The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

To avoid this gorge – impassable for wheeled vehicles – the waggon-trace, below its entrance, turns off to the right; and we perceived that the caravan had taken that direction. To get round the heads of the transverse ravines, that run into the cañon, a détour must be made of not less than ten miles in length. Beyond the cañon – the trace once more returns to the stream.

The notes of a military reconnoissance had forewarned me of this deviation; and, furthermore, that the trace passes over a ridge altogether destitute of timber. To follow it, therefore, in the broad light of day, would expose our little party to view. If hostile Indians should be hanging after the caravan, they would be sure to see us, and equally certain to make an attack upon us; and from the traces we had noticed at the night-camp – to say nothing of what Wingrove had seen – we knew there were Indians in the valley. They might not be hostile; but the chances were ten to one that they were; and, under this supposition, it would be imprudent in us to risk crossing the ridge before nightfall. There were two alternatives: to remain under the timber till after sunset, and then proceed by night; or to push on into the cañon, and endeavour to make our way along the bed of the stream. So far as we knew, the path was an untried one; but it might be practicable for horses. We were now on the most dangerous ground we had yet trodden – the highway of several hostile tribes, and their favourite tenting-place, when going to, or returning from, their forays against the half-civilised settlements of New Mexico.

The proximity of the caravan – which we calculated to be about ten miles ahead of us – only increased our risk. There was but little danger of the Indians attacking that: the train was too strong, even without the escort. But the probability was, that a band of Indian horse-thieves would be skulking on its skirts – not to make an attack upon the caravan itself but as wolves after a gang of buffalo, to sacrifice the stragglers. Unless when irritated by some hostile demonstration, these robbers confine themselves to plundering: but in the case of some, murder is the usual concomitant of plunder.

The delay of another night was disheartening to all of us – but especially so to myself, for reasons already known. If we should succeed in passing through the cañon, perhaps on the other side we might come in sight of the caravan? Cheered on by this prospect, we hesitated no longer; but hastening forward, entered between the jaws of the defile. A fearful chasm it was – the rocky walls rising perpendicularly to the height of many hundreds of feet – presenting a grim façade on each side of us. The sky above appeared a mere strip of blue; and we were surrounded by a gloom deeper than that of twilight. The torrent roared and foamed at our feet; and the trail at times traversed through the water.

There was a trail, as we soon perceived; and, what was more significant, one that had recently been travelled! Horses had been over it; and in several places the rocky pebbles, that should otherwise have been dry, were wet by the water that had dripped from their fetlocks. A large troop of horses must have passed just before us. Had the dragoon escort gone that way? More likely a party of mounted travellers belonging to the train? And yet this did not strike us as being likely. We were soon convinced that such was not the case. On riding forward, we came upon a mud-deposit – at the mouth of one of the transverse ravines – over which led the trail. The mud exhibited the tracks distinctly and in a more significant light – they were hoof-tracks! We saw that more than a hundred horses had passed up the defile; and not one shod animal among them! This fact was very significant. They could not have been troop-horses? Nor yet those of white men? If ridden, they must have been ridden by Indians? It did not follow that they were ridden. We were travelling through a region frequented by the mustang. Droves had been seen upon our route, at great distances off: for these are the shyest and wildest of all animals. A caballada may have passed through the gorge, on their way to the upper valley? There was nothing improbable in this. Although the plains are the favourite habitat of the horse, the mustang of Spanish America is half a mountain animal; and often penetrates the most difficult passes – climbing the declivities with hoof as sure as that of a chamois.

Had these horses been ridden? That was the point to be determined, and how? The sign was not very intelligible, but sufficiently so for our purpose. The little belt of mud-deposit was only disturbed by a single line of tracts – crossing it directly from side to side. The animals had traversed it in single file. Wild horses would have crowded over it– some of them at least kicking out to one side or the other? This I myself knew. The reasoning appeared conclusive. We had no longer a doubt that a large party of Indians had gone up the gorge before us, and not very long before us.

