing before our minds, but the fixed, dark purpose of murdering one another. After the first onset the Indian had ceased yelling, and we both fought in the intense earnestness of silence. There was sounds, though, an occasional sharp exclamation, our quick high breathing, the clicking of our tomahawks, the neighing of our horses, and the continuous roar of the torrent. These were the symphonies of our conflict. For some minutes we battled upon the ledge. We were both cut and bruised in several places, but neither of us had, as yet, received or inflicted a mortal wound. At length, after a continuous shower of blows, I succeeded in beating my adversary back until we found ourselves out upon the platform. There we had ample room to wind our weapons. And we struck with more energy than ever. After a few strokes our tomahawks met with a violent concussion that sent them flying from our hands. Neither dared Stoop to regain his weapon, and we rushed upon each other with naked arms, clutched, wrestled a moment, and then fell together to the earth. I thought my antagonist had a knife. I must have been mistaken, otherwise he would have used it, but without it I soon found that in the species I've encountered he was my master. His muscular arms encircled me until my ribs cracked under the embrace. We rolled along the ground, over and over each other. Oh, God, we were nearing the edge of the precipice. I could not free myself from his grasp. His sinewy fingers were across my throat. They clasped me tightly around the trachea, stopping my breath. He was strangling me. I grew weak and nervous. I could resist no longer. I felt my hold relax. I grew weaker and weaker. I was dying. I was—I—oh, heaven, pared on—oh! I could not have been long insensible, for when consciousness returned I was still warm, sweating from the effects of the struggle, and my wounds were bleeding freshly and freely. I felt that I yet lived. I saw that I was still upon the platform. But where was my antagonist? Why had not he finished me? Why had not he flung me over the cliff? I rose upon my elbow and looked around. I could see no living things but my own horse and that of the Indian galloping over the platform, kicking and plunging at each other. But I heard sounds, sounds of fearful import, like the horse-angry worrying of dogs, mingling with the cries of a human voice, a voice uttered in agony. What could it mean? I saw that there was a break in the platform, a deep cut in the rock, and out of this the sounds appeared to issue. I rose to my feet and trotting towards the spot looked in. It was an awful sight to look upon. The gully was some ten feet in depth and at his bottom. Among the weeds and cacti a huge dog was engaged in tearing something that screamed and struggled. It was a man, an Indian. All was explained at a glance. The dog was Elp. The man was my late antagonist. As I came upon the edge, the dog was on top of his adversary, and kept himself uppermost by desperate bounds. From side to side, still dashing the other back as he attempted to rise to his feet. The savage was crying in despair. I thought I saw the teeth of the animal fast in his throat, but I watched the struggle no longer. Voices from behind caused me to turn round. My pursuers had reached the canyon and were urging their animals along the ledge. I staggered to my horse and, springing upon his back, once more directed him to the terrace, that part which led outward. In a few minutes I had cleared the cliff and was hurrying down the mountain. As I approached its foot I heard a rustling in the bushes that on both sides lined the path. Then an object sprang out a short distance behind me. It was the St. Bernard. As he came alongside he uttered a low whimper and once or twice wagged his tail. I knew not how he could have escaped, for he must have waited. Until the Indians reached the platform. But the fresh blood that stained his jaws and clotted the shaggy hair upon his breast showed that he had left one, with but little power to detain him. On reaching the plain I looked back. I saw my pursuers coming down the face of the Sierra. But I had still nearly a half-mile of start. And taking the snowy mountain for my guide I struck out into the open prairie. CHAPTER 54 As I rode off from the mountain foot the white peak glistened at a distance of thirty miles. There was not a hillock between. Not a break or bush, excepting the low shrubs of the Artemisia. It was not yet noon. Could I reach the snowy mountains before sunset? If so, I trusted in being able to follow our old trail to the mine. Hence I might keep on to the Del Norte by striking a branch of the Paloma or some other lateral stream. Such were my plans, undefined as I rode forth. I knew that I should be pursued almost to the gates of El Paso, and when I had ridden forward about a mile a glance to the rear showed me that the Indians had just reached the plain and were striking out after me. It was no longer a question of speed. I knew that I had the heels of their whole calvocate. Did my horse possess the bottom? I knew the tireless, wiry nature of the Spanish Mustang and their animals were of that race. I knew they could gallop for a long day without breaking down, and this led me to fear for the result. Speed was nothing