Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

“Pepé,” whispered Bois-Rose, pointing to a tuft of osiers, “does it not seem to you that that bush has changed its form and grown larger?”

“Yes; it has changed its form!”

“See, Fabian! you have the piercing sight that I had at your age; does it not appear to you that at the left-hand side of that tuft of osiers the leaves no longer look natural?”

The young man pushed the reeds on one side, and gazed for a while attentively.

“I could swear it,” said he, “but – ” He stopped, and looked in another direction.

“Well! do you see anything?”

“I see, between that willow and the aspen, about ten feet from the tuft of osiers, a bush which certainly was not there just now.”

“Ah! see what it is to live far from towns; – the least points of the landscape fix themselves in the memory, and become precious indications. You are born to live the life of a hunter, Fabian!”

Pepé levelled his rifle at the bush indicated by Fabian.

“Pepé understands it at once,” said Bois-Rose; “he knows, like me, that the Indians have employed their time in cutting down branches to form a temporary shelter; but I think two of us at least may teach them a few stratagems that they do not yet know. Leave that bush to Fabian, it will be an easy mark for him; fire at the branches whose leaves are beginning to wither – there is an Indian behind them. Fire in the centre, Fabian!”

The two rifles were heard simultaneously, and the false bush fell, displaying a red body behind the leaves, while the branches which had been added were convulsively agitated. All three then threw themselves on the ground, and a discharge of balls immediately flew over their heads, covering them with leaves and broken branches, while the war-cry of the Indians sounded in their ears.

“If I do not deceive myself, they are now but fifteen,” said Bois-Rose, as he quitted his horizontal posture, and knelt on the ground.

“Be still!” added he. “I see the leaves of an aspen trembling more than the wind alone could cause them to do. It is doubtless one of those fellows who has climbed up into the tree.”

As he spoke, a bullet struck one of the trunks of which the islet was composed, and proved that he had guessed rightly.

“Wagh!” said the Canadian, “I must resort to a trick that will force him to show himself.”

So saying, he took off his cap and coat, and placed them between the branches, where they could be seen. “Now,” said he, “if I were fighting a white soldier, I would place myself by the side of my coat, for he would fire at the coat; with an Indian I shall stand behind it, for he will not be deceived in the same manner, and will aim to one side of it. Lie down, Fabian and Pepé, and in a minute you shall hear a bullet whistle either to the right or the left of the mark I have set up.”

As Bois-Rose said this, he knelt down behind his coat, ready to fire at the aspen.

He was not wrong in his conjectures; in a moment, the balls of the Indians cut the leaves on each side of the coat, but without touching either of the three companions, who had placed themselves in a line.

“Ah,” cried the Canadian, “there are whites who can fight the Indians with their own weapons; we shall presently have an enemy the less.”

And saying this he fired into the aspen, out of which the body of an Indian was seen to fall, rolling from branch to branch like a fruit knocked from its stem.

At this feat of the Canadian, the savage howlings resounded with so much fury, that it required nerves of iron not to shudder at them. Gayferos himself, whom the firing had not roused, shook off his lethargy and murmured, in a trembling voice, “Virgen de los Dolores! Would not one say it was a band of tigers howling in the darkness? – Holy Virgin! have pity on me!”

“Thank her rather,” interrupted the Canadian; “the knaves might deceive a novice like you, but not an old hunter like me. You have heard the jackals of an evening in the forest howl and answer each other as though there were hundreds of them, when there were but three or four. The Indians imitate the jackals, and I will answer for it there are not more that a dozen now behind those trees. Ah! if I could but get them to cross the water, not one of them should return to carry the news of their disaster.”

Then, as if a sudden thought had flashed across his mind, he directed his companions to lie down on their backs – in which position they were protected by the trunks of the trees. “We are in safety as long as we lie thus,” said he, “only keep your eye on the tops of the trees; it is from these only they can reach us. Fire only if you see them climb up, but otherwise remain motionless. The knaves will not willingly depart without our scalps, and must make up their minds at last to attack us.”

This resolution of the hunter seemed to have been inspired by heaven, for scarcely had they laid down before a shower of balls and arrows tore to pieces the border of reeds, and broke the branches behind which they had been kneeling a minute before. Bois-Rose pulled down his coat and hat, as though he himself had fallen, and then the most profound silence reigned in the island, after this apparently murderous fire. Cries of triumph followed this silence, and then a second discharge of bullets and arrows.

