The Trappers of Arkansas: or, The Loyal Heart

"In what fashion did you introduce yourself into the fort, you old screech owl?"

"Why, by the gate, seemingly," the other replied, unmoved.

"You must be a sorcerer, then!"

"Perhaps I am."

"A truce with your jokes, mixed-blood, you have sold us to your brothers the redskins."

A sinister smile passed over the countenance of the half-breed; the captain perceived it.

"But your treachery shall not profit you, you miserable scoundrel!" he said, in a voice of thunder; "you shall be the first victim of it."

The hunter disengaged himself by a quick, unexpected movement; then, with a spring backwards, and clapping his gun to his shoulder, he said —

"We shall see," with a sneer.

These two men, placed face to face upon that narrow platform, lighted by the sinister reflection of the fire, the intensity of which increased every minute, would have had a terrific expression for the spectator who was able to contemplate them coolly.

Each of them personified in himself those two races confronted in the United States, whose struggle will only finish by the complete extinction of the one to the profit of the other.

At their feet the combat was taking the gigantic proportions of an epic.

The Indians rushed with rage, and uttering loud cries, against the intrenchments, where the Americans received them with musket shots or at the point of the bayonet.

But the fire continued to increase, the soldiers fell one after another; all promised soon to be over.

To the menace of White Eyes, the captain had replied by a smile of contempt.

Quick as lightning he discharged his pistol at the hunter; the latter let his gun drop, his right arm was broken.

The captain sprang upon him with a shout of joy.

The half breed was knocked down by this unexpected shock.

Then his enemy, placing his knee upon his breast, and looking at him for an instant, said, with a bitter laugh, —

"Well! was I mistaken?"

"No," the half-breed replied in a firm tone; "I am a fool – my life belongs to you – kill me!"

"Be satisfied I shall reserve you for an Indian death."

"You must be quick, then, if you wish to avenge yourself," the half-breed said, ironically, "for it will soon be too late."

"I have time enough. Why did you betray us, you miserable wretch?"

"Of what consequence is that to you?"

"I wish to know."

"Well then, be satisfied," the hunter said, after an instant of silence; "the white men, your brothers, were the murderers of all my family, and I wished to avenge them."

"But we had done nothing to you, had we?"

"Are you not white men? Kill me and put an end to all this. I can die joyfully, for numbers of victims will follow me to the tomb."

"Well, since it is so," said the captain, with a sinister smile, "I will send you to join your brothers; you see I am a loyal adversary."

Then pressing his knees strongly on the chest of the hunter, to prevent his escape from the punishment he reserved for him, he cried —

"In the Indian fashion!"

And taking his knife, he seized with his left hand the half-breed's thick and tangled head of hair, and with the greatest dexterity scalped him.

The hunter could not restrain a cry of frightful agony at this unexpected mutilation. The blood flowed in torrents from his bare skull, and inundated his face.

"Kill me! kill me!" he said, "this pain is horrible!"

"Do you find it so?" said the captain.

"Oh! kill me! kill me!"

"What!" said the captain, shrugging his shoulders, "do you take me for a butcher? No, I will restore you to your worthy friends."

He then took the hunter by the legs, and dragging him to the edge of the platform, pushed him with his foot.

The miserable creature instinctively endeavoured to hold himself up by seizing, with his left hand, the extremity of a post which projected outward.

For an instant he remained suspended in space.

He was hideous to behold; his denuded skull, his face, over which streams of black blood continued flowing, contracted by pain and terror; his whole body agitated by convulsive movements, inspired horror and disgust.

"Pity! pity!" he murmured.

The captain surveyed him with a bitter smile on his lips, and with his arms crossed upon his chest.

But the exhausted nerves of the hunter could sustain him no longer; his clenched fingers relaxed their hold of the post he had seized with the energy of despair.

"Hangman! be for ever accursed!" he cried, with an accent of frantic rage.

And he fell.

"A good journey to you!" said the captain, sneeringly.

An immense clamour arose from the gates of the fort.

The captain rushed to the assistance of his people.

The Comanches had gained possession of the barricades.

