The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

At the distance of two hundred yards from the bushes, I paused to look back. My purpose was to fix in my memory the direction of the hill, and more especially the point where my comrades had been left in ambush: in the event of a close pursuit, it would not do to mistake their exact situation.

I easily made out the place, and observed that, for several reasons, a better could not have been chosen. The trees that timbered the crest of the hill were of a peculiar kind – none more so upon the earth. They were a species of arborescent yucca, then unknown to botanists. Many of them were forty feet in height; and their thick angular branches, and terminal fascicles of rigid leaves, outlined against the sky, formed a singular, almost an unearthly spectacle. It was unlike any other vegetation upon earth, more resembling a grove of cast-iron than a wood of exogenous trees.

Why I regarded the spot as favourable for an ambush, was chiefly this: a party approaching it from the plain, and climbing the hill, might fancy a host of enemies in their front; for the trees themselves, with their heads of radiating blades, bore a striking resemblance to an array of plumed gigantic warriors. Many of the yuccas were only six feet in height, with tufted heads, and branchless trunks as gross as the body of a man, and they might readily have been mistaken for human beings.

I perceived at a glance the advantage of the position. Should the Indians pursue me, and I could succeed in reaching the timber before them, a volley from my comrades would check the pursuers, however numerous. The nine rifles would be enough, with a few shots from the revolvers. The savages would fancy nine hundred under the mystifying shadows of that spectral-like grove.

With confidence, strengthened by these considerations, I once more turned my face up-stream; and breasting the current, waded on.

Chapter Ninety One.

Up-Stream

My progress was far from being rapid. The water was occasionally deeper or shallower, but generally rising above my hips – deep enough to render my advance a task of time and difficulty. The current was of course against me; and though not very swift, seriously impeded me. I could have advanced more rapidly, but for the necessity of keeping my head and that of my horse below the escarpment of the bank. At times it was a close fit, with scarcely an inch to spare; and in several places I was compelled to move with my neck bent, and my horse’s nose held close down to the surface of the water.

At intervals, I paused to rest myself – for the exertion of wading against the current wearied me, and took away my breath. This was particularly the case when I required to go in a crouching attitude; but I chose my resting-places where the channel was deepest, and where I could stand erect.

I was all the while anxious to look up and take a survey of the camp: I wished to ascertain its distance and position; but I dared not raise my head above the level of the bank: the sward that crowned it was smooth as a mown meadow, and the edge-line of the turf even and unbroken. Had I shown but my hand above it, it might have been seen in that clear white light. I dared not show either hand or head.

I had advanced I knew not how far, but I fancied I must be near the lines. All the way, I had kept close under the left bank – which, as Rube had predicted, now rose a full half-yard above the water-line. This was a favourable circumstance; and another equally so was the fact that the moon on that – the eastern side – was yet low in the sky, and consequently the bank flung a broad black shadow that extended nearly half-way across the stream. In this shadow I walked, and its friendly darkness sheltered both myself and my horse.

I fancied I must be near the lines, and longed to reconnoitre them, but, for the reasons already given, dared not.

I was equally afraid to make any farther advance – for that might be still more perilous. I had already noted the direction of the wind: it blew from the river, and towards the camp; and should I bring my horse opposite the line of the mustangs, I would then be directly to windward of them, and in danger from their keen nostrils. They would be almost certain to take up the scent of my steed, and utter their warning snorts. The breeze was light, but so much the worse. There was sufficient to carry the smell, and not enough to drown the plunging noise necessarily made by my horse moving through the water, with the occasional hollow pounding of his hoofs upon the rocks at the bottom.

If I raised my head over the bank, there was the danger of being seen; if I advanced, the prospect was one of equal peril of being scented.

For some moments I stood hesitating – uncertain as to whether I should leave my horse, or lead him a little farther. I heard noises from the camp, but they were not distinct enough to guide me.

I looked back down the river, in the hope of being able to calculate the distance I had come, and by that means decide where I was; but my observation furnished no data by which I could determine my position. With my eyes almost on a level with the surface of the water, I could not judge satisfactorily of distance.

I turned my face up-stream again, and scrutinised the parapet line of the bank.

Just then I saw an object over its edge that answered well to guide me: it was the croup and hip-bones of a horse – one of the mustangs staked near the bank. I saw neither the head nor shoulders of the animal; its hind-quarters were towards the stream; its head was to the grass – it was browsing.

The sight gratified me. The mustang was full two hundred yards above the point I had reached. I knew that its position marked the outer line of the encampment. I was in the very place where I wanted to be – about two hundred yards from the lines. Just at that distance I desired to leave my horse.

I had taken the precaution to bring with me my picket-pin – one of the essentials of the prairie traveller. It was the work of a moment to delve it into the bank. I needed not to drive it with violence: my well-trained steed never broke fastening, however slight. With him the stake was only required as a sign that he was not free to wander.

In a moment, then, he was staked; and with a “whisper” I parted from him, and kept on up-stream.

I had not waded a dozen yards farther, when I perceived a break in the line of the bank. It was a little gully that led slantingly from the level of the prairie down to the bed of the stream. Its counterpart I perceived on the opposite side. The two indicated a ford or crossing used by buffaloes, wild-horses, and other denizens of the prairie.

At first, I viewed it with apprehension; I feared it might uncover my body to the eyes of the enemy; but on coming opposite, my fears were allayed: the slope was abrupt, and the high ground screened me as before. There would be no danger in passing the place.

As I was about moving on, an idea arrested me; and I paused to regard the gully with a look of greater interest. I perceived an advantage in it.

