The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

At earliest dawn, and long before the sun had gilded the snowy summits of the Spanish peaks, we were all afoot. A breakfast – similar in materials to our supper of the preceding night was hastily prepared, and still more hastily eaten. After that we proceeded to equip ourselves for the masquerade. Peg-leg acted as principal costumier; and well understood he the rôle he was called upon to perform. Perfectly acquainted with the Utah costume – both that used for war and the chase – there was no fear about the correctness of his heraldry being called in question. He knew every quartering: of the Utah escutcheon, with a minuteness of detail that would have done credit to a King-at-arms.

For himself he needed no disguise. As a trapper of Taos, he might also be an associate of Utah hunters; and personally unknown to the Mormons, they would have no other thoughts about him – further than that their friend Wa-ka-ra had sent him to guide them across the deserts of the Colorado. At the Mormon camp, therefore, he could present himself in his Mexican costume, without the Saints having the slightest suspicion as to his true character. This left him free to lend his services to the rest of us, and assist in our heraldic emblazonment. His first essay was upon myself. My features being sufficiently pronounced, rendered it all the more easy to make an Indian of me; and a uniform coat of vermilion over my neck, face, and hands, transformed me into a somewhat formidable-looking warrior. A buckskin hunting tunic, leggings and mocassins concealed the remainder of my skin; while some locks of long hair extracted from the mane and tail of my Arab, and craftily united to my own dark tresses, with the plumed bonnet and drooping crest overall, completed a costume that would have done me credit at a Parisian bal masqué.

With equal facility was accomplished the metamorphosis of the young backwoodsman, but not so easily that of Sure-shot. The nez retroussé, thin yellow hair, and green-grey eyes appeared to be insurmountable obstacles to the Indianising of the ex-rifleman. Peg-leg, however, proved an artist of skill. The chevelure of Sure-shot, well saturated with charcoal paste, assumed a different hue. A black circle around each eye neutralised the tint of both iris and pupil. To his face was given a ground-coat of red ochre; while some half-dozen dark stripes, painted longitudinally over it, and running parallel to the nose, extinguished the snub – transforming the Yankee into as good an Indian as any upon the ground!

Marian was her own “dresser;” and while we were engaged outside, was making her toilet within the tent. Her costume would require but little alteration: it was Indian already. Her face alone needed masking – and how was that to be done? To speak the truth, I was apprehensive upon the score of her disguise. I could not help reflecting on the fearful fate that awaited her, should the counterfeit be detected, and the girl identified. All along, I had felt uneasy upon this point; and had been endeavouring to devise some scheme by which to avoid the imprudence of her presenting herself in the Mormon camp. But the thought of Lilian – the perilous situation in which she was placed – perhaps more than all, the selfishness of my own love, had hindered me from thinking of any definite alternative.

When I saw the huntress-maiden issue forth from her tent – her face empurpled with the juice of the allegria berries – her cheeks exhibiting, each a circle of red spots, with a line of similar markings extended across her forehead – I no longer felt apprehension for the result. Though the hideous tattooing could not hide the charms of her speaking countenance, it had so changed its expression, that even Wingrove himself would not have recognised her! More like was it to baffle the scrutiny of father and false husband.

In due time we were all dressed for the drama; and, after making a cache of our cast-off garments, we struck tents, and moved forward to the performance. The faithful Wolf accompanied us. It was against my wish, and contrary to the counsel of our guide; but Marian would not part with a companion that more than once had protected her from cruel enemies. The dog had been disguised, as the rest of us. Shorn of his shaggy coat, with his tail trimmed smooth as that of a greyhound – his skin, moreover, stained Indian fashion – there seemed but slight danger that the animal could be recognised.

Chapter Ninety Six

The Mormon Train

A few hours’ ride brought us to the western end of the pass; when, rounding a spur of the mountain, a wide plain was suddenly displayed to our view.

“Mira!” exclaimed the Mexican, “el campamento de los Judios!” (Behold! the encampment of the Jews!)