They rushed in a crowd into the interior of the fort, massacring and scalping the enemies whom they encountered in their passage.

Four American soldiers only were left standing; the others were dead.

The captain entrenched himself in the middle of the staircase which led to the platform.

"My friends," he said to his comrades, "die without regret, for I have killed the man who betrayed us."

The soldiers replied by a shout of joy to this novel consolation, and prepared to sell their lives dearly. But at this moment an incomprehensible thing took place.

The cries of the Indians ceased, as if by enchantment.

The attack was suspended.

"What are they about now?" the captain muttered; "What new devil's trick have these demons invented?"

Once master of all the approaches to the fort, Eagle Head ordered the fight to cease.

The colonists who were made prisoners in the village were brought, one after another, into his presence: there were twelve of them, and four were women.

When these twelve unfortunates stood trembling before him, Eagle Head commanded the women to be set apart.

Ordering the men to pass one by one before him, he looked at them attentively, and then made a sign to the warriors standing by his side.

The latter instantly seized the Americans, chopped off their hands at the wrists with their knives, and, after having scalped them, pushed them into the fort.

Seven colonists underwent this atrocious torture, and there remained but one.

He was an old man of lofty stature, thin, but still active; his hair, white as snow, fell on his shoulders; his black eyes flashed, but his features remained unmoved; he waited, apparently impassible, till Eagle Head should decide his fate, and send him to join the unfortunates who had preceded him.

But the chief continued to survey him attentively.

At length the features of the savage expanded, a smile played upon his lips, and he held out his hand to the old man, —

"Usted no conocer amigo?" (No you know friend?) he said to him in bad Spanish, the guttural accent of his race.

At these words the old man started, and looked earnestly at the Indian in his turn.

"Oh!" said he, with astonishment, "El Gallo!" (the Cock.)

"Wah!" replied the chief, with satisfaction, "I am a friend of the grey head; redskins have not two hearts: my father saved my life, – my father shall come to my hut."

"Thanks, chief! I accept your offer," said the old man, warmly pressing the hand the Indian held out to him.

And he hastily placed himself by a woman of middle age, with a noble countenance, whose features, though faded by grief, still preserved traces of great beauty.

"God be praised!" she said, with great emotion, when the old man rejoined her.

"God never abandons those who place their trust in Him," he replied.

During this time the redskins were preparing the last scenes of the terrible drama which we have made the reader witness.

When all the colonists were shut up in the fort, the fire was revived with all the materials the Indians could find; a barrier of flames for ever separated the unfortunate Americans from the world.

The fort soon became one immense funeral pyre, from which escaped cries of pain, mingled at intervals with the report of firearms.

The Comanches, motionless, watched at a distance the progress of the fire, and laughed like demons at the spectacle of their vengeance.

The flames, which had seized upon the whole building, mounted with fearful rapidity, throwing their light over the desert, like a dismal beacon.

On the top of the fort some individuals were seen rushing about in despair, while others, on their knees seemed to be imploring divine mercy.

Suddenly a horrible crackling was heard, a cry of extreme agony rose towards heaven, and the fort crumbled down into the burning pile which consumed it, throwing up millions of sparks.

All was over.

The Americans had perished!

The Comanches planted an enormous mast on the spot where the square had been. This mast, to which were nailed the hands of the colonists, was surmounted by a hatchet, the iron of which was stained with blood.

Then, after setting fire to the few cabins that were left standing, Eagle Head gave orders for departure.

The four women and the old man, the sole survivors of the population of this unfortunate settlement, followed the Comanches.

And a melancholy silence hovered over these smoking ruins, which had just been the theatre of so many sorrowful scenes.

CHAPTER IX.

THE PHANTOM

It was about eight o'clock in the morning, a cheering autumn sun lit up the prairie splendidly.

Birds flew hither and thither, uttering strange cries, whilst others, concealed under the thickest of the foliage, poured forth melodious concerts. Now and then a deer raised its timid head above the tall grass, and then disappeared with a bound.

