The Wild Huntress Part 35

"The Utahs have many enemies--on the north, south, east, and west they have foes. Whence comes the stranger? and who has been spilling his blood?"

"From the east--from the _Arapahoes_."

"Ugh!" exclaimed the chief, with a start, his countenance suddenly becoming clouded with an angry expression. "Arapahoes! Where has the pale-face encountered the Arapahoes?"

"On the Huerfano."

"Good; the white huntress brings news that will gladden the hearts of the Utah warriors! Arapahoes on the Huerfano! who has seen them there?"

The huntress replied by pointing to me. "He has been their captive,"

she added, "and has just escaped from them. He can guide Wa-ka-ra to their camp, where the Utah chief will find his deadliest enemy-- Red-Hand."

At the mention of this name, the cloud that was gathering upon the brow of the Utah chief became darker by several shades, and the mild expression was no longer observable. In its place was a look of fierce resolve, blended with glances that spoke a savage joy. Some old and terrible resentment was rekindled by the name--with a hope, no doubt, of its being gratified?

The chief now entered upon a series of interrogatories directed to myself. He spoke English--thanks to his trapper a.s.sociations: and it was in this language he had been conversing with the huntress. His inquiries were directed to such particulars as might put him in possession of the necessary knowledge for an attack upon the Arapahoes.

As concisely as possible, I made known their position and numbers--with other circ.u.mstances calculated to aid in the design. The account I gave seemed to gratify him. As soon as our dialogue was ended, I had the satisfaction to hear him declare his intention of proceeding at once to the valley of the Huerfano! To me it was joyful news: my comrades might yet be rescued from the hands of the Arapahoes?

"Ma-ra-nee!" said he, again addressing himself to the huntress, "conduct the stranger to your tent! Give him food. And you, _Cojo_!" he continued, turning to the little Mexican, "you are skilled in medicine-- look to his wounds! He can repose while we are preparing. Ho! sound the signal of _a.s.sembly_! Summon our braves to the war-dance!"

The last words were addressed to an Indian who was standing close behind him. Quickly succeeding the order, the notes of a bugle burst upon the air--strange sounds in an Indian camp! But the white man's music was not the only sign of civilised life to be observed among the tents of the Utahs. The guns and pistols--the spurs, lances, and saddles--the shakos and helmets--all spoke of the spoiled _presidios_ on the Mexican frontier; while fair-skinned _doncellas_ of Spanish race were seen mingling with the copper-coloured squaws--aiding them in their domestic duties--captives to all appearance contented with their captivity! None of this was new to me. I had witnessed similar scenes in the land of the Comanche. They are of daily occurrence along the whole frontier of Spanish America: where the red man constantly encroaches--reclaiming the country of his ancestors, wrested from him three centuries ago by the cupidity of the _Conquistadores_.

Upon the side of the Indian now lies the strength--if not in numbers--at least in courage and war-prowess. The horse he once dreaded has become his dearest friend; and he can manage him with a skill scarcely equalled by his pale-faced adversary. The lance and fire-weapon are in his hands; the spirit-thunder no longer appals him: he knows its origin and nature, and uses it in the accomplishment of a terrible retaliation! On the northern continent, Utah and Yaqui, Kiowa and Comanche, Apache and Navajo, have all proved their superiority over the degenerated descendants of Cortez: as in the south have Cuncho and Cas.h.i.+bo, Goajira and Auracanian, over those of the ruthless Pizarro. The red man no longer goes to war as a mere savage. He has disciplined his strength into a perfect strategy; and possesses a military system as complete as that of most civilised nations. The Comanche cavalry charges in line, and can perform evolutions to the call of the bugle! So can the Utah, as I had evidence at that moment. Before the trumpet-notes had ceased to reverberate from the rocks, five hundred warriors had secured their horses, and stood beside them armed and ready to mount. A regiment of regular dragoons could not have responded to "Boots and saddles" with greater expedition!

Peg-leg took possession of me. "Senor Pintado!" said he, speaking in Spanish, and after having examined my wounds, "the best medicine for you will be your breakfast; and while your _conpaisana_ is preparing it, you can come with me, and have a little water thrown over you. This painting does not improve your looks; besides, if it get into your wounds, they will be all the more difficult to make a cure of. _Nos vamos_!"

The huntress had retired to a tent that stood near that of the chief, and a little to the rear of it. I followed the Mexican, who, in a hobbling gait, proceeded towards the stream. The cold bath, a.s.sisted by some Taos brandy from the gourd _xuage_ of the trapper, soon restored my strength; and the hideous pigment, lathered with the bruised roots of the _palmilla_--the soap-plant of the New Mexicans, soon disappeared from my skin. A few slices of the _oregano_ cactus applied to my wounds, placed them in a condition to heal with a rapidity almost miraculous; for such is the curative power of this singular plant. My Mexican _medico_ was yet more generous, and furnished me with a handsome Navajo blanket, which served as a complete covering for my shoulders.

