The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

Seeking a Cache

We rode direct for Robideau’s Pass. The night still continued dark, but we had no difficulty in finding our way. Even in the obscurity, the deep trace of the heavy emigrant train was sufficiently conspicuous; and we were enabled to follow the back-track with precision. Our experienced guide could have conducted us over it blindfold. That we were pursued, and hotly pursued, there could be little doubt. For my part, I felt certain of it. The stake which Stebbins had hitherto held, was too precious to be parted with on slight conditions. The jealous vigilance with which Lilian had been guarded along the route – amounting, as I had incidentally ascertained, to a positive espionage – her yellow duenna at once acting as spy and protectress – all were significant of the intent already suspected by us, but of which the young girl herself was perhaps happily ignorant. The failure of his design – and now for the second time – would be a rude contre-temps for the pseudo-apostle; and would no doubt endanger his expected promotion. Besides, he must have believed or suspected, that Marian Holt still lived; that she had survived the exposure consequent on her escape from the first caravan; and this belief or suspicion would now be confirmed by the reappearance of the dog. Nay, it was almost certain, that on recognising the animal, the truth had suddenly flashed upon him, that Marian was herself upon the ground; and that the spotted countenance that had for the moment deceived him, was that of his Tennessean bride. The abduction following upon the instant would not only confirm this belief, but would redouble his eagerness in a pursuit that promised a recapture of both the victims, who had thus unexpectedly escaped from his control.

Though with different motives, it was natural that Holt himself should be equally eager to pursue. He might still know nothing about the presence of Marian or her disguise. To him it would simply appear that his other child had been stolen from the camp – carried off by Indians – and that should be sufficient to rouse him to the most strenuous efforts for her recovery. For these reasons we had no doubt about our being pursued; and with all the zeal and energy of which our apostolic enemy and his myrmidons were capable of putting forth.

Twenty miles separated the Mormon camp from the entrance to Robideau’s Pass. Nearly the whole of that distance we traversed at a gallop. So far we had experienced no apprehension; but, after entering the pass, our foaming horses began to show signs of fatigue. Those of Sure-shot and Wingrove, that were weaker than the rest, manifested symptoms of giving out. Both were evidently broken, and without rest could go no further. This produced a new uneasiness. We presumed that the horses of our pursuers would be comparatively fresh – after their long rest at their encampment – while ours had not only made a considerable journey the day before, but on that same day had passed over fifty miles of ground – twenty of it in a gallop! No wonder they were manifesting signs of distress.

Shortly after entering the pass, we drew up to deliberate. By continuing onward, we should be almost certain to be overtaken. This was the more probable, from the keen pursuit we had reason to anticipate. To remain where we were, would be to await the coming up of the enemy – no doubt in such numbers as to render our capture secure; and any attempt to defend ourselves would be idle as fatal. It was no longer with Indians we should have to deal – no longer with lances and arrows – but with strong bold men, armed like ourselves, and far outnumbering us. To conceal ourselves within the gorge, and permit our pursuers to pass, might have served our purpose for the time – had there been sufficient cover. But neither the rocks nor trees offered an advantageous hiding-place for our horses. The risk of their being discovered appeared too great. We dared not trust to such a slight chance of security. Within the pass, it was not possible to part from the trail; and on discovering the condition of our horses, we regretted not having left it before entering. We even entertained the question of returning some distance: since we might leave the trail by ascending a spur of the mountains in our rear. But this course appeared too perilous. Perhaps at that moment our pursuers might be entering the pass? Perhaps at that moment “adown the glen rode armed men” – though as yet our ears were not assailed by the sound of their trampling.

Fortunately, in this moment of hesitancy, a thought occurred to our Mexican comrade, that promised to release us from the dilemma. It was a memory that had suddenly flashed upon him. He remembered, on one of his trapping expeditions, having discovered a ravine that led out of Robideau’s Pass on the northern side. It was a mere cleft cliff – just wide enough to admit the body of a man on horseback – but further up, it opened into a little plain or vallon, as the Mexican termed it, completely girt in by mountains. These on all sides rose so precipitously from the plain, as to render it impossible for a mounted man to scale them. The trapper had himself been obliged to return by the gorge – after having vainly endeavoured to find a way leading outward above. The vallon was therefore a cul-de-sac; or, as the trapper in his native synonyme called it, a bolson. Our guide was of opinion that this bolson would serve as a hiding-place, until we could rest our horses. He was confident that the entrance of the ravine was not far from where we had halted; and, moreover, that he should be able to find it without difficulty. His advice, therefore, was, that we should seek the gorge; and, having found it, ride up into the vallon, and there remain, till the following night. The pursuit might pass in the meantime, and return again; but whether or not, our animals would then be rested; and even should we again encounter the pursuers we might hope to escape, through the superior speed of our horses.