Two horsemen, clothed in the costume of wood rangers, mounted upon magnificent half wild horses, were following, at a brisk trot, the left bank of the great Canadian river, whilst several bloodhounds, with glossy black skins, and eyes and chests stained with red, ran and gambolled around them.

These horsemen were Loyal Heart and his friend Belhumeur.

Contrary to his usual deportment, Loyal Heart seemed affected by the most lively joy, his countenance beamed with cheerfulness, and he looked around him with complacency. Sometimes he would stop, and looked out ahead, appearing anxiously to seek in the horizon some object he could not yet discern. Then, with an expression of vexation, he resumed his journey, to repeat a hundred paces further on the same manoeuvre.

"Ah, parbleu!" said Belhumeur, laughing, "we shall get there in good time. Be quiet, do!"

"Eh, caramba! I know that well enough; but I long to be there! For me, the only hours of happiness that God grants me, are passed with her whom we are going to see – my mother, my beloved mother! who gave up everything for me, abandoned all without regret, without hesitation. Oh, what happiness it is to have a mother! to possess one heart which understands yours, which makes a complete abnegation of self to absorb itself in you; which lives in your existence, rejoices in your joys, sorrows in your sorrows; which divides your life into two parts, reserving to itself the heaviest and leaving you the lightest and the most easy! Oh, Belhumeur, to comprehend what that divine being is, composed of devotedness and love, and called a mother, it is necessary to have been, as I was, deprived of her for long years, and then suddenly to have found her again, more loving, more adorable than ever! How slowly we get on! Every moment of delay is a kiss of my mother's which time steals from me! Shall we never get there?"

"Well! here we are at the ford."

"I don't know why, but a secret fear has suddenly fallen upon my spirits, an undefinable presentiment makes me tremble in spite of myself."

"Oh, nonsense! Send such black thoughts to the winds; in a few minutes, we shall be with your mother!"

"That is true! And yet I don't know whether I am mistaken, but it seems to me as if the country does not wear its usual aspect; this silence which reigns around us, and this solitude which environs us, do not appear to be natural. We are close to the village, we ought already to hear the barking of the dogs, the crowing of the cocks, and the thousand noises that proclaim inhabited places."

"Well," said Belhumeur, with vague uneasiness, "I must confess that everything seems strangely silent around us."

The travellers came to a spot where the river makes a sharp curve; being deeply embanked, and skirted by immense blocks of rock and thick copsewood, it did not allow any extensive view.

The village towards which the travellers were directing their course, was scarcely a gunshot from the ford where they were preparing to cross the river, but it was completely invisible, owing to the peculiar nature of the country.

At the moment the horses placed their feet in the water, they made a sudden movement backwards, and the bloodhounds uttered one of those plaintive howlings peculiar to their race, which freeze the bravest man with terror.

"What does this mean?" Loyal Heart exclaimed, turning pale as death, and casting round a terrified glance.

"Look here!" replied Belhumeur, pointing with his finger to several dead bodies which the river was carrying away, and which glided along near the surface.

"Oh!" cried Loyal Heart, "something terrible has taken place here. My mother! my mother!"

"Do not alarm yourself so," said Belhumeur; "no doubt she is in safety."

Without listening to the consolations his friend poured out, though he did not believe in them himself Loyal Heart drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, and sprang into the water.

They soon gained the opposite bank, and there all was explained.

They had before them the most awful scene that can possibly be imagined.

The village and the fort were a heap of ruins.

A black, thick, sickening smoke ascended in long wreaths towards the heavens.

In the centre of what had been the village, arose a mast against which were nailed human fragments, for which urubus were contending with loud cries.

Here and there lay bodies half devoured by wild beasts.

No living being appeared.

Nothing remained intact – everything was either broken, displaced, or overthrown. It was evident, at the first glance, that the Indians had passed there, with their sanguinary rage and their inveterate hatred of the whites. Their steps were deeply imprinted in letters of fire and blood.

"Oh!" the hunter cried shuddering, "my presentiments were a warning from Heaven; – my mother! my mother!"

Loyal Heart fell upon the ground in utter despair; he concealed his face in his hands and wept.