now, and I made no attempt to keep it up. I was determined to economize the strength of my steed. I could not be overtaken so long as he lasted, and I galloped slowly forward, watching the movements of my pursuers and keeping a regular distance ahead of them. At times I dismounted to relieve my horse and ran alongside of him. My dog followed occasionally looking up in my face, and seemingly conscious, why I was making such a hurry journey. During all the day I was never out of sight of the Indians. In fact I could have distinguished their arms and counted their numbers at any time. There were in all about a score of horsemen. The stragglers had gone back, and only the well-mounted men now continued the pursuit. As I neared the foot of the snowy peak I remembered there was water at our old camping-ground in the pass, and I pushed my horse faster in order to gain time to refresh both him and myself. I intended to make a short halt, and allow the noble brute to breathe himself and snatch a bite of the bunch grass that grew around the spring. There was nothing to fear so long as his strength held out, and I knew that this was the plan to sustain it. It was near sundown as I entered the defile. Before riding in among the rocks I looked back. During the last hour I had gained upon my pursuers. They were still at least three miles out upon the plain, and I saw that they were toiling on wearily. I fell into a train of reflection as I rode down the ravine. I was now upon a known trail. My spirits rose. My hopes, so long clouded over, began to assume a brightness and buoyancy greater from the very influence of reaction. I should still be able to rescue my betrothed. My whole energies, my fortune, my life, would be devoted to this one object. I would raise a band stronger than ever Seguin had commanded. I should get followers among the returning employees of the caravan, teamsters whose term of service had expired. I would search the posts and mountain rendezvous for trappers and hunters. I would apply to the Mexican government for aid, in money, in troops. I would appeal to the citizens of El Paso, of Chihuahua, of Durango. Jehoshaphat! Here's a feller ridin' without either saddle or bridle. Five or six men with rifles sprang out from the rocks surrounding me. May an engine eat me, if taint the young feller as took me for a grizzly. Billy, look here! Here he is, the very feller. He, he, he, he, he, he! Rube, Gary! What, by Jove, it's my friend holler! Hurray, old fellow, don't you know me? St. Vrain! That it is! Don't I look like him? It would have been a harder task to identify you, but for what the old trapper has been telling us about you. But come! How have you got out of the hands of the Philistines?  What are you doing here? Oh, we're a picket. The army is below. The army? Why, we call it so. There's six hundred of us, and that's about as big an army as usually travels in these parts. But who? What are they? They are of all sorts and colors. There's the Chihuahuanos and Pesanos and Niggers and Hunters and Trappers and Teamsters. Your humble servant commands these last-name gentry. And then there's the band of your friend Seguin. Seguin is he? What? He's at the head of all. But come! They're camped down by the spring. Let us go down. You don't look overfed. And, old fellow, there's a drop of the best posseau in my saddlebags. Come! Stop a moment, I am pursued. Pursued, echoed the Hunters simultaneously raising their rifles and looking up their ravine. How many? About twenty. Are they close upon you? No. How long before we may expect them? They are three miles back, with tired horses, as you may suppose. Three-quarters. Halt an hour at any rate. Come! We'll have time to go down and make arrangements for their reception. Rube, you with the rest can remain here. We shall join you before they get forward. Come, holler, come! Following my faithful and warm-hearted friend I rode on to the spring. Around it I found the army, and it had somewhat of that appearance, for two or three hundred of the men were in uniform. These were the volunteer guards of Chihuahua and El Paso. The late raid of the Indians had exasperated the inhabitants, and this unusually strong muster was the consequence. Seguin, with the remnant of his band, had met them at El Paso and hurried them forward on the Navajo Trail. It was from him St. Vrain had heard of my capture, and in hopes of rescuing me had joined the expedition, with about forty or fifty employees of the caravan. Most of Seguin's band had escaped after the fight in the Baranka, and among the rest I was rejoiced here, El Sol and La Luna. They were now on their return with Seguin, and I found them at his tent. Seguin welcomed me as the bearer of joyful news. They were still safe. That was all I could tell him, and all he asked for during our hurried congratulation. We had no time for idle talk. A hundred men immediately mounted and rode up the ravine. Unreaching the ground occupied by the picket, they led their horses behind the rocks and formed an ambuscade. The order was that all the Indians must be killed or taken. The plan hastily agreed upon was to let them pass the ambushed men and ride on until they had got inside of the main body. Then both divisions were to close upon them. It was