The guide halted as he spoke. The rest of us followed his example – as we did so, gazing in the direction to which he had pointed.

The plain that stretched before us was the grand vallé of San Luis; but presenting none of those characteristics which we usually associate with the word “valley.” On the contrary, its surface was perfectly level – having all the aspect of a sleeping sea; and with the white filmy haze suspended over it, it might easily have been mistaken for an expanse of ocean. At first sight, it appeared to be bounded only by the horizon; but a keen eye could perceive its western rim – in the dim outlines of the Sierra San Juan, backed by the brighter summits of the “Silver” Mountains (Sierra de la plata). More conspicuous, on the north, were the wooded slopes of the Sierras Mojada and Sawatch; while, right and left, towered the snow-covered peaks of Pike and the Watoyah – like giant sentinels guarding the approach to this fair mountain-girt valley. These details were taken in at a single coup d’oeil; and in the same glance the eye was attracted by the sheen of real water, that, like a glittering cord, was seen sinuously extended through the centre of the plain. Under the dancing sunbeams, it appeared in motion; and, curving repeatedly over the bosom of the level land, it resembled some grand serpent of sparkling coruscation that had just issued from the mysterious mountains of the “Silver Sierra,” and was slowly and gently gliding on towards the distant sea. From the elevation on which we stood, we could trace its tortuous windings, towards the distant Sierra of San Juan; and in the concavity of one of these – almost upon the verge of our vision – we beheld “el campamento de los Judios.”

Unprepared for it, we should never have thought of taking what we saw for an encampment of Mormons, or men of any kind. Under the white filmy veil that floated over the plain, some half-dozen little, spots of a more intensified white were barely visible. These the Mexican pronounced to be “los carros” (the waggons). I had recovered my pocket-glass, and this was now called into requisition. A glance through it enabled me to confirm the trapper’s statement. The white spots were waggon-covers: they could be none other than those of the Mormon train. I could make out only some half-dozen of them; but there were others behind. The vehicles were clumped, or, more likely, corralled upon the plain. This, indeed, was evident from their arrangement. Those seen were set in a regular row, with their sides towards us – forming, no doubt, one quarter of the “corral.”

I looked for living forms. These were also visible under the glass – men and animals. Of the latter, a large drove of different kinds and colours could be seen, mottling the plain to some distance from the waggons. The men were moving about the vehicles. Women I could also distinguish by their dresses; but the distance was too great for me to note the occupations of either sex – even by the aid of the magnifying lens. Lilliputians they looked – both men and women – while the horses and cattle might have been mistaken for a pack of curs. It mattered not to us to know their occupation; nor even what they might be doing when we should arrive upon the ground. We had no intention of stealing upon them. Confident in our complete déguisement, we intended to ride boldly forward – if need be, into the very middle of their camp. It was now the hour of noon; and we halted to bivouac. Although the distance that separated us from the Mormon camp was still considerable, we were in no hurry, about advancing. We had formed the resolution not to join company with the Saints, until near sunset. We knew that there would be curious eyes upon us; and in the hour of twilight we should be less exposed to their scrutiny. True, we might have joined them in the night, and passed off our counterfeit semblance with still greater security. But the morning would bring fresh light, with curiosity unsatisfied, and that would be more disadvantageous. Half an hour of observation, and the novelty of our arrival would wear off. For this the half hour of twilight would be the best time. No doubt, they had met many parties of friendly Indians while crossing the great plains. There had been some among their travelling companions. They would scarce consider us a curiosity. We had a reason for reaching their encampment a little before nightfall: we wanted a few minutes of light to take the bearings of the corral, and get acquainted with the topography of the surrounding plain. Who could tell what chances might turn up in our favour? An opportunity might occur that very night – as likely as afterwards, and perhaps under more favourable circumstances? We had no desire to enter upon our engagement as guide and hunters. We should be too willing to abandon the rôle, even before beginning it.