It now became a question of advance or retreat. To halt within the defile – even had a halting-place offered – would have been perilous above all things. There was no spot, where we could conceal either ourselves or our animals. The mounted Indians might be returning down again; and, finding us in such a snug trap, would have us at their mercy? We did not think, therefore, of staying where we were. To go back was too discouraging. We were already half through the cañon, and had ridden over a most difficult path – often fording the stream at great risk, and climbing over boulders of rock, that imperilled the necks, both of ourselves and our animals. We determined to keep on.

We were in hopes that the Indians had by this time passed clear through the gorge, and ridden out into the valley above. In that case there would be no great risk in our proceeding to the upper end. Our expectations did not deceive us. We reached the mouth of the chasm – without having seen other signs of those who had proceeded us, than the tracks of their horses.

We had heard sounds, however, that had given us some apprehension – the reports of guns – not as during the early part of the day, in single shots, but in half-dozens at a time, and once or twice in large volleys – as if of a scattering fusillade! The sounds came from the direction of the upper valley; and were but faintly heard – so faintly that we were in doubt, as to whether they were the reports of fire-arms. The grumbling and rushing of the river hindered us from hearing them more distinctly. But for the presence of Indians in the valley – about which we were quite certain – we should perhaps not have noticed the sounds, or else have taken them for something else. Perhaps we might have conjectured, that a gang of buffaloes had passed near the train – leading to a brisk emptying of rifles. But the presence of the Indians rendered this hypothesis less probable.

We still continued to observe caution. Before emerging from the defile, we halted near its entrance – Wingrove and myself stealing forward to reconnoitre. An elevated post – which we obtained upon a shelf of the rock – gave us a commanding prospect of the upper valley. The sight restored our confidence: the caravan was in view!

Chapter Fifty One

The Orphan Butte

The landscape over which we were looking was one that has long been celebrated, in the legends of trapper and cibolero, and certainly no lovelier is to be met with in the midland regions of America. Though new to my eyes, I recognised it from the descriptions I had read and heard of it. There was an idiosyncrasy in its features – especially in that lone mound rising conspicuously in its midst – which at once proclaimed it the valley of the Huerfano. There stood the “Orphan Butte.” There was no mistaking its identity.

This valley, or, more properly, vallé– a word of very different signification – is in reality a level plain, flanked on each side by a continuous line of bluffs or “benches” – themselves forming the abutments of a still higher plain, which constitutes the general level of the country. The width between the bluffs is five or six miles; but, at the distance of some ten miles from our point of view, the cliffs converge – apparently closing in the valley in that direction. This, however, is only apparent. Above the butte is another deep cañon, through which the river has cleft its way. The intervening space is a picture fair to behold. The surface, level as a billiard-table, is covered with gramma grass, of a bright, almost emerald verdure. The uniformity of this colour is relieved by cotton-wood copses, whose foliage is but one shade darker. Commingling with these, and again slightly darkening the hue of the frondage, are other trees, with a variety of shrubs or climbing-plants – as clematis, wild roses, and willows. Here and there, a noble poplar stands apart – as if disdaining to associate with the more lowly growth of the groves.

These “topes” are of varied forms: some rounded, some oval, and others of more irregular shape. Many of them appear as if planted by the hands of the landscape-gardener; while the Huerfano, winding through their midst, could not have been more gracefully guided, had it been specially designed for an “ornamental water.”

The butte itself, rising in the centre of the plain, and towering nearly two hundred feet above the general level, has all the semblance of an artificial work – not of human hands, but a cairn constructed by giants. Just such does it appear – a vast pyramidal cone, composed of huge prismatic blocks of granite, black almost as a coal – the dark colour being occasioned by an iron admixture in the rock. For two-thirds of its slope, a thick growth of cedar covers the mound with a skirting of darkest green. Above this appear the dark naked prisms – piled one upon the other, in a sort of irregular crystallisation, and ending in a summit slightly truncated. Detached boulders lie around its base, huge pieces that having yielded to the disintegrating influences of rain and wind, had lost their balance, and rolled down the declivity of its sides. No other similar elevation is near – the distant bluffs alone equalling it in height. But there the resemblance ends; for the latter are a formation of stratified sandstone, while the rocks composing the butte are purely granitic! Even in a geological point of view, is the Orphan Butte isolated from all the world. In a double sense, does it merit its distinctive title.

