The Trappers of Arkansas: or, The Loyal Heart

The old man eagerly implored mercy. He threw himself on his knees before the chief; but the vindictive Indian spurned him with his foot, and turned away.

"Oh! madam," the old man murmured, in despair, "you are lost!"

"But be sure, Eusebio," the mother replied, choking with tears, "be sure not to bring back my son! Of what consequence is my death! Alas! has not my life already been long enough?"

The old servant cast a glance of admiration at his mistress.

"Ever the same!" he said affectionately.

"Does not the life of a mother belong to her child?" she said, with a cry which seemed to come from her very heart.

The old people sank, overwhelmed with grief, at the foot of a tree, and passed the night in praying to God.

Eagle Head did not appear to have an idea of this despair.

CHAPTER XVIII.

NÔ EUSEBIO

The precautions taken by Eagle Head to conceal his march were good as regarded the whites, whose senses, less kept upon the watch than those of partisans and hunters, and little acquainted with Indian stratagems, are almost incapable of directing their course in these vast solitudes without a compass; but for men like Loyal Heart and Belhumeur they were, in every respect, insufficient.

The two bold partisans did not lose the track for an instant.

Accustomed to the zig-zags and devices of the Indian warriors, they did not allow themselves to be deceived by the sudden turns, the counter marches, the false halts, in a word, by any of the obstacles which the Comanches had planted so freely on their route.

And then, there was one thing of which the Indians had not dreamed, and which revealed as clearly the direction of their march as if they had taken the pains to mark it with stakes.

We have said that the hunters had, close to the ruins of a cabin, found a bloodhound fastened to a tree, and that this bloodhound, when set free, after bestowing a few caresses on Belhumeur, had set off; his nose to the wind, to rejoin his master, who was no other than the old Spaniard – in fact, he did rejoin him.

The traces of the bloodhound, which the Indians never dreamed of effacing, for the very simple reason that they did not observe that he was with them, were to be seen all along, and for hunters so skilful as Loyal Heart and Belhumeur, this was an Ariadne's thread which nothing could break.

The hunters therefore rode tranquilly on with their guns across the saddle and accompanied by their rastreros, in the track of the Comanches, who were far from suspecting that they had such a rearguard.

Every evening Loyal Heart stopped at the precise place where Eagle Head had, on the previous day, established his camp, for such was the diligence of the two men that the Indians only preceded them by a few leagues; the trappers could easily have passed them, if it had been their wish to do so; but, for certain reasons, Loyal Heart confined himself to following them for some time longer.

After having passed the night in a quiet glade, on the banks of a clear rivulet, whose soft murmur had lulled them to sleep, the hunters were preparing to resume their journey, their horses were saddled, they were eating a slice of elk, standing, like people in a hurry to depart, when Loyal Heart, who, during the whole morning had not spoken a word, turned towards his companion, and said:

"Let us sit down a minute, there is no occasion to hurry, since Eagle Head has rejoined his tribe."

"Be it so," replied Belhumeur, laying himself down upon the grass. "We can talk a bit."

"I cannot think how it was I did not imagine these cursed Comanches had a war detachment in the neighbourhood! It is impossible for us two to think of taking a camp in which there are five hundred warriors."

"That's true," said Belhumeur, philosophically; "they are a great many, and yet, you know, my dear friend, that if your heart bids you, we can but try; who knows what may happen?"

"Thanks!" said Loyal Heart, smiling; "but I think it useless."

"As you like."

"Stratagem alone can assist us."

"Let us try stratagem, then; I am at your orders."

"We have some traps near here, I believe?"

"Pardieu!" said the Canadian, "within half a mile, at most, there is a large pond of beavers."

"That's true; for the last few days, Belhumeur, I scarcely know what I am thinking about; this captivity of my mother makes me mad; I must deliver her, cost what it may."

"That is my opinion, Loyal Heart, and I will aid you in it with all my soul."

"Tomorrow morning, at daybreak, you will repair to Black Elk, and beg him, in my name, to collect as many white hunters and trappers as he can."

"Very well."