The plan was feasible. There was but one objection that struck me; and I offered it for the consideration of our guide. The vallon as he had stated, was a cul-de-sac. Should we be tracked into it, there would be no chance of retreat: we should be taken as in a trap?

“Carrambo!” exclaimed the Mexican, in answer to my suggestion, “no fear of being tracked by such curs as they. They know nothing of that business. Not one of their whole fraternity could follow the trace of a buffalo in snow-time. Carrambo! No.”

“There is one who could,” I replied; “one who could follow a feebler trail than ours.”

“What! A rastreador among these Judios! Who, cavallero?”

“Their father!” I whispered the reply, so that neither of the girls should overhear it.

“Oh! true,” muttered the Mexican – “the father of the huntress – a hunter himself? Carrai! that’s like enough. But no matter. I can take you up the gorge in such fashion, that the most skilled rastreador of the prairies would never suspect we had passed through. Fortunately, the ground is favourable. The bottom of the little cañon is covered with cut rocks. The hoof will leave no mark upon these.”

“Remember that some of our horses are shod: the iron will betray us?”

“No, señor, we shall muffle them: nos vamos con los pies en medias!” (Let us travel in stockings!)

The idea was not new to me; and without further hesitation, we proceeded to carry it into execution. With pieces of blanket, and strips cut from our buckskin garments, we muffled the hoofs of our shod horses; and after following the waggon-trail, till we found a proper place for parting from it, we diverged in an oblique direction, towards the bluff that formed the northern boundary of the pass. Along this bluff we followed the guide in silence; and, after going for a quarter of a mile further, we had the satisfaction to see him turn to the left, and suddenly disappear from our sight – as if he had ridden into the face of the solid rock! We might have felt astonishment; but a dark chasm at the same instant came under our eyes, and we knew it was the ravine of which our guide had spoken. Without exchanging a word, we turned our horses’ heads, and rode up into the cleft. There was water running among the shingle, over which our steeds trampled; but it was shallow, and did not hinder their advance. It would further aid in concealing their tracks – should our pursuers succeed in tracing us from the main route. But we had little apprehension of their doing this: so carefully had we concealed our trail on separating from that of the waggons.

On reaching the little vallon, we no longer thought of danger; but, riding on to its upper end, dismounted, and made the best arrangements that circumstances would admit of for passing the remainder of the night. Wrapped in buffalo-robes, and a little apart from the rest of our party, the sisters reclined side by side under the canopy of a cotton-wood tree. Long while had it been since these beautiful forms had reposed so near each other; and the soft low murmur of their voices – heard above the sighing of the breeze, and the rippling sound of the mountain rills – admonished us that each was confiding to the other the sweet secret of her bosom!

Chapter One Hundred Four

Un Paraiso

We come to the closing act of our drama. To understand it fully, it is necessary that the setting of the stage – the mise-en-scène– be described with a certain degree of minuteness. The little valley-plain, or vallon, in which we had cachéd ourselves, was not over three hundred yards in length, and of an elliptical form. But for this form, it might have resembled some ancient crater scooped out of the mountain, that on all sides swept upward around it. The sides of this mountain, trending up from the level of the plain, rose not with a gentle acclivity, but with precipitous abruptness. At no point, however, did it assume the character of a cliff. It might have been scaled with difficulty by a man on foot, especially should he avail himself of the assistance of the trees – pines and trailing junipers – that grew over the steep so thickly as to conceal the greater portion of its rocky façade. Here and there only, a bare spot might be observed – a little buttress of white laminated gypsum, mingled with sparkling selenite; while at other places a miniature torrent, leaping over the rocks, and dancing among the dark cedars, presented a very similar appearance. These little torrents, plashing down to the plain, formed numerous crystal rills that traversed the vallon. Like the branches of a silver candelabrum, all united near its centre, and there formed a pellucid stream, that, sweeping onward, discharged itself through the ravine into Robideau’s Pass. The effect of this abundance of water had been to produce within the vallon a proportionate luxuriance of vegetation, though it had not assumed the form of a forest. A few handsome cotton-woods, standing thinly over it, were the only trees; but the surface exhibited a verdure of emerald brightness enamelled by many a gay corolla – born to blush unseen within this sweet secluded glen. Along the edge of the rivulet, large water-plants projected their broad leaves languidly over the stream; and where the little cascades came down from the rocks, the flowers of beautiful orchids, and other rare epiphytes, were seen sparkling under the spray – many of them clinging to the coniferae, and thus uniting almost the extreme types of the botanical world!

