The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

Certainly, the idea of approaching by the stream had assumed a more feasible aspect. If the channel should prove deep enough, I might get the horse sufficiently near: the rest would have to be left to stratagem and chance.

“Yur ridin’ in the Injun hoss,” said Rube, “ud niver do: it mout, on the wust pinch: an ef ee don’t git in the t’other way, ee kin still try it; but ye kud niver git acrosst through the cavayard ’ithout stampeedin’ ’em: ’em mustangs ud be sure to make sich a snortin’, and stompin’, an whigherin’, as ’ud bring the hul campmint about ye; an some o’ the sharp-eyed niggurs ’ud be sartint to find out yur hide wur white. T’other way es I’ve desized ur fur the safest —it ur.”

I was not long in making up my mind. Rube’s counsel decided me, and I resolved to act accordingly.

Chapter Ninety.

Taking to the Water

I spent but little time in preparations; these had been made already. It remained only to tighten my saddle-girths, look to the caps of my revolvers, and place both pistols and knife in the belt behind my back – where the weapons would be concealed by the pendent robe of jaguar-skins. In a few minutes I was ready.

I still loitered a while, to wait for the falling of the water; not long – my anxiety did not permit me to tarry long. The hour of the council might be nigh – I might be too late for the crisis. Not long did I loiter.

It was not necessary. Even by the moonlight, we could distinguish the dark line of the bank separating the grassy turf from the surface of the water. The rippling current was shining like silver-lace, and, by contrast, the brown earthy strip that rose vertically above it, could be observed more distinctly. It was sensibly broader.

I could wait no longer. I leaped into the saddle. My comrades crowded around me to say a parting word: and with a wish or a prayer upon their lips, one after another pressed my hand. Some doubted of their ever seeing me again – I could tell this from the tone of their leave-taking – others were more confident. All vowed to revenge me if I fell.

Rube and Garey went with me down the hill.

At the point where the stream impinged upon the hill? there were bushes; these continued up the declivity, and joined the timber upon the summit. Under their cover we descended, reaching the bank just at the salient angle of the bend. A thin skirting of similar bushes ran around the base of the hill, and we now perceived that by following the path on which we had come, the ambuscade might have been brought a little nearer to the camp. But the cover was not so good as the grove upon the summit, and in case of a retreat, it would be necessary to gallop up the naked face of the slope, and thus expose our numbers. It was decided, therefore, after a short consultation, to leave the men where they were.

From the bend, where we stood, to the Indian camp? the river trended almost in a straight line, and its long reach lay before our eyes like a band of shining metal. Along its banks, the bush extended no farther. A single step towards the camp would have exposed us to the view of its occupants.

At this point, therefore, it was necessary for me to take to the water; and dismounting, I made ready for the immersion.

The trappers had spoken their last words of instruction and counsel; they had both grasped my hand, giving it a significant squeeze that promised more than words; but to these, too, had they given utterance.

“Don’t be afeerd, capt’n!” said the younger. “Rube and I won’t be far off. If we hear your pistols, we’ll make a rush to’rst you, and meet you half-way anyhow; and if onything should happen amiss,” – here Garey spoke with emphasis – “you may depend on’t we’ll take a bloody revenge.”

“Yees!” echoed Rube, “we’ll do jest thet. Thur’ll be many a nick in Targuts afore next Krissmuss ef you ur rubbed out, young fellur; thet I swar to ye. But don’t be skeeart! Keep yur eye sharp-skinned, an yur claws steady, an thur’s no fear but yu’ll git clur. Oncest yur clur o’ the camp, ’ee may reck’n on us. Put straight for the timmer, an gallip as ef Ole Scratch wur a-gruppin’ at the tail o’ yur critter.”

I waited to hear no more, but leading Moro down the bank, at a place where it sloped, I stepped gently into the current. My well-trained steed followed without hesitation, and in another instant we were both breast-deep in the flood.

The water was just the depth I desired. There was a half-yard of bank that rose vertically above the surface; and this was sufficient to shelter either my own head, as I stood erect, or the frontlet of my horse. Should the channel continue of uniform depth as far as the camp, the approach would be easy indeed: and, for certain hydrographic reasons, I was under the belief it would.

The plumes of the Indian bonnet rose above the level of the meadow-turf; and as the feathers – dyed of gay colours – would have formed a conspicuous object, I took off the gaudy head-dress, and carried it in my hand.

I also raised the robe of jaguar-skin over my shoulders, in order to keep it dry; and for the same reason, temporarily carried my pistols above the water-line.