"In the meantime I will go to the camp of the Comanches, to treat for the ransom of my mother; if they will not restore her to me, we will have recourse to arms, and we will see if a score of the best rifles of the frontiers will not give a good account of five hundred of these plunderers of the prairies."

"And if they should make you prisoner?"

"In that case I will send you my bloodhound, who will come to you in the river grotto; on seeing it come alone, you will know what that means, and will act accordingly."

The Canadian shook his head.

"No," said he, "I shall not do so."

"What! you will not do so?" the hunter exclaimed, in great surprise.

"Certainly no, I will not do so, Loyal Heart. Compared with you, who are so brave and so intelligent, I am but little worth, I know; but if I have only one good quality, nothing can deprive me of it, and that quality is my devotedness to you."

"I know it, my friend; you love me like a brother."

"And you would have me leave you, as they say in my country beyond the great lakes, to go cheerfully into the jaws of the wolf; and yet my comparison is humiliating for the wolf, for the Indians are a thousand times more ferocious! No, I repeat, I will not do that; it would be a wicked action, and if any harm happened to you, I should never forgive myself."

"Explain yourself, Belhumeur," said Loyal Heart, with a little impatience; "upon my honour I cannot possibly understand you."

"Oh! that will be easy enough," the Canadian answered; "if I am not very clever, and am not an able speaker, I have good common sense, and can see my way clearly when those I love are concerned; and I love nobody better than you, now my poor father is dead."

"Speak then, my friend," said Loyal Heart, "and pardon the little ill-humour I could not repress."

Belhumeur reflected for a few seconds, and then continued: —

"You know," he said, "that the greatest enemies we have in the prairies are the Comanches; by an inexplicable fatality, whenever we have had a struggle to maintain, it has been against them, and never have they been able to boast of the smallest advantage over us; hence has arisen between them and us an implacable hatred, a hatred which has latterly been increased by our quarrel with Eagle Head, whose arm you had the good chance, or rather the ill chance, of breaking, when it would have been so easy for you to have broken his head; a joke which I am convinced the chief has taken in very bad part, and will never forgive you. Besides, I must confess that in his place I should entertain exactly the same sentiments; I bear him no malice on that account."

"To the purpose! to the purpose!" Loyal Heart interrupted.

"The purpose! Well, this is it," Belhumeur replied, displaying no surprise at his friend's interruption: "Eagle Head is anxious, by any means, to obtain your scalp, and it is evident that if you commit the imprudence of placing yourself in his hands, he will not let the opportunity slip of finally settling his accounts with you."

"But," Loyal Heart replied, "my mother is in his power."

"Yes," said Belhumeur; "but he does not know who she is. You are aware, my friend, that the Indians only treat captured women ill in exceptional cases; generally they behave to them with the greatest respect."

"That is true," said the hunter.

"Therefore, as no one will go and tell Eagle Head that his prisoner is your mother, unless she does so herself, through the uneasiness she may feel on your account, she is as safe among the redskins as if she were on the great square of Quebec. It is useless, then, to commit an imprudence. Let us get together a score of good fellows; I don't ask for more; and let us watch the Indians. On the first opportunity that offers we will fall upon them vigorously, we will kill as many as we can, and deliver your mother. Now that, I think, is the wisest course we can take; what do you think of it?"

"I think, my friend," Loyal Heart replied, pressing his hand, "that you are the best creature in existence; that your advice is good, and I will follow it."

"Bravo!" Belhumeur exclaimed, joyfully; "that is speaking something like."

"And now – " said Loyal Heart, rising.

"Now?" Belhumeur asked.

"We will get on horseback; we will carefully avoid the Indian camp, using all possible caution not to be tracked; and will then go to the hatto of our brave companion Black Elk, who is a man of good counsel, and who will certainly be useful to us in what we purpose doing."

"Be it so, then," said Belhumeur cheerfully, leaping into his saddle.

The hunters quitted the glade they had slept in, and making a détour to avoid the Indian camp, the smoke of which they perceived within a league of them, they directed their course towards the spot where, in all probability, Black Elk was philosophically employed in laying snares for beavers, the interesting animals that Doña Luz had admired so much.