Such lovely landscape was presented to our eyes in the “bolson” into which our trapper-guide had conducted us. It appeared lovely as we first beheld it – under the blue light of dawn; but lovelier far, when the sun began to tinge the summits of the Mojada Mountains that encircled it, and scatter his empurpled roses on the snowy peaks of the Wa-to-yah – just visible through the gorge.

“Esta un Paraiso!” (It is a Paradise!) exclaimed the Mexican, warming with the poetry of his race. “En verdad un Paraiso! Even better peopled than the Paradise of old. Mira! cavalleros!” continued he. “Behold! not one Eve, but two! each, I daresay, as beautiful as the mother of mankind!”

As the trapper spoke, he pointed to the young girls, who, hand-in-hand, were returning from the stream – where they had been performing their ablutions. The spots of allegria had disappeared from the cheeks of Marian, that now gleamed in all their crimson picturesqueness. It was for Wingrove to admire these. My own eyes were riveted upon the roseate blonde; and, gazing upon her face, I could not help echoing the sentiment of the enthusiastic speaker: “Beautiful as the mother of mankind!” Wingrove and I had been to the lavatory before them; and had succeeded to a certain extent in scouring our skins clear of the vermilion bedaubment. In the anticipation of this pleasant interview, it was natural we should seek to rescue ourselves from a disguise, that the eye of woman could not look upon otherwise than with dégout. It was natural, too, we should desire those clasped hands to come asunder – those maiden forms to be separated from one another?

Fortune was pleased to respond to our wishes. A flower hanging from the branch of a tree at that moment caught the eye of Lilian; and, dropping her sister’s hand, she hastened to gather it. Marian, who cared less for flowers, did not follow her. Perhaps her inclination tempted her the other way?

But one did follow the fair Lilian – unable to resist the opportunity for free converse – the only one that had offered since that first sweet interview. How my heart bounded, when I beheld the blossom of the bignonia; for it was that which hung drooping from the branch of the cotton-wood, round which its bright leaves were amorously entwining! How it swelled with a triumphant joy, when I saw those tiny fingers, extend towards the Sower, gently pluck it from its stem, and place it upon my bosom! Talk not of bliss, if it be not this! We strayed on through the straggling trees, along the banks of the stream, by the edges of the little rills. We wandered around the vallon, and stood by the torrents that fell foaming from the rocks. We mingled our voices with the waters, that in low murmurings appeared to repeat the sentiment so endeared to us, “I think of thee!”

“And you will, Lilian – you will always thus think of me?”

“Yes, Edward! – for ever and ever!”

Was the kiss unhallowed that could seal such promise? No – it was sacred —

Down to Earth’s profound, And up to Heaven!

Thus benighted with the sweet hallucination of love, how could we dream that on earth there existed an alloy? How suspect that into that smiling garden the dread serpent could ever intrude himself? Alas! he was at that moment approaching it – he was already near!

The place we had chosen for our temporary bivouac – and where we had passed the night – was at the upper extremity of the little valley, and close in to the cliff. We had selected this spot, from the ground being a little more elevated than the general surface, and in consequence drier. Several cotton-wood trees shaded it; and it was further sheltered by a number of large boulders of rock, that, having fallen from the cliff above, lay near its base. Behind these boulders, the men of our party had slept – not from any idea of the greater security afforded by them, but simply from a delicate motive – being thus separated from the chamber occupied by our fair protégées.