Singular is the picture formed by this lone mound, and the park-like scene that surrounds it – a picture rare as fair. Its very framing is peculiar. The bench of light-reddish sandstone sharply outlined on each edge – the bright green of the sward along its base – and the dark belt of cedars cresting its summit, form, as it were, a double moulding to the frame. Over this can be distinguished the severer outlines of the great Cordilleras; above them, again, the twin cones of the Wa-to-yah; and grandly towering over all, the sharp sky-piercing summit of Pike’s Peak. All these forms gleaming in the full light of a noonday sun, with a heaven above them of deep ethereal blue, present a picture that for grandeur and sublimity is not surpassed upon the earth.

A long while could we have gazed upon it; but an object, that came at once under our eyes, turned our thoughts into a far different channel. Away up the valley, at its furthest end, appeared a small white spot – little bigger to our view than the disc of an archer’s target. It was of an irregular roundish form; and on both sides of it were other, shapes – smaller and of darker hue. We had no difficulty in making out what these appearances were: the white object was the tilt of a waggon: the dark forms around it were those of men – mounted and afoot! It must have been the last waggon of the train: since no other could be seen; and as it appeared at the very end of the valley – in the angle formed by the convergence of the cliffs – we concluded that there the cañon opened into which the rest had entered. Whether the waggon seen was moving onward, we did not stay to determine. The caravan was in sight; and this, acting upon us like an electric influence, impelled us to hasten forward.

Calling to our companions to advance, we remounted our horses, rode out of the gorge, and kept on up the valley. We no longer observed the slightest caution. The caravan was before our eyes; and there could be no doubt that, in a couple of hours, we should be able to come up with it. As to danger, we no longer thought of such a thing. Indians would scarcely be so daring as to assail us within sight of the train? Had it been night, we might have reasoned differently; but, under the broad light of day, we could not imagine there was the slightest prospect of danger. We resolved, therefore, to ride direct for the waggons, without making halt.

Yes – one halt was to be made. I had promised the ci-devant soldiers to make civilians of them before bringing them face to face with the escort; and this was to be accomplished by means of some spare wardrobe which Wingrove and I chanced to have among our packs. The place fixed upon as the scene of the metamorphosis was the butte – which lay directly on our route. As we rode forward, I was gratified at perceiving that the waggon still remained in sight. If it was moving on, it had not yet reached the head of the valley. Perhaps it had stopped to receive some repairs? So much the better: we should the sooner overtake it.

On arriving at the butte, the white canvas was still visible; though from our low position on the plain, only the top of the tilt could be seen. While Wingrove was unpacking our spare garments, I dismounted, and climbed to the summit of the mound – in order to obtain a better view. I had no difficulty in getting up – for, strange to say, a trail runs over the Orphan Butte, from south-east to north-west, regularly aligned with Pike’s Peak in the latter direction, and with Spanish Peaks in the former! But this alignment was not the circumstance that struck me as singular. A far more curious phenomenon came under my observation. The path leading to the summit was entirely clear of the granite blocks that everywhere else covered the declivities of the mound. Between these it passed like a narrow lane, the huge prisms rising on each side of it, piled up in a regular trap-like formation, as if placed there by the hand of man! The latter hypothesis was out of the question. Many of the blocks were a dozen feet in diameter, and tons in weight. Titans alone could have lifted them! The summit itself was a table of some twenty by forty feet in superficial extent, and seamed by several fissures. Only by following the path could the summit be reached without great difficulty. The loose boulders rested upon one another, in such fashion, that even the most expert climber would have found difficulty in scaling them; and the stunted spreading cedars that grew between their clefts, combined in forming a chevaux de frise almost impenetrable.