They had been thus riding on for nearly an hour, chatting and laughing, for the reasonings of Belhumeur had succeeded in convincing Loyal Heart, who, thoroughly knowing the manners of the Indians, was persuaded that his mother was in no danger, when his hounds on a sudden showed signs of excitement, and rushed forward, yelping with symptoms of joy.

"What's the matter with our rastreros?" said Loyal Heart; "one would think they smelt a friend."

"Pardieu! they have scented Black Elk, and we shall probably see them come back together."

"That is not unlikely," the hunter said pensively; and they continued their course.

At the expiration of a few minutes they perceived a horseman riding towards them at full speed, surrounded by the dogs, who ran barking by his side.

"It is not Black Elk," Belhumeur cried.

"No," said Loyal Heart, "it is Nô Eusebio; what can this mean? He is alone; can anything have happened to my mother?"

"Let us mend our pace," said Belhumeur, clapping spurs to his horse, which sprang forward with the greatest velocity.

The hunter followed him, a prey to mortal alarm.

The three horsemen were soon together.

"Woe! woe!" the old man cried, in great agitation, as he approached.

"What is the matter, Nô Eusebio? speak, in the name of Heaven."

"Your mother, Don Rafaël! your mother!"

"Well, speak! – oh, speak!" the young man cried frantically.

"Oh, my God!" said the old man, wringing his hands, "it is too late!"

"Speak, then, in the name of Heaven! – you are killing me."

The old man cast on him a look of utter desolation.

"Don Rafaël," he said, "have courage! – be a man!"

"My God! my God! what fearful news are you going to communicate to me, my friend?"

"Your mother is a prisoner to Eagle Head."

"I know she is."

"If this very day, this morning even, you do not deliver yourself up to the chief of the Comanches – "

"Well, well!"

"She will be burnt alive."

"Ah!" the young man exclaimed, with a cry amounting to a shriek.

His friend supported him, otherwise he would have fallen from his saddle.

"But," Belhumeur asked, "is it today – do you say, old man, that she is to be burnt?"

"Yes."

"Is there still time, then?"

"Alas! it was to be at sunrise; and see," he said, with an agonized gesture, pointing to the heavens.

"Oh!" Loyal Heart cried, with a vehemence impossible to be described, "I will save my mother!"

And, bending over the neck of his horse, he set off with frantic rapidity.

The others followed.

He turned round towards Belhumeur.

"Where are you going?" he asked, in a short, sharp tone.

"To help you save your mother, or to die with you."

"Come on, then!" Loyal Heart replied, plunging his spurs into the bleeding sides of his horse.

There was something fearful and terrible in the desperate course of these three men who, formed in line, with pale brows, compressed lips, and fiery looks, cleared torrents and ravines, surmounted all obstacles, incessantly urging their horses, which seemed to devour space, while panting painfully, bounding madly, and dripping with perspiration and blood.

At intervals Loyal Heart shouted one of those cries peculiar to the Mexican jinetes, and the reanimated horses redoubled their exertions.

"My God! my God! save – save my mother!" the hunter kept repeating in a hollow voice, as he rode furiously onward.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE COUNCIL OF THE GREAT CHIEFS

Notwithstanding the stormy conversation he had had with Eusebio, Eagle Head had continued to treat the prisoners with the greatest kindness, and that extreme delicacy of proceeding which is innate in the red race, and which we should be far from expecting on the part of men whom, without any plausible reason that I am acquainted with, we brand with the name of savages.

There is one fact worthy of being noticed, and upon which we cannot too strongly dwell, and that is the manner in which Indians generally treat their prisoners. Far from inflicting useless tortures upon them, or tormenting them without cause, as has been too often repeated, they take the greatest care of them, and appear, in some sort, to compassionate their misfortune.

In the circumstance of which we speak, the sanguinary determination of Eagle Head with regard to the mother of Loyal Heart was but an exception, the reason for which was naturally found in the hatred the Indian chief had sworn to the hunter.

The separation of the two prisoners was most painful and agonizing; the old servant set off, despair in his soul, in search of the hunter, whilst the poor mother, with a broken heart, followed the Comanche warriors.

