Wood Rangers: The Trappers of Sonora

Satisfied pride shone in the eye of the Indian, at his augmented authority.

“If the rifles of the north had been joined to ours, the whites of the south would have been conquered.” But as he recalled to mind the insulting manner in which the two hunters had rejected his proposal, his eyes darted forth flames of hatred, and pointing to his wound, he said, “What can a wounded chief do? His limbs refuse to carry him, and he can scarcely sit on his horse.”

“We can tie him on; a chief is at once a head and an arm – if the arm be powerless the head will act, and the sight of their chief’s blood will animate our warriors. The council fire was lighted anew after the defeat, and the warriors wait for the Blackbird to make his voice heard; his battle-horse is ready – let us go!”

“No,” replied the Blackbird, “my warriors encompass, on each bank, the white hunters whom I wished to have for allies; now they are enemies; the ball of one of them has rendered useless for six moons, the arm that was so strong in combat; and were I offered the command of ten nations, I would refuse it, to await here the hour when the blood that I thirst for shall flow before my eyes.”

The chief then recounted briefly the captivity of Gayferos, his deliverance by the Canadian, the rejection of his proposals and the vow of vengeance he had made.

The messenger listened gravely; he felt all the importance of making a new attack on the gold-seekers, at the moment when, delighted at their victory, they believed themselves safe, and he proposed to the Blackbird to leave some one behind in his place to watch the island; but the Blackbird was immovable.

“Well!” said the runner, “before long the sun will begin to rise; I shall wait until daylight to report to the Apaches that the Blackbird prefers his personal vengeance to the honour of the entire nation. By deferring my departure, I shall have retarded the moment when our warriors will have to regret the loss of the bravest among them.”

“So be it,” said the chief, in a grave tone, although much pleased by this adroit flattery, “but a messenger has need of repose after a battle followed by a long journey. Meanwhile, I would listen to the account of the combat in which the Spotted Cat lost his life.”

The messenger sat down near the fire, with crossed legs, and with one elbow on his knee and his head leaning on his hand, after a few minutes’ rest, gave a circumstantial account of the attack on the white camp – omitting no fact which might awaken the hatred of the Blackbird against the Mexican invaders.

This over, he laid down and slept, or seemed to sleep. But the tumultuous and contrary passions which struggled in the heart of the Blackbird – ambition on the one hand, and thirst for vengeance on the other – kept him awake without effort. In about an hour the runner half rose, and pushing back the cloak of skin which he had drawn over his head he perceived the Blackbird still sitting in the same attitude.

“The silence of the night has spoken to me,” said he, “and I thought that a renowned chief like the Blackbird might, before the rising sun, have his enemies in his power and hear their death-song.”

“My warriors cannot walk on the water as on the warpath,” replied he; “the men of the north do not resemble those of the south, whose rifles are like reeds in their hands.”

“The blood that the Blackbird has lost deceives his intellect and obscures his vision; if he shall permit it, I shall act for him, and to-morrow his vengeance will be complete.”

“Do as you like; from whatever side vengeance comes, it will be agreeable to me.”

“Enough. I shall soon bring here the three hunters, and him whose scalp they could not save.”

So saying the messenger rose and was soon hidden by the fog from the eyes of the Blackbird.

On the island more generous emotions were felt. From the eyes of its occupants sleep had also fled – for if there be a moment in life, when the hearts of the bravest may fail them, it is when danger is terrible and inevitable, and when not even the last consolation of selling life dearly is possible to them. Watched by enemies whom they could not see, the hunters could not satisfy their rage by making their foes fall beneath their bullets as they had done the evening before. Besides, both Bois-Rose and Pepé knew too well the implacable obstinacy of the Indians to suppose that the Blackbird would permit his warriors to reply to their attacks; a soldier’s death would have seemed too easy to him.

Oppressed by these sad thoughts, the three hunters spoke no more, but resigned themselves to their fate, rather than abandon the unlucky stranger by attempting to escape.

Fabian was as determined to die as the others. The habitual sadness of his spirit robbed death of its terrors, but still the ardour of his mind would have caused him to prefer a quicker death, weapon in hand, to the slow and ignominious one reserved for them. He was the first to break silence. The profound tranquillity that reigned on the banks was to the experienced eyes of the Canadian and Pepé only a certain indication of the invincible resolution of their enemies; but to Fabian it appeared reassuring – a blessing by which they ought to profit.

“All sleeps now around us,” said he, “not only the Indians on the banks, but all that has life in the woods and in the desert – the river itself seems to be running slower! See! the reflections of the fires die away! would it not be the time to attempt a descent on the bank?”

“The Indians sleep!” interrupted Pepé, bitterly, “yes, like the water which seems stagnant, but none the less pursues its course. You could not take three steps in the river before the Indians would rush after you as you have often seen wolves rush after a stag. Have you nothing better to propose, Bois-Rose?”

“No,” replied he as his hand sought that of Fabian, while with the other he pointed to the sick man, tossing restlessly on his couch of pain.

“But, in default of all other chance,” said Fabian, “we should at least have that of dying with honour, side by side as we would wish. If we are victorious, we can then return to the aid of this unfortunate man. If we fall, God himself, when we appear before him, cannot reproach us with the sacrifice of his life, since we risked our own for the common good.”