I was not permitted to dwell long on the contemplation of this geological phenomenon. On reaching the summit, and directing my telescope up the valley, I obtained a tableau in its field of vision that almost caused me to drop the glass out of my fingers! The whole waggon was in view down to its wheel-tracks; and the dark forms were still around it. Some were afoot, others on horseback – while a few appeared to be lying flat along the sward. Whoever these last may have been, I saw at the first glance what the others were. The bronzed skins of naked bodies – the masses of long sweeping hair – the plumed crests and floating drapery – were perfectly apparent in the glass – and all indicating a truth of terrible significance that the forms thus seen were those of savage men! Yes: both they on horseback and afoot were Indians beyond a doubt. And those horizontally extended? They were white men – the owners of the waggons? This truth flashed on me, as I beheld a fearful object – a body lying head towards me, with its crown of mottled red and white, gleaming significantly through the glass. I had no doubt as to the nature of the object: it was a scalpless skull!

Chapter Fifty Two

Raising a Rampart

I kept the telescope to my eye not half so long as I have taken in telling of it. Quick as I saw that the men stirring around the waggon were Indians, I thought only of screening my person from their sight. To effect this, I dropped down from the summit of the rock – on the opposite side from that facing toward the savages. Showing only the top of my head, and with the glass once more levelled up the valley, I continued the observation. I now became assured that the victim of the ensanguined skull was a white man; that the other prostrate forms were also the bodies of white men, all dead – all, no doubt, mutilated in a similar manner?

The tableau told its own tale. The presence of the waggon halted, and without horses – one or two dead ones lying under the tongue – the ruck of Indians clustering around it – the bodies stretched along the earth – other objects, boxes, and bales, strewed over the sward – all were significant of recent strife. The scene explained what we had heard while coming up the cañon. The fusillade had been no fancy, but a fearful reality – fearful, too, in its effects, as I was now satisfied by the testimony of my telescope. The caravan had been attacked, or, more likely, only a single waggon that had been straggling in the rear? The firing may have proceeded from the escort, or the armed emigrants? Indians may have fallen: indeed there were some prostrate forms apart, with groups gathered around them, and those I conjectured to be the corpses of red men. But it was evident the Indians had proved victorious: since they were still upon the field – still holding the place and the plunder.

Where were the other waggons of the train? There were fifty of them – only one was in sight! It was scarcely possible that the whole caravan had been captured. If so, they must have succumbed within the pass? A fearful massacre must have been made? This was improbable: the more so, that the Indians around the waggon appeared to number near two hundred men. They must have constituted the full band: for it is rare that a war-party is larger. Those seen appeared to be all warriors, naked from the breech-clout upward, their skins glaring with pigments. Neither woman nor child could I see among them. Had the other waggons been captured, there would not have been so many of the captors clustered around this particular one. In all likelihood, the vehicle had been coming up behind the others? The animals drawing it had been shot down in the skirmish, and it had fallen into the hands of the successful assailants?

These conjectures occupied me only a moment. Mingled with them was one of still more special import: to whom had belonged the abandoned waggon? With fearful apprehension, I covered the ground with my glass – straining my sight as I gazed through it. I swept the whole surface of the surrounding plain. I looked under the waggon – on both sides of it, and beyond. I sought amidst the masses of dusky forms I examined the groups and stragglers – even the corpses that strewed the plain. Thank Heaven! they were all black, or brown, or red! All appeared to be men– both the living and the dead – thank Heaven! The ejaculation ended my survey of the scene: it had scarcely occupied ten seconds of time.