"_Carrambo_!" exclaimed he, as he tendered the garment, "take it, _Americano_! You maybe able to repay me when you have recovered your possible-sack from the Arapahoes. _Mira_!" he added, pointing towards the tents--"your breakfast is ready: yonder the _senorita_ is calling you. Take heed, _hombre_! or her eyes may cause you a more dangerous wound than any of those you have received from the bullets of the Arapahoes. _Vaya_!"

I resisted an inclination to make inquiries: though the hint of the Taos trapper half furnished me with an excuse. My "countrywoman," he had called her. No doubt he knew more of her history; but I questioned him not. Remembering her promise, I had hopes that I might soon learn it from her own lips.

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

A BEAUTIFUL HOSTESS.

"Aha, stranger!" said she, as I approached the tent, "he has altered your appearance wonderfully. Oh! you are not so frightful now. Come in! Here is _pinole_, and a little broiled goat's flesh. I am sorry I did not bring some of the wild sheep. It is most excellent; but in my haste I did not think of it. Bread I cannot give you: we never have it here."

"I have been accustomed to ruder fare than this," said I, accepting the proffered viands, and without further ceremony, seating myself to discuss them.

There was an interval of silence, during which I continued eating. Once or twice, my hostess went out, returning again to see if anything was wanted. The warlike preparations going on outside appeared greatly to interest her; and I thought she regarded them with impatience, or as if anxious about the event.

Who or what was the object of this solicitude? Wa-ka-ra? In what relations.h.i.+p stood she to the chief? A captive she could scarcely be: else would she not have been permitted to stray so far from the encampment? His wife? The separate tent, as also the style used by the Utah in addressing her, negatived the idea. What then? I longed to hear the history of this wild huntress; but the opportunity had not yet arrived.

"Ah!" said she, returning once more within the tent, "I fear they will be too late. The red post is only just now erected; and the war-dance may last for an hour. It is a useless ceremony--only a superst.i.tion.

The chief himself does not believe in it; but his braves will not go to battle without performing it. Hark! they are commencing the chaunt!"

I caught the low monotone of many voices, gradually rising and swelling into a prolonged chorus. At intervals, one was heard speaking in solo: as if proclaiming some distinguished deed, to incite the warriors to emulation. Then followed a clangour of yells, and loud whoops, breathing menace and revenge.

"It is the war-song that accompanies their dance," added she. "You may rest till it is finished. Then you must be ready: they will ride off as soon as the ceremony is over."

She flung herself on one of the buffalo-robes that covered the floor of the tent; and half seated, half reclining, appeared to reflect. The att.i.tude displayed a feminine form of magnificent outlines; and with a face dazzlingly beautiful, this singular woman presented a picture something more than attractive.

"Wa-ka-ra must love her?" thought I.

As I made this reflection, I again observed the melancholy expression upon her countenance; and once more the resemblance to her of whom I was thinking! My interest in the beautiful huntress was every moment augmenting. I felt an indescribable yearning to hear the story of her misfortunes: for in no other light could I regard the situation in which I had found her.

"You have promised to tell me of yourself?" said I, reminding her of what she had said.

"I shall keep my promise--upon the condition, of which I have forewarned you."

"Name it then--if not impossible, I am ready to accept it."

"It is not impossible--though it may tax your generosity more than you expect. You have said that you intend returning to the States. _Will you take me with, you_?" A start must have betrayed my astonishment at the unexpected request.

"Willingly," I replied; "but now--I fear--it is impossible."

"Your journey is not ended? Is that what you mean?"

"Alas! I know not when or where it may end."

"That is strange! But you intend to go back some time? Till then, let me be your travelling companion?"

The proposal left me for the moment without a word to say. "Oh, do not refuse me!" continued she, in an appealing tone; "I will wait upon you; I will hunt for you--anything, but longer I cannot stay here. With all their kindness--and they have been kind, in their own rude fas.h.i.+on--I cannot remain. I long for the society of civilised beings. O stranger!

I cannot tell you how I long to see!"--She hesitated.

"Whom?"

I asked in expectation of hearing a name. "A sister--a sweet gentle sister, who loved me as her own life--whom I loved more than my life.

Oh! not till we were parted knew I the strength of that love."

"How long since you have seen this sister?"

"Six months ago, I left her--deceived by a villain, I left her. Six years it has seemed! Oh! I cannot endure this savage life. They honour me--they give me all the hospitality in their power--but I am not happy. Stranger, say you will relieve me from this terrible existence?

Say you will take me with you?"

"I freely promise it, if it be your desire. But what of these? Will they--will _he_ consent?"

"Who?"

"Wa-ka-ra."

"Yes--yes! He has said I may go, whenever an opportunity should offer.

Brave chief! he has n.o.bly kept his word to him who is now no more."

"To whom?"

"To him who saved my life--to him who saved me--Ah! see, the chief approaches! the war-song is ended. At another time, I shall tell you all; but not now. We must haste, or the warriors will be gone."