The making of these slight alterations occupied only a minute or so; and, as soon as they were completed, I moved forward through the water.

The very depth of the stream proved a circumstance in my favour. In wading, both horse and man make less noise in deep than in shallow water; and this was an important consideration. The night was still – too still for my wishes – and the plunging sound would have been heard afar off; but fortunately there were rapids below – just where the stream forced its way through the spur of the hill – and the hissing sough of these, louder in the still night, was borne upon the air to the distance of many miles. Their noise, to my own ears, almost drowned the plashing made by Moro and myself. I had noted this point d’avantage before embarking upon the enterprise.

At the distance of two hundred yards from the bushes, I paused to look back. My purpose was to fix in my memory the direction of the hill, and more especially the point where my comrades had been left in ambush: in the event of a close pursuit, it would not do to mistake their exact situation.

I easily made out the place, and observed that, for several reasons, a better could not have been chosen. The trees that timbered the crest of the hill were of a peculiar kind – none more so upon the earth. They were a species of arborescent yucca, then unknown to botanists. Many of them were forty feet in height; and their thick angular branches, and terminal fascicles of rigid leaves, outlined against the sky, formed a singular, almost an unearthly spectacle. It was unlike any other vegetation upon earth, more resembling a grove of cast-iron than a wood of exogenous trees.

Why I regarded the spot as favourable for an ambush, was chiefly this: a party approaching it from the plain, and climbing the hill, might fancy a host of enemies in their front; for the trees themselves, with their heads of radiating blades, bore a striking resemblance to an array of plumed gigantic warriors. Many of the yuccas were only six feet in height, with tufted heads, and branchless trunks as gross as the body of a man, and they might readily have been mistaken for human beings.

I perceived at a glance the advantage of the position. Should the Indians pursue me, and I could succeed in reaching the timber before them, a volley from my comrades would check the pursuers, however numerous. The nine rifles would be enough, with a few shots from the revolvers. The savages would fancy nine hundred under the mystifying shadows of that spectral-like grove.

With confidence, strengthened by these considerations, I once more turned my face up-stream; and breasting the current, waded on.

Chapter Ninety One.

Up-Stream

My progress was far from being rapid. The water was occasionally deeper or shallower, but generally rising above my hips – deep enough to render my advance a task of time and difficulty. The current was of course against me; and though not very swift, seriously impeded me. I could have advanced more rapidly, but for the necessity of keeping my head and that of my horse below the escarpment of the bank. At times it was a close fit, with scarcely an inch to spare; and in several places I was compelled to move with my neck bent, and my horse’s nose held close down to the surface of the water.

At intervals, I paused to rest myself – for the exertion of wading against the current wearied me, and took away my breath. This was particularly the case when I required to go in a crouching attitude; but I chose my resting-places where the channel was deepest, and where I could stand erect.

I was all the while anxious to look up and take a survey of the camp: I wished to ascertain its distance and position; but I dared not raise my head above the level of the bank: the sward that crowned it was smooth as a mown meadow, and the edge-line of the turf even and unbroken. Had I shown but my hand above it, it might have been seen in that clear white light. I dared not show either hand or head.

I had advanced I knew not how far, but I fancied I must be near the lines. All the way, I had kept close under the left bank – which, as Rube had predicted, now rose a full half-yard above the water-line. This was a favourable circumstance; and another equally so was the fact that the moon on that – the eastern side – was yet low in the sky, and consequently the bank flung a broad black shadow that extended nearly half-way across the stream. In this shadow I walked, and its friendly darkness sheltered both myself and my horse.

I fancied I must be near the lines, and longed to reconnoitre them, but, for the reasons already given, dared not.

I was equally afraid to make any farther advance – for that might be still more perilous. I had already noted the direction of the wind: it blew from the river, and towards the camp; and should I bring my horse opposite the line of the mustangs, I would then be directly to windward of them, and in danger from their keen nostrils. They would be almost certain to take up the scent of my steed, and utter their warning snorts. The breeze was light, but so much the worse. There was sufficient to carry the smell, and not enough to drown the plunging noise necessarily made by my horse moving through the water, with the occasional hollow pounding of his hoofs upon the rocks at the bottom.

If I raised my head over the bank, there was the danger of being seen; if I advanced, the prospect was one of equal peril of being scented.

For some moments I stood hesitating – uncertain as to whether I should leave my horse, or lead him a little farther. I heard noises from the camp, but they were not distinct enough to guide me.

I looked back down the river, in the hope of being able to calculate the distance I had come, and by that means decide where I was; but my observation furnished no data by which I could determine my position. With my eyes almost on a level with the surface of the water, I could not judge satisfactorily of distance.