It was interrupted by a sudden movement on the part of the savages. Those on horseback were seen separating from the rest; and, the instant after, appeared coming on in the direction of the butte! The movement was easily accounted for. My imprudence had betrayed our presence. I had been seen while standing on the summit of the mound! I felt regret for my own rashness; but there was no time to indulge in the feeling, and I stifled it. The moment called for action – demanding all the firmness of nerve and coolness of head which, fortunately, I had acquired by the experience of similar arises. Instead of shouting to my comrades – as yet unconscious of the approaching danger – I remained upon the summit without uttering a word, or showing a sign that might alarm them. My object in so acting was to avoid the confusion, consequent upon a sudden panic, and keep my mind free to think over some plan of escape. The Indians were still five miles off. It would be some minutes at least before they could attack us. Two or three of these could be spared for reflection. After that, it would be time to call in the counsel of my companions.

I am here describing in detail, and with the tranquillity of closet retrospect, thoughts that follow one another with the rapidity of lightning flashes. To say that I reflected coolly, would not be true: I was at that moment too much under the influence of fear for tranquil reflection. I perceived at once that the situation was more than dangerous: it was desperate. Flight was my first thought, or rather my first instinct: for, on reflection, it failed. The idea was to fling off the packs, mount the two pedestrians upon the mules, and gallop back for the cañon. The conception was good enough, if it could have been carried out, but of this there was no hope. The defile was too distant to be reached in time. The two who might ride the mules could never make it – they must fall by the way. Even if all four of us should succeed in getting back to the cañon, what then? Was it likely we should ever emerge from it? We might for a time defend ourselves within its narrow gorge; but to pass clear through and escape at the other end would be impossible. A party of our pursuers would be certain to take over the ridge, and head us below. To anticipate them in their arrival there, and reach the woods beyond, would be utterly out of our power. The trail through the cañon was full of obstacles, as we had already discovered – and these would delay us. Without a prospect of reaching the forest below it would be of no use attempting flight. In the valley around us there was no timbered tract – nothing that deserved the name of a wood: only copses and groves, the largest of which would not have sheltered us for an hour.

I had a reflection. Happy am I now, and proud, that I had the virtue to stifle it. For myself, escape by flight might not have been so problematical. A steed stood near that could have carried me beyond all danger. It only needed to fling myself into the saddle, and ply the spur. Even without that impulsion, my Arab would, and could, have carried me clear of the pursuit. Death was preferable to the thought. I could only indulge it as a last resort – after all else had failed and fallen. Three men were my companions, true and tried. To all of them, I owed some service – to one little less than my life – for the bullet of the eccentric ranger had once saved me from an enemy. It was I who had brought on the impending attack. It was but just I should share its danger; and the thought of shunning it vanished on the instant of its conception. Escape by flight appeared hopeless. On the shortest survey of the circumstances I perceived that our only chance lay in defending ourselves. The chance was not much worth; but there was no alternative. We must stand and tight, or fall without resisting. From such a foe as that coming down upon us, we need expect no grace – not a modicum of mercy. Where was our defence to be made? On the summit of the butte? There was no better place in sight – no other that could be reached, offering so many advantages. Had we chosen it for a point of defence, it could not have promised better for the purpose. As already stated, the cone was slightly truncated – its top ending in a mesa. The table was large enough to hold four of us. By crouching low, or lying flat upon it, we should be screened from the arrows of the Indians, or such other weapons as they might use. On the other hand, the muzzles of four guns pointed at them, would deter them from approaching the base of the butte. Scarcely a minute was I in maturing a plan; and I lost less time in communicating it to my companions. Returning to them, as fast as I could make the descent, I announced the approach of the Indians.

The announcement produced a surprise sufficiently unpleasant, but no confusion. The old soldiers had been too often under fire to be frightened out of their senses at the approach of an enemy; and the young hunter was not one to give way to a panic. All three remained cool and collected, as they listened to my hurried detail of the plan I had sketched out for our defence. There was no difficulty in inducing them to adopt it. All agreed to it eagerly and at once: in short, all saw that there was no alternative. Up the mound again – this time followed by my three comrades – each of us heavily laden. In addition to our guns and ammunition, we carried our saddles and mule-packs, our blankets and buffalo-robes. It was not their intrinsic value that tempted us to take this trouble with our impedimenta: our object was to make with them a rampart upon the rock. We had just time for a second trip; and, flinging our first loads up to the table, we rushed back down the declivity. Each seized upon such objects as offered themselves – valises, the soldiers’ knapsacks, joints of the antelope lately killed, and the noted meal-bag – all articles likely to avail us in building our bulwark.

