The Scalp Hunters Part 31

Our attention was now turned to our own situation. Dangers and difficulties suddenly presented themselves to our minds.

"What if they should stay here to hunt?"

The thought seemed to occur to all of us at the same instant, and we faced each other with looks of apprehension and dismay.

"It is not improbable," said Seguin, in a low and emphatic voice. "It is plain they have no supply of meat, and how are they to pa.s.s to the south without it? They must hunt here or elsewhere. Why not here?"

"If so, we're in a nice trap!" interrupted a hunter, pointing first to the embouchure of the defile and then to the mountain. "How are we to get out? I'd like to know that."

Our eyes followed the direction indicated by the speaker. In front of the ravine in which we were, extended the line of the Indian camp, not a hundred yards distant from the rocks that lay around its entrance.

There was an Indian sentinel still nearer; but it would be impossible to pa.s.s out, even were he asleep, without encountering the dogs that prowled in numbers around the camp.

Behind us, the mountain rose vertically like a wall. It was plainly impa.s.sable. We were fairly "in the trap."

"Carrai!" exclaimed one of the men, "we will die of hunger and thirst if they stay to hunt!"

"We may die sooner," rejoined another, "if they take a notion in their heads to wander up the gully."

This was not improbable, though it was but little likely. The ravine was a sort of _cul de sac_, that entered the mountain in a slanting direction, and ended at the bottom of the cliff. There was no object to attract our enemies into it, unless indeed they might come up in search of pinon nuts. Some of their dogs, too, might wander up, hunting for food, or attracted by the scent of our horses. These were probabilities, and we trembled as each of them was suggested.

"If they do not find us," said Seguin, encouragingly, "we may live for a day or two on the pinons. When these fail us, one of our horses must be killed. How much water have we?"

"Thank our luck, captain, the gourds are nearly full."

"But our poor animals must suffer."

"There is no danger of thirst," said El Sol, looking downward, "while these last;" and he struck with his foot a large round ma.s.s that grew among the rocks. It was the spheroidal cactus. "See!" continued he, "there are hundreds of them!"

All present knew the meaning of this, and regarded the cacti with a murmur of satisfaction.

"Comrades!" said Seguin, "it is of no use to weary ourselves. Let those sleep who can. One can keep watch yonder while another stays up here.

Go, Sanchez!" and the chief pointed down the ravine to a spot that commanded a view of its mouth.

The sentinel walked off, and took his stand in silence. The rest of us descended, and after looking to the m.u.f.fling of our horses, returned to the station of the vidette upon the hill. Here we rolled ourselves in our blankets, and, lying down among the rocks, slept out the night.

We were awake before dawn, and peering through the leaves with feelings of keen solicitude.

There is no movement in the Indian camp. It is a bad indication. Had they intended to travel on, they would have been stirring before this.

They are always on the route before daybreak. These signs strengthen our feelings of apprehension.

The grey light begins to spread over the prairie. There is a white band along the eastern sky. There are noises in the camp. There are voices.

Dark forms move about among the upright spears. Tall savages stride over the plain. Their robes of skins are wrapped around their shoulders to protect them from the raw air of the morning.

They carry f.a.ggots. They are rekindling the fires!

Our men talk in whispers, as we lie straining our eyes to catch every movement.

"It's plain they intend to make a stay of it."

"Ay! we're in for it, that's sartin! Wagh! I wonder how long thar a-goin' to squat hyar, any how."

"Three days at the least: may be four or five."

"Great gollies! we'll be froze in half the time."

"What would they be doin' here so long? I warrant ye they'll clar out as soon as they can."

"So they will; but how can they in less time?"

"They can get all the meat they want in a day. See! yonder's buffalo a plenty; look! away yonder!" and the speaker points to several black objects outlined against the brightening sky. It is a herd of buffaloes.

"That's true enough. In half a day I warrant they kin get all the meat they want: but how are they a-goin' to jirk it in less than three?

That's what I want to know."

"Es verdad!" says one of the Mexicans, a cibolero; "tres dias, al menos!" (It is true--three days, at the least!)

"Ay, hombre! an' with a smart chance o' suns.h.i.+ne at that, I guess."

This conversation is carried on by two or three of the men in a low tone, but loud enough for the rest of us to overhear it.

It reveals a new phase of our dilemma on which we have not before reflected. Should the Indians stay to "jerk" their meat, we will be in extreme danger from thirst, as well as of being discovered in our cache.

We know that the process of jerking buffalo beef takes three days, and that with a hot sun, as the hunter has intimated. This, with the first day required for hunting, will keep us four days in the ravine!

The prospect is appalling. We feel that death or the extreme torture of thirst is before us. We have no fear of hunger. Our horses are in the grove, and our knives in our belts. We can, live for weeks upon them; but will the cacti a.s.suage the thirst of men and horses for a period of three or four days? This is a question no one can answer. It has often relieved the hunter for a short period, enabling him to crawl on to the water; but for days!

The trial will soon commence. The day has fairly broken. The Indians spring to their feet. About one-half of them draw the pickets of their horses, and lead them to the water. They adjust their bridles, pluck up their spears, s.n.a.t.c.h their bows, shoulder their quivers, and leap on horseback.

After a short consultation they gallop off to the eastward. In half an hour's time, we can see them running the buffalo far out upon the prairie: piercing them with their arrows, and impaling them on their long lances.

Those who have remained behind lead their horses down to the spring-branch, and back again to the gra.s.s. Now they chop down young trees, and carry f.a.ggots to the fires. See! they are driving long stakes into the ground, and stretching ropes from one to the other. For what purpose? We know too well.

"Ha! look yonder!" mutters one of the hunters, as this is first noticed; "yonder goes the jerking-line! Now we're caged in airnest, I reckin."

"Por todos santos, es verdad!"

"Carambo! carrajo! chingaro!" growls the cibolero, who well knows the meaning of those stakes and lines.

We watch with a fearful interest the movements of the savages.

We have now no longer any doubt of their intention to remain for several days.

The stakes are soon erected, running for a hundred yards or more along the front of the encampment. The savages await the return of their hunters. Some mount and scour off toward the scene of the buffalo battue, still going on, far out upon the plain.

We peer through the leaves with great caution, for the day is bright, and the eyes of our enemies are quick, and scan every object. We speak only in whispers, though our voices could not be heard if we conversed a little louder, but fear makes us fancy that they might. We are all concealed except our eyes. These glance through small loopholes in the foliage.