I turned my face up-stream again, and scrutinised the parapet line of the bank.

Just then I saw an object over its edge that answered well to guide me: it was the croup and hip-bones of a horse – one of the mustangs staked near the bank. I saw neither the head nor shoulders of the animal; its hind-quarters were towards the stream; its head was to the grass – it was browsing.

The sight gratified me. The mustang was full two hundred yards above the point I had reached. I knew that its position marked the outer line of the encampment. I was in the very place where I wanted to be – about two hundred yards from the lines. Just at that distance I desired to leave my horse.

I had taken the precaution to bring with me my picket-pin – one of the essentials of the prairie traveller. It was the work of a moment to delve it into the bank. I needed not to drive it with violence: my well-trained steed never broke fastening, however slight. With him the stake was only required as a sign that he was not free to wander.

In a moment, then, he was staked; and with a “whisper” I parted from him, and kept on up-stream.

I had not waded a dozen yards farther, when I perceived a break in the line of the bank. It was a little gully that led slantingly from the level of the prairie down to the bed of the stream. Its counterpart I perceived on the opposite side. The two indicated a ford or crossing used by buffaloes, wild-horses, and other denizens of the prairie.

At first, I viewed it with apprehension; I feared it might uncover my body to the eyes of the enemy; but on coming opposite, my fears were allayed: the slope was abrupt, and the high ground screened me as before. There would be no danger in passing the place.

As I was about moving on, an idea arrested me; and I paused to regard the gully with a look of greater interest. I perceived an advantage in it.

I had been troubled about the position in which I had left my horse. Should I succeed in getting back, of course it would be under the pressure of a hot pursuit, and my steed was not conveniently placed; his back was below the level of the bank. He might easily be mounted, but how should I get him out of the channel of the stream? Only by a desperate leap might he reach the plain above: but he might fail in the effort – time might be lost, when time and speed would be most wanted.

I had been troubled with this thought; it need trouble me no longer. The “crossing” afforded easy access either to or from the bed of the river – the very thing I wanted.

I was not slow to profit by the discovery. I turned back, and having released the rein, led my horse gently up to the break.

Choosing a spot under the highest part of the bank, I fastened him as before, and again left him.

I now moved with more ease and confidence, but with increased caution. I was getting too near to risk making the slightest noise in the water; a single plash might betray me.

It was my intention to keep within the channel, until I had passed the point where the horses were staked; by so doing, I should avoid crossing the line of the horse-guards, and, what was quite as important, that of the horses themselves – for I was equally apprehensive of being discovered by the latter. Once inside their circle, they would take no notice of me – for doubtless there would be other Indians within sight; and I trusted to my well-counterfeited semblance of savagery to deceive the eyes of these equine sentinels.

I did not wish to go far beyond their line; that would bring me in front of the camp itself – too near its fires and its idle groups.

I had noticed before starting that there was a broad belt between the place occupied by the men, and that where their horses were staked. This “neutral” ground was little used by the camp loungers, and somewhere on the edge of it I was desirous of making my entrée.

I succeeded to my utmost wishes. Closely hugging the bank, I passed the browsing mustangs – under their very noses I glided past, for I could hear them munching the herbage right over me – but so silently did I steal along, that neither snort nor hoof-stroke heralded my advance.

In a few minutes, I was sufficiently beyond them for my purpose.

I raised my head; slowly and gently I raised it, till my eyes were above the level of the prairie slope.

No one was near. I could see the swarth savages grouped around their fires; but they were a hundred yards off, or more. They were capering, and talking, and laughing; but no ear was bent, and no eye seemed turned towards me. No one was near.

I grasped the bank with my hands, and drew myself up. Slowly and silently I ascended, like some demon from the dark trap-door of a stage.

On my knees, I reached the level of the turf; and, then gently rising to my feet, I stood erect within the limits of the Indian camp – to all appearance as complete a savage as any upon the ground!

Chapter Ninety Two.

Coup-d’oeil of the Camp

For some minutes I stood motionless as a statue; I stirred neither hand nor foot, lest the movement should catch the eye either of the horse-guards or those moving around the fires.

I had already donned my plumed head-dress, before climbing out of the channel: and after getting on the bank, my first thought was to replace my pistols in the belt behind my back.