On the second day, Eagle Head arrived at the rendez-vous appointed by the great chiefs of the nation; all the tribe was assembled.

Nothing can be more picturesque and singular than the aspect presented by an Indian camp.

When the Indians are on an expedition – whether of war or hunting – on encamping, they confine themselves to erecting, on the spot where they stop, tents of buffalo hides stretched upon poles planted cross-wise. These tents, the bottom parts of which are filled up with mounds of earth, have all a hole at the top, to leave a free issue for the smoke, which, without that precaution, would render them uninhabitable.

The camp presented the most animated picture possible; the squaws passed here and there, loaded with wood and meat, or guided the sledges drawn by dogs, which conveyed their wealth; the warriors, gravely squatted around fires lighted in the open air, on account of the mildness of the temperature, were smoking and chatting together.

And yet it was easy to guess that something extraordinary was about to happen; for notwithstanding the early hour – the sun scarcely appearing above the horizon – the principal chiefs were assembled in the council lodge, where, judging from the grave and reflective expression of their countenances, they were about to discuss some serious question.

This day was the last of those granted by Eagle Head to Eusebio.

The Indian warrior, faithful to his hatred, and in haste to satisfy his vengeance, had convoked the great chiefs in order to obtain their authority for the execution of his abominable project.

We repeat it here, in order that our readers may be perfectly convinced – Indians are not cruel for the pleasure of being so. Necessity is their first law; and never do they order the punishment of a prisoner, particularly a woman, unless the interest of the nation requires it.

As soon as the chiefs were assembled round the fire of council, the pipe bearer entered the circle, holding in his hand the calumet ready lighted; he bowed towards the four cardinal points, murmuring a short prayer, and then presented the calumet to the oldest chief, but retaining the bowl of the pipe in his hand.

When all the chiefs had smoked, one after the other, the pipe bearer emptied the ashes of the pipe into the fire, saying —

"Chiefs of the great Comanche nation, may Natosh (God) give you wisdom, so that whatever be your determination, it may be conformable to justice."

Then, after bowing respectfully, he retired.

A moment of silence followed, in which everyone seemed meditating seriously upon the words that had just been pronounced.

At length the most aged of the chiefs arose.

He was a venerable old man, whose body was furrowed with the scars of innumerable wounds, and who enjoyed among his people a great reputation for wisdom. He was named Eshis (the Sun).

"My son Eagle Head has," he said, "an important communication to make to the council of the chiefs; let him speak, our ears are open. Eagle Head is a warrior as wise as he is valiant; his words will be listened to by us with respect."

"Thanks!" the warrior replied; "my father is wisdom itself. Natosh conceals nothing from him."

The chiefs bowed, and Eagle Head continued.

"The palefaces, our eternal persecutors, pursue and harass us without intermission, forcing us to abandon to them, one by one, our best hunting grounds, and to seek refuge in the depths of the forest like timid deer; many of them even dare to come into the prairies which serve us as places of refuge, to trap beavers and hunt elks and buffaloes which are our property. These faithless men, the outcasts of their people, rob us and assassinate us when they can do it with impunity. Is it just that we should suffer their rapine without complaining? Shall we allow ourselves to be slaughtered like timid ashahas without seeking to avenge ourselves? Does not the law of the prairies say, 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth?' Let my father reply; let my brothers say if that is just?"

"Vengeance is allowable," said the Sun; "it is the undoubted right of the weak and the oppressed; and yet it ought to be proportioned to the injury received."

"Good! My father has spoken like a wise man; what think you of it, my brothers?"

"The Sun cannot lie; all that he says is right," the chiefs replied.

"Has my brother cause to complain of anyone?" the old man asked.

"Yes," Eagle Head replied; "I have been insulted by a white hunter; he has several times attacked my camp; he has killed some of my young men in ambush; I myself have been wounded, as you may see – the scar is not yet closed. This man, in short, is the most cruel enemy the Comanches have, for he pursues them like wild beasts, that he may enjoy their tortures, and hear their cries of agony."