It had never occurred to us that our place of concealment could be discovered in the night; and, even long after the day had arisen, so confident did we continue in our fancied security, that we had taken no precautions – neither to reconnoitre the cliffs in search of away of retreat, nor to adopt any means of defence in the event of our being assailed. As far as Wingrove and I were concerned, I have explained this negligence, for it was negligence of the most imprudent character. The Mexican, feeling quite certain that he had succeeded in blinding our trail, was perhaps less cautious than he might otherwise have been; and Sure-shot equally trusted to his new comrade, for whose still the ex-ranger had conceived an exalted opinion.

I could see withal that Archilete was not without some apprehension. He had buckled on his artificial leg – the real one having become fatigued by pressing too long on the stirrup; and, as he hobbled over the ground, I noticed that from time to time he cast inquiring glances down the valley. Observing these signs of impatience more than once, I began to grow uneasy.

Prudence required that even that sweet scene should be interrupted – only temporality, I hoped – until some plan should be adopted, that would render us more secure against the contingency of our being discovered. With my fair companion, I had turned away from the sweet whisperings of the cascade, and was facing to the upper end of the vallon – when, all at once, I observed a strange manoeuvre on the part of “Peg-leg.” The trapper had thrown himself flat upon the grass; and with his ear placed close to the ground, appeared to listen. The movement was too significant not to attract the attention of everybody. My companion was the only one who did not comprehend it; but she observed that it had powerfully affected all the others; and an ejaculation of alarm escaped her, as she saw them hastening up to the place occupied by the prostrate trapper. Before we could arrive on the spot, the man had sprung back into an erect attitude; and, as he stamped his timber leg with violence upon the ground, was heard to exclaim: “Carrambo, camarados! The curs are upon our trail! Oiga los? —el perro—el perro!” (You hear them? – the dog – the dog!) The words were scarcely out of his mouth when their interpretation was given in the sound that came pealing up the valley. Borne upon the sighing breeze, it was heard above the rushing noise of the waters – easily heard, and as easily understood. It was the bay of a dog, who ran “growling” along a trail! Its deep tone was even identified. The huntress recognised it in the first note that fell upon her ear – as was evidenced by her quick exclamation: “Wolf! my dog Wolf!” The speech had scarcely escaped her, before the dog himself made his appearance, convincing us all of his identity. The animal, seeing us, ran no longer by the scent; but with raised snout came galloping across the valley, and bounded forward to receive the caresses of his mistress. We rushed to our weapons; and, having grasped them, ran behind the boulders of rock. It would have been idle to have taken to our horses. If our pursuers were following the dog, and guided by him, they would already be near enough to intercept our retreat from the vallon? Perhaps they were at that moment in the gorge? We had but one hope; and that was, that the dog might be alone. Missing Marian at the camp, he might have struck upon her trail, and been running upon it throughout the night! This seemed scarcely probable: for Holt could have detained him; and in all likelihood would have done so? Still less probable did it appear, as we watched the movements of the dog himself. Instead of staying by Marian, and continuing to receive her caresses, we noticed that at short intervals he ran off again, making demonstration in the direction he had come – as if in expectation of some one who was following at his heels! The slight hope we had conceived was quickly and rudely crushed, by the confirmation of this fact. The voices of men, echoing hoarsely through the gorge, confirmed it! Beyond doubt, they were our pursuers, guided by the dog – who little comprehended the danger he was thus conducting towards the object of his instinctive affections!

Chapter One Hundred Five

An unexpected Defection

Almost as soon as we heard the voices, we saw those who were giving utterance to them. A horseman appeared issuing from the jaws of the chasm – another, and another – until eight had filed into the open ground! They were all armed men – armed with guns, pistols, and knives. He in the lead was at once identified. The colossal stature, the green blanket-coat, red shirt, and kerchief turban, proclaimed that the foremost of our pursuers was Holt himself. Immediately behind him rode Stebbins; while those following in file were the executive myrmidons of the Mormon faith – the Destroying Angels!