“No,” replied Bois-Rose; “but let us still hope in that God, who re-united us by a miracle; what does not happen to-day, may to-morrow; we have time before us before our provisions fail. To attempt to take the bank now, would be to march to certain death. To die would be nothing, and we always hold that last resource in our own hands; but we might perhaps be made prisoners, and then I shudder to think of what would be our fate. Oh! my beloved Fabian, these Indians in their determination to take us alive give me at least the happiness of being yet a few days beside you.”

Silence again resumed its reign; but as Bois-Rose thought of the terrible dénouement he clutched convulsively at some of the trunks of the dead trees, and under his powerful grasp the islet trembled as though about to be torn from its base.

“Ah! the wretches! the demons!” cried Pepé, with a sudden explosion of rage. “Look yonder!”

A red light was piercing gradually through the veil of vapour which hung over the river, and seemed to advance and grow larger; but, strange to say, the fire floated on the water, and, intense as was the fog, the mass of flames dissipated it as the sun disperses the clouds. The three hunters had barely time to be astonished at this apparition, before they guessed its cause. A long course of life in the desert and its dangers had imparted to the Canadian a firmness which Pepé had not attained; therefore, instead of giving way to surprise, he remained perfectly calm. He knew that this was the only way to surmount any difficulty.

“Yes,” said he, “I understand what it is as well as if the Indians had told me. You spoke once of foxes smoked out of their holes; now they want to burn us in ours.”

The globe of fire which floated on the river advanced with alarming rapidity, and confirmed the words of Bois-Rose. Already amidst the water, reddened by the flame, the twigs of the willows were becoming distinct.

“It is a fire-ship,” cried Pepé, “with which they want to set fire to our island.”

“So much the better,” cried Fabian; “better to fight against the fire than wait quietly for death.”

“Yes,” said Bois-Rose; “but fire is a terrible adversary and it fights for these demons.”

The besieged could oppose nothing to the advancing flames; and they would soon devour the little island, leaving to its inmates no other chance of escape but by throwing themselves into the water – where the Indians could either kill them by rifle-shots, or take them alive, as they pleased.

Such had been the idea of the Indian messenger. By his order, the Apaches had cut down a tree with its leaves on, and a thick mass of wet grass interlaced in its branches formed a sort of foundation, on which they placed the branches of a pine tree; and after setting fire to this construction, they had sent it floating down the stream. As it approached, the crackling of the wood could be heard; and out of the black smoke which mixed with the fog arose a bright, clear flame.

Not far from the bank they could distinguish the form of an Indian. Pepé could not resist a sudden temptation. “Yon demon,” cried he, “shall at least not live to exult over our death.”

So saying, he fired and the plume of the Indian was seen to go down.

“Sad and tardy vengeance,” remarked Bois-Rose; and as if, indeed, the Apaches disdained the efforts of a vanquished foe, the shore preserved its gloomy solitude, and not a single howl accompanied the last groans of the warrior.

“Never mind,” cried Pepé, stamping his foot in his impotent fury; “I shall die more calmly, the greater number of those demons I have sent before me.” And he looked round for some other victim.

Meanwhile Bois-Rose was calmly reconnoitring the burning mass, which, if it touched the island, would set fire to the dried trees which composed it.

“Well,” cried Pepé, whose rage blinded his judgment, “it is useless to look at the fire; have you any method of making it deviate from its course?”

“Perhaps,” replied the Canadian. Pepé began to whistle with an affected indifference.

“I see something that proves to me that the reasonings of the Indians are not always infallible; and if it were not that we shall receive a shower of balls, to force us to stay hidden while the islet takes fire, I should care as little for that burning raft as for a fire-fly in the air.”

In constructing the floating fire, the Indians had calculated its thickness, so that the wet grass might be dried by the fire and become kindled about the time when it should touch the island. But the grass had been soaked in the water, and this had retarded its combustion; besides the large branches had not had time to inflame; it was only the smaller boughs and the leaves that were burning. This had not escaped the quick eye of the Canadian, who, advancing with a long stick in his hand, resolved to push it underwater; but just as he was about to risk this attempt, what he had predicted took place. A shower of balls and arrows flew towards them; though these shots seemed rather intended to terrify than to kill them.

“They are determined,” said Bois-Rose, “only to take us alive!”

The fire almost touched the island, a few minutes and it would be alight, when with the rapidity of lightning, Bois-Rose glided into the water and disappeared. Shouts rose from each side of the river, when the Indians, as well as Fabian and Pepé, saw the floating mass tremble under his powerful grasp. The fire blazed up brightly for a moment, then the water hissed and the mass of flame was extinguished in foam, until darkness and fog once more spread their sombre covering over the river. The blackened tree, turned from its course, passed by the island, while, amidst the howls of the Indians Bois-Rose rejoined his friends. The whole island shook under his efforts to get back upon it.

“Howl at your ease,” cried he, “you have not captured as yet; but,” he added, in a more serious tone, “shall we be always as lucky?”

Indeed, although this danger was surmounted, how many remained to be conquered! Who could foresee what new stratagems the Indians might employ against them? These reflections damped their first feeling of triumph. All at once Pepé started up, crying out as he did so:

“Bois-Rose, Fabian, we are saved!”

“Saved!” said Bois-Rose, “what do you mean?”

“Did you not remark how a few hours ago the whole islet trembled under our hands when we tore away some branches to fortify ourselves with, and how you yourself made it shake just now? well, I thought once of making a raft, but now I believe we three can uproot the whole island and set it floating. The fog is thick, the night dark and to-morrow – ”