At these words, pronounced with an imposing expression, a shudder of anger ran through the assembly. The astute chief, perceiving that his cause was gained in the minds of his auditors, continued, without showing the internal joy he experienced —

"I might have been able, if it had only concerned myself," he said, "to pardon these injuries, however serious they may be; but we have now to deal with a public enemy, with a man who has sworn the destruction of our nation. Hence, however painful be the necessity which constrains me, I ought not to hesitate to strike him in that which is dearest to him. His mother is in my hands. I have hesitated to sacrifice her; I have not allowed myself to be carried away by my hatred. I have wished to be just; and though it would have been so easy for me to kill this woman, I have preferred waiting till you, revered chiefs of our nation, should yourselves give me the order to do so. I have done still more: so repugnant was it to me to shed blood uselessly, and punish the innocent for the guilty, that I have granted this woman a respite of four days, in order to give her son the power of saving her, by presenting himself to suffer in her place. A paleface made prisoner by me is gone in search of him; but that man is a rabbit's heart – he has only the courage to assassinate unarmed enemies. He is not come! he will not come! This morning, at sunrise, expires the delay granted by me. Where is this man? He has not appeared! What say my brothers? Is my conduct just? Ought I to be blamed? Or shall this woman be tied to the stake, so that the palefaced robbers, terrified by her death, may acknowledge that the Comanches are formidable warriors, who never leave an insult unpunished? Have I spoken well, men of power?"

After having pronounced this long speech, Eagle Head resumed his seat, and crossing his arms on his breast, he awaited, with his head cast down, the decision of the chiefs.

A tolerably long silence followed this speech. At length the Sun arose.

"My brother has spoken well," he said. "His words are those of a man who does not allow himself to be governed by his passions; all he has said is just; the whites, our ferocious enemies, are eager for our destruction; however painful for us may be the punishment of this woman, it is necessary."

"It is necessary!" the chiefs repeated, bowing their heads.

"Go!" the Sun resumed, "make the preparations; give to this execution the appearance of an expiation, and not that of a vengeance; everybody must be convinced that the Comanches do not torture women for pleasure, but that they know how to punish the guilty. I have spoken."

The chiefs arose, and after respectfully bowing to the old man, they retired.

Eagle Head had succeeded; he was about to avenge himself, without assuming the responsibility of an action of which he comprehended all the hideousness, but in which he had had the heart to implicate all the chiefs of his nation under an appearance of justice, for which, inwardly, he cared but very little.

The preparations for the punishment were hurried on as fast as possible.

The women cut thin splinters of ash to be introduced under the nails, others prepared elder pith to make sulphur matches, whilst the youngest went into the forest to seek for armfuls of green wood destined to burn the condemned woman slowly, while stifling her with the smoke it would produce.

In the meantime, the men had completely stripped the bark off a tree which they had chosen to serve as the stake of torture; they had then rubbed it well with elk fat mixed with red ochre; round its base they had placed the wood of the pyre, and this done, the sorcerer had come to conjure the tree by means of mysterious words, in order to render it fit for the purpose to which they destined it.

These preparations terminated, the condemned was brought to the foot of the stake, and seated, without being tied, upon the pile of wood intended to burn her; and the scalp dance commenced.

The unfortunate woman was, in appearance, impassible. She had made the sacrifice of her life; nothing that passed around her could any longer affect her.

Her eyes, burning with fever and swollen with tears, wandered without purpose, over the vast crowd that enveloped her with the roarings of wild beasts. Her mind watched, nevertheless, as keenly and as lucidly as in her happiest days. The poor mother had a fear which wrung her heart and made her endure a torture, compared with which those which the Indians were preparing to inflict upon her were as nothing; she trembled lest her son, warned of the horrid fate that awaited her, should hasten to save her, and give himself up to his ferocious enemies.

With her ear attentive to the least noise, she seemed to hear every instant the precipitate steps of her son flying to her assistance. Her heart bounded with fear. She prayed God from the very depths of her soul to permit her to die instead of her beloved child.

The scalp dance whirled ferociously around her.

A crowd of warriors, tall, handsome, magnificently dressed, but with their faces blackened, danced, two by two, round the stake, led by seven musicians armed with drums and chicikoués, who were striped with black and red, and wore upon their heads feathers of the screech owl, falling down behind.