The animals must be abandoned – both horses and mules. Could we take them up to the summit? Yes, the thing could be accomplished, but to what purpose? It would be worse than useless: since it would only render them an aim for the arrows of the enemy, and insure their being shot down at once. To leave them below appeared the better plan. A tree stood near the base of the mound. To its branches their bridles had been already looped. There they would be within easy range of our rifles. We could shelter them so long as there was light. To protect them might appear of little advantage; since in the darkness they could be easily taken from us. But in leaving them thus, we were not without some design. We, too, might build a hope on the darkness. If we could succeed in sustaining the attack until nightfall, flight might then avail us. In truth, that seemed the only chance we should have of ultimately escaping from our perilous situation. We resolved, therefore, to look well to the safety of the animals. Though, forced to forsake them for a time, we might still keep the enemy off, and again recover them? The contingency was not clear, and we were too much hurried to dwell long upon it. It only flitted before our minds like a gleam of light through, the misty future.

I had just time to bid farewell to my Arab – to run my fingers along his smooth arching neck – to press my lips to his velvet muzzle. Brave steed! tried and trusty friend! I could have wept at the parting. He made answer to my caresses: he answered them with a low whimpering neigh. He knew there was something amiss – that there was danger. Our hurried movements had apprised him of it; but the moment after, his altered attitude, his flashing eyes, and the loud snorting from his spread nostrils, told that he perfectly comprehended the danger. He heard the distant trampling of hoofs: he knew that an enemy was approaching. I heard the sounds myself, and rushed back up the butte. My companions were already upon the summit, busied in building the rampart around the rock. I joined them, and aided them in the work.

Our paraphernalia proved excellent for the purpose – light enough to be easily handled, and sufficiently firm to resist either bullets or arrows. Before the Indians had come within hailing distance, the parapet was completed; and, crouching behind it, we awaited their approach.

Chapter Fifty Three

The War-Cry

The war-cry “How-ow-owgh-aloo-oo!” uttered loudly from a hundred throats, comes pealing down the valley. Its fiendish notes, coupled with the demon-like forms that give utterance, to them, are well calculated to quail the stoutest heart. Ours are not without fear. Though we know that the danger is not immediate, there is a significance in the tones of that wild slogan. They express more than the usual hostility of red to white – they breathe a spirit of vengeance. The gestures of menace – the brandished spears, and bended bows – the war-clubs waving in the air – are all signs of the excited anger of the Indians. Blood has been spilled – perhaps the blood of some of their chosen warriors – and ours will be sought to a certainty. We perceive no signs of a pacific intent – no semblance that would lead us to hope for mercy. The foe is bent on our destruction. He rushes forward to kill!

I have said that the danger was not immediate. I did not conceive it so. My conception was based upon experience. I had met the prairie Indians before – in the south; but north or south, I knew that their tactics were the same. It is a mistake to suppose that these savages rush recklessly upon death. Only when their enemy is far inferior to them in numbers – or otherwise an under-match – will they advance boldly to the fight. They will do this in an attack upon Mexicans, whose prowess they despise; or sometimes in a conflict with their own kind – when stimulated by warrior pride, and the promptings of the tribal vendetta. On other occasions, they are sufficiently careful of their skins – more especially in an encounter with the white trappers, or even travellers who tenter the prairies from the east. Of all other weapons, they dread the long rifle of the hunter. It is only after stratagem has failed – when do or die becomes a necessity – that the horse-Indian can bring himself to charge forward upon the glistening barrel. The mere hope of plunder will not tempt even the boldest of red-skinned robbers within the circle of a rifle’s range. They all know from experience the deadliness of its aim.