The last rays of the setting sun were sparkling on the selenite of the Silver Mountains, as we approached the encampment of the Saints. We had got near enough to make out the dimensions of the caravan. We saw that there were about a score of the large tilted waggons (Troy and Conestoga), with several smaller vehicles (Dearborns and Jerseys). The latter, with springs, were no doubt the more luxurious travelling carriages of such Saints as may have been in easier circumstances at home; while the ox-drawn “Conestogas” belonged to the common crowd. With the larger waggons, a “corral” had been formed – as is the usual custom of the prairie caravan.

In the following fashion is the enclosure constructed: – The two front waggons are drawn side by side, and halted close together. The two that follow next on the trail, are driven up outside of these – until their front wheels respectively touch the hind ones of the pair that precede them – when they also stop. The pair following in their turn double their poles upon these; and so on, till half the train is expended. The enclosure is not yet complete. It forms only a half-circle, or rather a semi-ellipse; and the corresponding half is obtained, by a slight change in the mode of bringing up the remaining vehicles. These are driven forward to the ground, so that the rear of each is turned inward– the reverse of what was observed in bringing the others into place – and the double-curve which before was constantly diverging, now becomes convergent. When all the waggons have got into their places, the ellipse will be completed; but it is customary to leave an open space at the end – a sort of avenue by which the enclosure may be entered. When horses and cattle require to be corralled, this entrance can be closed, by simply stretching a rope across it. If danger be apprehended, the travellers can keep within this enclosure – the bodies of the waggons forming an excellent rampart of defence. The tilts serve as tents; and under their capacious covering the female members of the emigrant’s family are accustomed to sleep in comfort and security. Sentinels outside, and horse-guards picketed still further off, give warning of the approach of an enemy.

As we drew near the camp, we could perceive that in this approved fashion had the Mormons constructed their corral. Most of the lighter vehicles were inside the enclosure; and there we could see the forms of women and children moving about in an excited manner – as if they had retreated thither on discovering our approach. The men still remained outside; and the horses and horned cattle had been left undisturbed. Our party was not large enough to have created an alarm – even had our arrival been unexpected. It could scarcely have been so. No doubt they took us for what we were: the emissaries of the Utah chief!

When within a few hundred yards of the camp, a party, already on horseback, came trotting towards us. Archilete had hoisted a piece of white fawn-skin on his gun-rod – the world-known symbol of peace, and so understood by the red men of America. A towel or table-cloth, or something of the sort, was held up in answer; and after the demonstration the mounted men spurred forward to meet us. When we had approached within a dozen lengths of each other, both parties reined up; and the Mexican and Mormon leader, separating from their respective followers, met midway between the two parties, shook hands, and entered into conversation. What they said was simple enough. I could hear the trapper declaring in broken English the nature of our errand – that he had been sent by Wa-ka-ra to act as their guide; and that we his compañeros, were the Utah hunters, to provide game for the caravan. Of the Mormons who rode up to us there were half-a-dozen in all; and I was fain to hope that they were not a fair specimen of the emigrant party. They were not – as I afterwards ascertained. They were the Danites, or Destroying Angels, that accompanied the train. “Destroying devils” would have been a more appropriate appellation: for six more villainous-looking individuals I had never beheld. There was no sign of the angelic, neither in their eyes nor features – not a trace; but, on the contrary, each might have passed for an impersonation of the opposite character – a very “devil incarnate!” Five of them I had never seen before – at least to remember them. The sixth only on one occasion. Him I remembered well. The man who had once looked in the face of the ex-attorney’s clerk, and ci-devant schoolmaster of Swampville, was not likely soon to cast that countenance from his remembrance. It was Stebbins who was talking to the Mexican. The dialogue was of brief duration. The tale told by the trapper was scarcely news: it had been expected; and was therefore accepted without suspicion. The interview ended by the Mormon leader pointing to a place where we might pitch our tents – outside the waggon enclosure, and near the bank of the river. This was just what we desired; and, proceeding direct to the spot, we commenced unpacking our paraphernalia.