I had been troubled about the position in which I had left my horse. Should I succeed in getting back, of course it would be under the pressure of a hot pursuit, and my steed was not conveniently placed; his back was below the level of the bank. He might easily be mounted, but how should I get him out of the channel of the stream? Only by a desperate leap might he reach the plain above: but he might fail in the effort – time might be lost, when time and speed would be most wanted.

I had been troubled with this thought; it need trouble me no longer. The “crossing” afforded easy access either to or from the bed of the river – the very thing I wanted.

I was not slow to profit by the discovery. I turned back, and having released the rein, led my horse gently up to the break.

Choosing a spot under the highest part of the bank, I fastened him as before, and again left him.

I now moved with more ease and confidence, but with increased caution. I was getting too near to risk making the slightest noise in the water; a single plash might betray me.

It was my intention to keep within the channel, until I had passed the point where the horses were staked; by so doing, I should avoid crossing the line of the horse-guards, and, what was quite as important, that of the horses themselves – for I was equally apprehensive of being discovered by the latter. Once inside their circle, they would take no notice of me – for doubtless there would be other Indians within sight; and I trusted to my well-counterfeited semblance of savagery to deceive the eyes of these equine sentinels.

I did not wish to go far beyond their line; that would bring me in front of the camp itself – too near its fires and its idle groups.

I had noticed before starting that there was a broad belt between the place occupied by the men, and that where their horses were staked. This “neutral” ground was little used by the camp loungers, and somewhere on the edge of it I was desirous of making my entrée.

I succeeded to my utmost wishes. Closely hugging the bank, I passed the browsing mustangs – under their very noses I glided past, for I could hear them munching the herbage right over me – but so silently did I steal along, that neither snort nor hoof-stroke heralded my advance.

In a few minutes, I was sufficiently beyond them for my purpose.

I raised my head; slowly and gently I raised it, till my eyes were above the level of the prairie slope.

No one was near. I could see the swarth savages grouped around their fires; but they were a hundred yards off, or more. They were capering, and talking, and laughing; but no ear was bent, and no eye seemed turned towards me. No one was near.

I grasped the bank with my hands, and drew myself up. Slowly and silently I ascended, like some demon from the dark trap-door of a stage.

On my knees, I reached the level of the turf; and, then gently rising to my feet, I stood erect within the limits of the Indian camp – to all appearance as complete a savage as any upon the ground!

Chapter Ninety Two.

Coup-d’oeil of the Camp

For some minutes I stood motionless as a statue; I stirred neither hand nor foot, lest the movement should catch the eye either of the horse-guards or those moving around the fires.

I had already donned my plumed head-dress, before climbing out of the channel: and after getting on the bank, my first thought was to replace my pistols in the belt behind my back.

The movement was stealthily made; and with like stealthy action, I suffered the mantle of jaguar-skins to drop from my shoulders, and hang to its full length. I had saved the robe from getting wet; and its ample skirt now served me in concealing my soaked breech-cloth as well as the upper half of my leggings. These and the moccasins were, of course, saturated with water, but I had not much uneasiness about that. In a prairie camp, and upon the banks of a deep stream, an Indian with wet leggings could not be a spectacle to excite suspicion; there would be many reasons why my counterpart might choose to immerse his copper-coloured extremities in the river. Moreover, the buckskin – dressed Indian-fashion – was speedily casting the water; it would soon drip dry; or even if wet, would scarcely be observed under such a light.

The spot where I had “landed” chanced to be one of the least conspicuous in the whole area of the camp. I was just between two lights – the red glare of the campfires, and the mellower beams of the moon; and the atmospheric confusion occasioned by the meeting of the distinct kinds of light favoured me, by producing a species of optical delusion. It was but slight, and I could easily be seen from the centre of the camp – but not with sufficient distinctness for my disguise to be penetrated by any one; therefore, it was hardly probable that any of the savages would approach or trouble their heads about me. I might pass for one of themselves indulging in a solitary saunter, yielding himself to a moment of abstraction or melancholy. I was well enough acquainted with Indian life to know that there was nothing outré or unlikely in this behaviour; such conduct was perfectly en règle.

I did not remain long on that spot – only long enough to catch the salient features of the scene.

I saw there were many fires, and around each was grouped number of human forms – some squatted, some standing. The night was cold enough to make them draw near to the burning logs; and for this reason, but few were wandering about – a fortunate circumstance for me.

There was one fire larger than the rest; from its dimensions, it might be termed a “bonfire,” such as is made by the flattering and flunkeyish peasantry of old-world lands, when they welcome home the squire and the count. It was placed directly in front of the solitary tent, and not a dozen paces from its entrance. Its blazing pile gave forth a flood of red light that reached even to the spot where I stood, and flickered in my face. I even fancied I could feel its glow upon my cheeks.

Around this fire were many forms of men – all of them standing up. I could see the faces of those who were upon its farther side, but only the figures of these on the nearer.

The former I could see with almost as much distinctness as if I had been close beside them; I could trace the lineaments of their features – the painted devices on their breasts and faces – the style of their habiliments.

The sight of these last somewhat astonished me. I had expected to see red-skinned warriors in leggings, moccasins, and breech-cloth, with heads naked or plumed, and shoulders draped under brown robes of buffalo-skin. Some such there were, but not all of them were so costumed; on the contrary, I beheld savages shrouded in serapes and cloaks of broadcloth, with calzoneros on their legs, and upon their heads huge hats of black glaze – regular Mexican sombreros! In short, I beheld numbers of them in full Mexican costume!