Most probably plunder had been their motive for attacking the train; but their victims could only have been some straggling unfortunates, too confident in their security. These had not succumbed without a struggle. The death of all of them proved this: since not a prisoner appeared to have been taken. Further evidence of it was seen upon the sward; for as the crowd scattered, I observed through, the glass several corpses that were not those of white men. The robbers, though victorious, had suffered severely: hence the vengeful yells with which they were charging down upon us. With all their menace both of signs and sounds, I had no fear of their charging; up the mound, nor yet to its base. There were fifty yards around it within range of our guns; and the first who should venture within this circle would not be likely to go forth from it alive.

“Not a shot is to be fired, till you are sure of hitting! Do not one of you pull trigger, till you have sighted your man!” This was the order passed around. On the skill of my comrades I could confide – on Sure-shot with all the certainty which his soubriquet expressed; and I had seen enough of the young hunter, to know how he handled his rifle. About the Irishman alone was there a doubt – only of his coolness and his aim – of his courage there was none. In this, the infantry was perhaps equal to any of us.

The words of caution had scarcely parted from my lips, when the enemy came galloping up. Their yelling grew louder as they advanced; and its echoes, ringing from the rocks, appeared to double the number of their wild vociferations. We could only hear one another by calling out at the top of our voices. But we had little to say. The time for talking had expired: that of action had arrived. On come the whooping; savages, horrid to behold: their faces, arms, and bodies frightfully painted, each after his own device, and all as hideous as savage conception can suggest. The visages of bears, wolves, and other fierce animals, are depicted on their breasts and shields – with the still more horrid emblems of the death’s head, the cross-bones, and the red-hand. Even their horses are covered with similar devices – stained upon their skins in ochre, charcoal, and vermilion! The sight is too fearful to be fantastic. On they come, uttering their wild “Howgh-owgh-aloo!” brandishing their various weapons, and making their shields of parflèche rattle by repeated strokes against their clubs and spears – on comes the angry avalanche!

They are within a hundred yards of the butte. For a moment we are in doubt. If they charge up the declivity, we are lost men. We may shoot down the foremost; but they are twenty to one. In a hand-to-hand struggle, we shall be overwhelmed – killed or captured – in less than sixty seconds of time!

“Hold your fire!” I cried, seeing my comrades lie with their cheeks against their guns; “not yet! only two at a time – but not yet! Ha! as I expected.”

And just as I had expected, the wild ruck came to a halt – those in the lead drawing up their horses, as suddenly as if they had arrived upon the edge of a precipice! They had come to a stand just in the nick of time. Had they advanced but five paces further, at least two of their number would have tumbled out of their saddles. Sure-shot and I had each selected our man, and agreed upon the signal to fire. The others were ready to follow. All four barrels resting over the rampart had caught the eyes of the Indians. A glance at the glistening tubes was sufficient. True to their old tactics, it was the sight of these that had halted them!

Chapter Fifty Four

The Red-Hand

The whooping and screaming are for a while suspended. Those in the rear have ridden up; and the straggling cavalcade becomes massed upon the plain, at less than two hundred yards’ distance from the butte. Shouts are still heard, and talking in an unknown tongue; but not the dread war-cry. That has failed of its effect, and is heard no longer. Now and then, young warriors gallop toward the butte, vaunt their valour, brandish their weapons, shoot off their arrows, and threaten us by word and gesture. All, however, keep well outside the perilous circumference covered by our guns.

We perceive that they, too, have guns, both muskets and rifles – in all, a dozen or more! We can tell that they are empty. Those who carry them are dismounting to load. We may expect soon to receive their fire; but, from the clumsy manner in which they handle their pieces, that need not terrify us – any more than their arrows, already sent, and falling far short.

Half-a-dozen horsemen are conspicuous. They are chiefs, as can be told by the eagle plumes sticking in their hair, with other insignia on their breasts and bodies. These have ridden to the front, and are grouped together – their horses standing head to head. Their speeches and gesticulations declare that they are holding council. The movements of menace are no longer made. We have time to examine our enemies. They are so near that I need scarcely level the glass upon them; though through it, I can note every feature with minute distinctness.