The grief of this high-spirited man, endowed with a courage proof against all trials, and whom no danger could surprise, was like that of the lion, it had something terrific in it.

His sobs were like roarings, they rent his breast.

Belhumeur respected the grief of his friend – indeed what consolation could he offer him? It was better to allow his tears to flow, and give the first paroxysm of despair time to calm itself; certain that his unyielding nature could not long be cast down, and that a reaction would soon come, which would permit him to act.

Still, with that instinct innate to hunters, he began to look about on all sides, in the hope of finding some indication which might afterwards serve to direct their researches.

After wandering for a long time about the ruins, he was suddenly attracted towards a large bush at a little distance from him by barkings which he thought he recognised.

He advanced towards it precipitately; a bloodhound like their own jumped up joyfully upon him, and covered him with wild caresses.

"Oh, oh!" said the hunter, "what does this mean? Who has tied poor Trim up in this fashion?"

He cut the rope which fastened the animal, and, in doing so, perceived that a piece of carefully folded paper was tied to its neck.

He seized it, and running to Loyal Heart, exclaimed:

"Brother! brother! Hope! Hope!"

The hunter knew his brother was not a man to waste vulgar consolations upon him; he raised his tear-bathed face towards him.

As soon as it was free, the dog fled away with incredible velocity, baying with the dull, short yelps of a bloodhound following the scent.

Belhumeur, who had foreseen this flight, had hastened to tie his cravat round the animal's neck.

"No one knows what it may lead to," murmured the hunter, on seeing the dog disappear.

And after this philosophical reflection he went to join his friend.

"What is the matter?" Loyal Heart asked.

"Read!" Belhumeur quietly replied.

The hunter seized the paper, which he read eagerly. It contained only these few words: —

"We are prisoners of the redskins. Courage! Nothing of any significance has happened to your mother."

"God be praised!" said Loyal Heart with great emotion, kissing the paper, which he concealed in his breast. "My mother still lives! Oh, I shall find her again!"

"Pardieu! that you will," said Belhumeur in a tone of conviction.

A complete change, as if by enchantment, had taken place in the mind of the hunter; he drew himself up to his full height, his brow became expanded and clear.

"Let us commence our researches," he said; "perhaps one of the unfortunate inhabitants has escaped death, and we may learn from him what has taken place."

"That's well," said Belhumeur joyfully; "that's the way. Let us search."

The dogs were scratching with fury among the ruins of the fort.

"Let us commence there," said Loyal Heart.

Both set to work to clear away the rubbish. They worked with an ardour incomprehensible to themselves. At the end of twenty minutes they discovered a sort of trapdoor, and heard weak and inarticulate cries arise from beneath it.

"They are here," said Belhumeur.

"God grant we may be in time to save them."

It was not till after a length of time, and with infinite trouble, that they succeeded in raising the trap, and then a horrid spectacle presented itself.

In a cellar exhaling a fetid odour, a score of individuals were literally piled up one upon another.

The hunters could not repress a movement of terror, and drew back in spite of themselves; but they immediately – returned to the edge of the cellar, to endeavour, if there were yet time, to save some of those unhappy victims.

Of all these men, one alone showed signs of life; all the rest were dead.

They dragged him out, laid him gently on a heap of dry leaves, and gave him every assistance in their power.

The dogs licked the hands and face of the wounded man.

At the end of a few minutes the man made a slight movement, opened his eyes several times, and then breathed a profound sigh.

Belhumeur introduced between his clenched teeth the mouth of a leathern bottle filled with rum, and obliged him to swallow a few drops of the liquor.

"He is very bad," said the hunter.

"He is past recovery," Loyal Heart replied, shaking his head.

Nevertheless the wounded man revived a little.

"My God," said he, in a weak and broken voice, "I am dying! I feel I am dying!"

"Hope!" said Belhumeur, kindly.

A fugitive tinge passed across the pale cheeks of the wounded man, and a sad smile curled the corners of his lips.

"Why should I live?" he murmured. "The Indians have massacred all my companions, after having horribly mutilated them. Life would be too heavy a burden for me."