Chapter Ninety Seven

The Corralled Camp

As soon as our quality was known, the Saints came crowding around us. The corral poured forth its contents – until nine-tenths of the whole caravan, men, women and children, stood gazing upon us, with that stare of idiotic wonder peculiar to the humbler classes of countries called civilised. We managed to withstand the ordeal of their scrutiny with an assumed air of true savage indifference. Not without an effort, however: since it was difficult to resist laughing at the grotesque exclamations and speeches, which our appearance and movements elicited from these wondering yokels. We were cautious not to notice their remarks – appearing as if we understood them not. Peg-leg, by the aid of his Anglo-American jargon – picked up among the mountain-men – was able to satisfy them with an occasional reply. The rest of us said nothing; but, to all appearance earnestly occupied with our own affairs, only by stealth turned our eyes on the spectators. I could perceive that the huntress was the chief attraction; and for a moment my apprehensions were sufficiently keen. The girl had done nothing to disguise her sex – the mask extending no farther than to her face and features. Her neck, hands, and wrists – all of her skin that might be exposed – were stained Indian of course; and there would have been little likelihood of their detecting the false epidermis under a casual observation. Had it been a mere ordinary person – painted as she was – she might have passed for an Indian without difficulty. As it was, however, her voluptuous beauty had tempted a closer scrutiny; and, spite of her disfigured features, I saw glances directed upon her expressive of secret but passionate observation. Some of the bystanders took no pains to conceal their predilection.

“Darnationed likely squaw!” remarked one. “Who air she, old timber-toes?” inquired he, addressing himself to the guide. “Squaw – Utah gal,” replied the Mexican in his trapper patois. Pointing to me, he continued: “She sister to hunter-chief – she hunter too – kill bighorn, buffalo, deer. Carrambo! si! She grand cazadora!”

“Oh! durn yer kezedora. I don’ know, what that ere means; but I do know, an’ rayther calculate, if that ere squaw had the scrubbin’-brush an’ a leetle soft soap over that face o’ hern, she’d look some punkins, I guess.”

The fellow who had thus eloquently delivered himself was one of the six who had saluted us on our arrival. Two or three of his confrères were standing beside him – gazing with lynx, or rather wolf-like glances upon the girl. Stebbins himself, before parting, had cast upon her a look of singular expression. It was not significant of recognition; but rather of some thought of viler origin. The others continued to give utterance to their mock admiration; and I was glad – as the girl herself appeared to be – when the tent was pitched, and she was able to retire out of reach of their rude ribaldry.

We had now an opportunity of studying the Mormons chez eux mêmes: for not one of them had the slightest idea that their talk was understood by us. Most of them appeared to be of the humbler class of emigrants – farm-people or those of mechanical calling – artisans of the common trades – shoemakers, blacksmiths, joiners, and the like. In the countenances of these there was no cast that betrayed a character, either of particular saintliness or sin. In most of them, the expression was simply stolid and bovine; and it was evident that these were the mere cattle of the herd. Among them could be observed a sprinkling of a different sort of Saints – men of more seeming intelligence, but with less moral inclinings – men of corrupt thoughts and corrupt lives – perhaps once gentle, but now fallen – who had, no doubt, adopted this pseudo-religion in the expectation of bettering their temporal rather than spiritual condition. The influence of these last over the others was quite apparent. They were evidently chiefs – bishops or deacons – “tenths” or “seventies.” It was singular enough to see dandies among them; and yet, however ludicrous the exhibition, dandyism was there displayed! More than one “swell” strutted through the crowd in patent-leather boots, Parisian silk hat, and coat of shining broad-cloth! The temporary halt had offered an opportunity for this display of personal adornment; and these butterflies had availed themselves of the advantage, to cast for a few hours the chrysalis of their travelling gear.