a dry ravine above the spring, and the horses had made no tracks upon its rocky bed. Moreover the Indians, ardent in their pursuit of me, would not be on the lookout for any sign before reaching the water. Should they pass the ambuscade, then not a man of them would escape, as the defile on both sides was walled in by a precipice. After the others had gone about a hundred men at the spring leaped into their saddles and sat with their eyes bent up the pass. They were not long kept waiting. A few minutes after the ambuscade had been placed an Indian showed himself round an angle of the rock about two hundred yards above the spring. He was the foremost of the warriors and must have passed the ambushed horsemen. But as yet the latter lay still. Seeing a body of men the savage halted with a quick jerk, and then uttering a cry, wheeled and rode back upon his comrades, these imitating his example wheeled also, but before they had fairly turned themselves in the ravine, the cashed horsemen sprang out in a body from the rocks and came galloping down. The Indians, now seeing that they were completely in the trap, with overpowering numbers on both sides of them, threw down their spears and begged for mercy. In a few minutes they were all captured. The whole affair did not occupy half an hour, and with our prisoners securely tied we returned to the spring. The leading men now gathered around Seguin to settle on some plan for attacking the town. Should we move on to it that night? I was asked for my advice and, of course, answered, yes, the sooner the better, for the safety of the captives. My feelings as well as those of Seguin could not brook delay. Besides, several of our late comrades were to die on the morrow. We might still be in time to save them. How were we to approach the valley? This was the next point to be discussed. The enemy would now be certain to have their vedettes at both ends, and it promised to be clear moonlight until morning. They could easily see such a large body approaching from the open plain. Here, then, was a difficulty. Let us divide, said one of Seguin's old band. Let a party go in at each end. That'll get them in the trap. Wa! replied another. That would never do. There's ten miles of rough wood there. If we raise the niggers by such a show as this, they'd take to them, gals and all, and that's the last we'd see of them. This speaker was clearly in the right. It would never do to make our attack openly. Stratagem must again be used. Ahead was now called into the council that soon mastered the difficulty, as it had many another. That was the skinless, earless head of the trapper Rube. Cap, said he, after a short delay, he needn't show your crowd till we first took the look-outs by the end of the canyon. How can we take them? inquired Seguin. Strip them twenty niggers, replied Rube, pointing to our captives, and let twenty of us put on their duds. Then we can take the young feller, him here as took me for the grizzly, he-he-he. Old Rube took for a grizzly. We can take him back a prisoner. Now, Cap, do you see how? You would have these twenty to keep far in advance, then. Capture the vedettes, and wait till the main body comes up. Certainly. That's my ID, exactly. It is the best, the only one. We shall follow it. And Seguin immediately ordered the Indians to be stripped of their dresses. These consisted mostly of garments that had been plundered from the people of the Mexican towns, and were of all cuts and colors. I'd recommend, Cap, suggested Rube, seeing that Seguin was looking out to choose the men for his advance party. I'd recommend he to take a smart sprinklin' of the deliwars. Them novos is mighty cute and not easily bam-foozled. They might sight white skin by moodlight. Them of us that must go along. We'll have to paint engine, or we'll be fooled, after all, we will. Seguin taking this hint selected for the advance most of the deliware and shawano Indians, and these were now dressed in the clothes of the novahos. He himself, with Rube, Gary, and a few other whites, made up their required number. I, of course, was to go along and play the role of a prisoner. The whites of the party soon accomplished their change of dress and painted engine, a trick of the prairie toilet well known to all of them. Rube had but little change to make. His hue was already of sufficient deepness for the disguise, and he was not going to trouble himself by throwing off the old shirt or leggings. That could hardly have been done without cutting both open, and Rube was not likely to make such a sacrifice of his favorite buckskins. He proceeded to draw the other garments over them, and in a short time was habited in a pair of slashing cul-de-narrows with bright buttons from the hip to the ankle. These, with a smart, tight-fitting jacket that had fallen to his share and a jaunty sombrero cocked upon his head, gave him the air of a most comical dandy. The men fairly yelled at seeing him thus metamorphosed, and old Rube himself grinned heartily at the odd feelings which the dross occasioned him. Before the sun had set everything was in readiness, and the advance started off. The main body, under St. Vrain, was to follow an hour after. A few men, Mexicans, remained by the spring, in charge of the Navajo prisoners.