On entering the open ground, Holt alone kept on without slackening his speed. Stebbins followed, but more cautiously and at a distance of several lengths of his horse. The Danites at sight of our animals, and ourselves too – for they could not fail to see our faces over the rocks – drew up; not suddenly, but one after the other – as if irresolute whether to advance, or remain where they were. Even Stebbins, though moving on after the squatter, did so with evident reluctance. He saw the barrels of our rifles gleaming above the boulders; and, when within about fifty paces of our position, he too reined in – keeping the body of Holt between himself and our guns. The squatter continued to advance, without the slightest show of fear. So near had he got to us, that we could note the expression upon his features, though it was difficult to understand it. It was one that bespoke reckless determination – no doubt a determination to recover his child from the savages who had stolen her; for as yet he had no reason to think otherwise than that we were Indians. Of course, none of us thought of firing upon Holt; but, had Stebbins at the moment advanced only a step nearer, there was more than one rifle ready to give out its deadly detonation.

Holt approached rapidly, his horse going a trot. He held his long gun obliquely in front of him, and grasped in both hands – as if ready to fire on the instant. All at once, he checked his horse, dropped the gun on the pommel of his saddle, and sat gazing towards us with a look of bewildered surprise. White faces appearing over the rock instead of red ones, had caused this sudden change in his demeanour.

Before he had time to give utterance to his astonishment, Lilian glided from behind the boulder, and standing with arms extended, cried out: “O father! they are not Indians! It is Marian! it is – ” At the same instant her sister appeared by her side.

“Marian alive!” cried Holt, recognising his long-lost daughter. “My child Marian yet livin’! God be praised! Thur’s one weight off o’ my poor soul – an’ now to eeze it o’ another!” As he uttered the last words, he wrenched his horse half around, and dropped to his feet upon the nearer side. Then, quickly resting his rifle over the hollow of the saddle, he brought its barrel to bear on the breast of Stebbins – who still sat upon horseback, scarce twenty paces distant from its muzzle.

“Now, Josh Stebbins!” cried the squatter, in a voice of thunder, “the time’s come to squar the yards wi’ you!”

“What do you mean, Holt?” mechanically inquired the Mormon, in trembling surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you infernal skunk, that afore ye leave this groun’, ye’ve got to make a clean breast o’ it, an’ clar me o’ the crime o’ murder.”

“What murder?” inquired Stebbins, prevaricatingly.

“Oh! you know what I’m talkin’ about! ’Twant no murder. ’Twar only a suicide; an’ God knows it broke my own heart.” Holt’s voice was husky with emotion. He continued, after a pause: “For all o’ that, appearances wur agin’ me: an’ you invented proofs that wud a stood good among lawyers, though thur as false as yur own black heart. Ye’ve kep’ ’m over me for years, to sarve yer rascally designs. But thur’s neither law nor lawyers hyur to help you any longer. Thur’s witnesses o’ both sides – yur own beauties down yander; an’ some hyur o’ a better sort, I reck’n. Afore them, I call on ye to declar that yur proofs wur false, an’ that I’m innocent o’ the crime o’ murder!”

There was a profound silence when the speaker finished. The strange and unexpected nature of the demand, held every one in breathless surprise. Even the armed men at the bottom of the vallon said not a word; and perceiving that, by the defection of Holt, there was almost gun for gun against them, they showed no signs of advancing to the protection of their apostolic leader. The latter appeared for a moment to vacillate. The fear depicted upon his features was blended with an expression of the most vindictive bitterness – as that of a tyrant forced to yield up some despotic privilege which he has long wielded. True, it mattered little to him now. The intended victims of his vile contrivance – whatever it may have been – were likely to escape from his control in another way; but, for all that, he seemed loth to part with even the shadow of his former influence. He was not allowed much time for reflection: scarce the opportunity to look round upon his Danites, which, however, he did – glancing back as if desirous of retreating towards them.

“Stan’ yur groun’!” shouted the squatter in a tone of menace – “stan’ yur groun’! Don’t dar to turn yur face from me! Ef ye do, ye’ll only get the bullet in yur back. Now, confess! or, by the etarnal God! you hain’t another second to sit in that seddle!” The quick threatening manner in which the speaker grasped his gun, told Stebbins that prevarication would be idle. In hurried speech, he replied: “You committed no murder, Hickman Holt! I never said you did!”

“No! but you said you would; and you invented proofs o’ it? Confess you invented proofs, an’ kep’ ’em over my head like a black shadder? Confess that!” Stebbins hesitated. “Quick, or ye’re a dead man!”

“I did,” muttered the guilty wretch, trembling as he spoke. “An’ the proofs wur false!”

“They were false – I confess it.”