The women were of all ages; and, it might be added, of all nations. Several European tongues mingled in the mêlée of sounds; but the one which predominated was that language without vowels – the jargon of the Welsh Principality. The continual clacking of this unspeakable tongue told that the sons and daughters of the Cymri mustered strongest in the migration. Many of the latter wore their picturesque native costume – the red-hooded cloak and kirtle; and some were unspeakably fair, with the fine white teeth, fair complexion, and ruddy cheeks, common to other branches of the Celtic race, but nowhere so characteristic as among the fair maidens of Cambria. It was, no doubt, those sweet shining faces, wreathed with free artless smiles, that had caused the lady-killers to unpack their portmanteaus.

My own eyes dwelt not upon these. Ever since our arrival upon the ground, I had been watching with keen glances the opening that led into the corral. Every one who came forth – man or woman – had been the object of my scrutiny. But my glances had been given in vain; and were not rewarded by the recognition of a single individual. The entrance was about two hundred yards from the place where our tents were being pitched; but even at that distance I should have recognised the colossal squatter. As for Lilian, my heart’s instinct would have declared her identity at the most casual glance. Neither father nor daughter had yet made their appearance outside the enclosure: though all the world beside had come freely forth, and many were going back again. It was odd, to say the least, they should act so differently from the others. She, I knew, was very different from the “ruck” that surrounded her; and yet one would have thought that curiosity would have tempted her forth – that simple childlike inclination, natural in one so young, to witness our wild attire – to gaze on our plumes and our paint? I could less wonder at Holt himself being insensible to such attraction; but in her it seemed strange. My astonishment increased, as form after form passed out from the opening, but not that for which my eyes were searching. It ceased to be astonishment: it grew into chagrin; and after that assumed the character of an apprehension. This apprehension I had already entertained, but in a less definite form. It now shaped itself into a cruel doubt – the doubt of her being there– either inside the corral, or anywhere in the Mormon camp!

After all, had we taken the wrong track? Might not Holt have kept on with the gold-diggers? The story of the Chicasa signified nothing. Might not Lilian, under the protection of that gallant dragoon, with the torn tassel – might not she? “It is quite probable,” I muttered to myself, “highly probable that they are not here! The squatter may have resisted the will of his Apostolic companion; and, separating himself from the Mormon party, have gone on with the diggers? No! yonder! Holt himself, as I live!”

The exclamatory phrases were called forth by the appearance of a tall man in the opening between the waggons. It was Holt. He was standing still; and must have reached the spot he occupied but the moment before – when my eyes for an instant had been turned away. The Herculean frame, and great rufous beard hanging over his breast, proclaimed to my eyes the identity of the Tennessean squatter; and the costume confirmed it. It was precisely the same worn by him on that eventful morning – when standing before me with his long rifle raised against my life. The ample surtout of greenish blanket-cloth, a little further faded – the red skirt underneath – the coarse horse-skin boots rising to his thighs – the crimson kerchief turbaned around his head, its loose flap falling down over his shaggy eyebrows – were all identical with the portrait remaining in my memory. I watched him with eager eye. Was it his intention to step nearer and examine us? Or had he come forth upon some other business? He was looking grave, and sad, I thought; but in the distance I could scarce note the expression upon his countenance. It did not appear to betoken curiosity. Once only he glanced towards us, and then turned his eyes in an opposite direction. This did not shew that he cared much for our presence, or was in anywise interested in it. In all likelihood, he shared not the childish curiosity of his travelling companions – to whom he in other respects bore but little resemblance. As he stood in their midst, he looked like some grim but majestic lion, surrounded by jackals. His behaviour suggested a further similitude to the great forest monarch. He seemed to hold no converse with those around him; but stood apart and for the moment motionless as a statue. Once only I noticed that he yawned – stretching out his colossal arms, as if to aid in the involuntary action. For this purpose, and this alone, did he appear to have come forth: since, shortly after its accomplishment, he turned back into the avenue, and disappeared behind the barricade of the waggons!

Chapter Ninety Eight

Beauty Embrowned

The apparition – for it had something of the character of one – restored my equanimity. Holt was with the Mormon train; and of course Lilian also. It may seem strange that this knowledge should have given me satisfaction – that a belief, but yesterday grieving me, should to-day bring gladness!