"If, before you die, you wish anything to be done that is in our power to do, speak, and by the word of hunters, we will do it."

The eyes of the dying man flashed faintly.

"Your gourd," he said to Belhumeur.

The latter gave it to him, and he drank greedily. His brow was covered with a moist perspiration, and a feverish redness inflamed his countenance, which assumed a frightful expression.

"Listen," said he, in a hoarse and broken voice. "I was commander here; the Indians, aided by a wretched half-breed, who sold us to them, surprised the village."

"The name of that man?" the hunter said, eagerly.

"He is dead – I killed him!" the captain replied, with an inexpressible accent of hatred and joy. "The Indians endeavoured to gain possession of the fort; the contest was terrible. We were twelve men against four hundred savages; what could we do? Fight to the death – that was what we resolved on doing. The Indians, finding the impossibility of taking us alive, cast the colonists of the village in among us, after cutting off their hands and scalping them, and then set fire to the fort."

The wounded man, whose voice grew weaker and weaker, and whose words were becoming unintelligible, swallowed a few more drops of the liquor, and then continued his recital, which was eagerly listened to by the hunters.

"A cave, which served as a cellar, extended under the ditches of the fort. When I knew that all means of safety had escaped, and that flight was impossible, I led my unfortunate companions into this cave, hoping that God would permit us to be thus saved. A few minutes after, the fort fell down over us! No one can imagine the tortures we have suffered in this infected hole, without air or light. The cries of the wounded – and we were all so, more or less – screaming for water, and the rattle of the dying, formed a terrible concert that no pen can describe. Our sufferings, already intolerable, were further increased by the want of air; a sort of furious madness took possession of us; we fought one against another; and, in there under a mass of burnt ruins, commenced a hideous combat, which could only terminate by the death of all engaged in it. How long did it last? I cannot tell. I was already sensible that the death which had carried off all my companions was about to take possession of me, when you came to retard it for a few minutes. God be praised! I shall not die without vengeance."

After these words, pronounced in a scarcely articulate voice, there was a funereal silence among these three men – a silence interrupted only by the dull rattle in the throat of the dying man, whose agony had begun.

All at once the captain made a strong effort; he raised himself up, and fixing his bloodshot eyes upon the hunters, said, —

"The savages who attacked me belong to the nation of the Comanches; their chief is named Eagle Head; swear to avenge me like loyal hunters."

"We swear to do so," the two men cried, in a firm tone.

"Thanks," the captain murmured, and falling back he remained motionless.

He was dead.

His distorted features and his open eyes still preserved the expression of hatred and despair which had animated him to the last.

The hunters surveyed him for an instant, and then, shaking off this painful impression, they set about the duty of paying the last honours to the remains of the unfortunate victims of Indian rage.

By the last rays of the setting sun, they completed the melancholy task which they had imposed upon themselves.

After a short rest, Loyal Heart arose, and saddling his horse, said, —

"Now, brother, let us place ourselves on the trail of Eagle Head."

"Come on," the hunter replied.

The two men cast around them a long and sad farewell glance, and whistling their dogs, they boldly entered the forest, in the depths of which the Comanches had disappeared.

At this moment the moon arose amidst an ocean of vapour, and profusely scattered her melancholy beams upon the ruins of the American village, in which solitude and death were doomed to reign for ever.

CHAPTER X.

THE ENTRENCHED CAMP

We will leave the hunters following the track of the redskins, and return to the general.

A few minutes after the two men had quitted the camp of the Mexicans, the general left his tent, and whilst casting an investigating look around him, and inhaling the fresh air of the morning, he began to walk about in a preoccupied manner.

The events of the night had produced a lively impression upon the old soldier.

For the first time, perhaps, since he had undertaken this expedition, he began to see it in its true light. He asked himself if he had really the right to associate with him in this life of continual perils and ambushes, a girl of the age of his niece, whose existence up to that time had been an uninterrupted series of mild and peaceful emotions; and who probably would not be able to accustom herself to the incessant dangers and agitations of a life in the prairies, which, in a short time, would break down the energies of the strongest minds.