“Is not that an Indian mounting the willow?” whispered Pepé.

“Yes, but let us risk his fire without stirring; lie all of us as if we were dead. Then he will go and tell his companions that he has counted the corpses of the palefaces.”

In spite of the danger incurred by this stratagem, the proposition of Bois-Rose was accepted, and each remained motionless, watching, not without anxiety, the manoeuvres of the Indian. With extreme precaution the red warrior climbed from branch to branch, until he had reached a point from which he could overlook the whole islet.

There remained just sufficient daylight to observe his movements when the foliage itself did not hide them. When he had reached the desired height, the Indian, resting on a thick branch, advanced his head with precaution. The sight of the bodies extended on the ground appeared not to surprise him, and he now openly pointed his rifle towards them. This he did several times, apparently taking aim, but not one of the hunters stirred. Then the Indian uttered a cry of triumph. “The shark takes the bait,” muttered Bois-Rose.

“I shall recognise this son of a dog,” rejoined Pepé, “and if I do not repay him for the anxiety he has caused me, it is because the bullet he is about to send will prevent me.”

“It is the Blackbird,” said Bois-Rose, “he is both brave and dexterous – lie close!”

The Indian once more took aim, and then fired; a branch knocked from a tree just above Pepé, fell upon him and hurt his forehead. He stirred no more than the dead wood against which he leaned, but said, “Rascal of a redskin, I’ll pay you for this before long.”

Some drops of blood fell upon the face of the Canadian.

“Is any one wounded?” said he, with a shudder.

“A scratch, nothing more,” said Pepé, “God be praised!”

Just then the Indian uttered a cry of joy, as he descended from the tree on which he had mounted, and the three friends again breathed freely.

And yet some doubt seemed to remain in the minds of the Indians, for a long and solemn silence followed the manoeuvre of their chief.

The sun had now set, the short twilight had passed away, night had come on, and the moon shone on the river, yet still the Indians did not stir.

“Our scalps tempt them, but they still hesitate to come and take them,” said Pepé, who was becoming very tired of doing nothing.

“Patience!” whispered Bois-Rose, “the Indians are like the vultures, who dare not attack a body until it begins to decay. We may look out for them by-and-bye. Let us resume our position behind the reeds.”

The hunters again quickly knelt down and continued to watch their enemies.

Before long an Indian showed himself very cautiously, another then joined him, and both approached with increasing confidence, followed by others, until Bois-Rose counted ten in the moonlight.

“They will cross the river in file, I expect,” said he. “Fabian, you fire at the first, Pepé will aim at the centre, and I at the last but one. In that way they cannot all attack together. It will be a hand-to-hand struggle, but you, Fabian, while Pepé and I wait for them knife in hand, shall load our rifles and pass them to us. By the memory of your mother, I forbid you to fight with these wretches.”

As the Canadian uttered these words, a tall Indian entered the river, followed by nine others. All advanced with the utmost caution; they might have been taken for the shades of warriors returned from the land of spirits.

Chapter Forty Two

The Blackbird

Death seemed to the eyes of the Indians to reign over the island – for the hunters held even their breath – and yet they advanced with the utmost care.

The foremost man, who was the “Blackbird” himself, had reached a place where the water began to be deep, as the last man was just leaving the bank. But just as Fabian was about to take aim against the chief, to the great regret of Pepé, the “Blackbird,” either fearful of danger, or because a ray of moonlight gleaming on the rifles told him his enemy still lived dived suddenly under the water.

“Fire!” cried Bois-Rose, and immediately the last Indian of the file fell to rise no more, and two others appeared struggling in the water, and were quickly borne off by the stream. Pepé and Bois-Rose then threw their rifles behind them as agreed upon, for Fabian to reload, while they themselves stood upon the bank, knives in hand.

“The Apaches are still seven,” shouted Bois-Rose, in a voice of thunder, anxious to finish the struggle, and feeling all his hatred of the Indians awakened within him, “will they dare to come and take the scalps of the whites?”

But the disappearance of their chief and the death of their comrades had disconcerted the Indians; they did not fly, but they remained undecided and motionless, as black rocks bathed by the shining waters of the river.