The movement was stealthily made; and with like stealthy action, I suffered the mantle of jaguar-skins to drop from my shoulders, and hang to its full length. I had saved the robe from getting wet; and its ample skirt now served me in concealing my soaked breech-cloth as well as the upper half of my leggings. These and the moccasins were, of course, saturated with water, but I had not much uneasiness about that. In a prairie camp, and upon the banks of a deep stream, an Indian with wet leggings could not be a spectacle to excite suspicion; there would be many reasons why my counterpart might choose to immerse his copper-coloured extremities in the river. Moreover, the buckskin – dressed Indian-fashion – was speedily casting the water; it would soon drip dry; or even if wet, would scarcely be observed under such a light.

The spot where I had “landed” chanced to be one of the least conspicuous in the whole area of the camp. I was just between two lights – the red glare of the campfires, and the mellower beams of the moon; and the atmospheric confusion occasioned by the meeting of the distinct kinds of light favoured me, by producing a species of optical delusion. It was but slight, and I could easily be seen from the centre of the camp – but not with sufficient distinctness for my disguise to be penetrated by any one; therefore, it was hardly probable that any of the savages would approach or trouble their heads about me. I might pass for one of themselves indulging in a solitary saunter, yielding himself to a moment of abstraction or melancholy. I was well enough acquainted with Indian life to know that there was nothing outré or unlikely in this behaviour; such conduct was perfectly en règle.

I did not remain long on that spot – only long enough to catch the salient features of the scene.

I saw there were many fires, and around each was grouped number of human forms – some squatted, some standing. The night was cold enough to make them draw near to the burning logs; and for this reason, but few were wandering about – a fortunate circumstance for me.

There was one fire larger than the rest; from its dimensions, it might be termed a “bonfire,” such as is made by the flattering and flunkeyish peasantry of old-world lands, when they welcome home the squire and the count. It was placed directly in front of the solitary tent, and not a dozen paces from its entrance. Its blazing pile gave forth a flood of red light that reached even to the spot where I stood, and flickered in my face. I even fancied I could feel its glow upon my cheeks.

Around this fire were many forms of men – all of them standing up. I could see the faces of those who were upon its farther side, but only the figures of these on the nearer.

The former I could see with almost as much distinctness as if I had been close beside them; I could trace the lineaments of their features – the painted devices on their breasts and faces – the style of their habiliments.

The sight of these last somewhat astonished me. I had expected to see red-skinned warriors in leggings, moccasins, and breech-cloth, with heads naked or plumed, and shoulders draped under brown robes of buffalo-skin. Some such there were, but not all of them were so costumed; on the contrary, I beheld savages shrouded in serapes and cloaks of broadcloth, with calzoneros on their legs, and upon their heads huge hats of black glaze – regular Mexican sombreros! In short, I beheld numbers of them in full Mexican costume!

Others, again, were dressed somewhat in a military fashion, with helmets or stiff shakos, ill-fitting uniform coats of red or blue cloth, oddly contrasting with the brown buckskin that covered their legs and feet.

With some astonishment, I observed these “fancy dresses;” but my surprise passed away, when I reflected upon who were the men before me, and whence they had lately come, where they had been, and on what errand. It was no travesty, but a scene of actual life. The savages, were clad in the spoils they had captured from civilisation.

I need not have been at such pains with my toilet; under any guise, I could scarcely have looked odd in the midst of such a motley crew: even my own uniform might have passed muster – all except the colour of my skin.

Fortunately, a few of the band still preserved their native costume – a few appeared in full paint and plumes – else I should have been too Indian for such a company.

It cost not a minute to note these peculiarities, nor did I stay to observe them minutely; my eyes were in search of Isolina.

I cast inquiring glances on all sides; I scrutinised the groups around the different fires; I saw others – women – whom I knew to be captives, but I saw not her.

I scanned their forms and the faces of those who were turned towards me. A glance would have been enough; I could easily have recognised her face under the firelight – under any light. It was not before me.

“In the tent – in the tent: she must be there?”

I determined to move away from the spot where I had hitherto been standing. My eye, quickened by the necessity of action, had fallen upon the copse that stretched along the entire background of the camp. At a glance I detected the advantage offered by its shadowy cover.

The tent, as already stated, was placed close to the edge of the timber; and in front of the tent was the great fire. Plainly, this was the gravitating point – the centre of motive and motion. If aught of interest was to be enacted, there would lie the scene. In the lodge or near it would she be found – certainly she would be there; and there I resolved to seek her.

Chapter Ninety Three.

A Friendly Encounter

Just then the shrill voice of a crier pealed through the camp, and I observed a general movement. I could not make out what the man said, but the peculiar intonation told that he was uttering some signal or summons. Something of importance was about to transpire.

The Indians now commenced circling around the blazing pile, meeting and passing each other, as if threading the mazes of some silent and solemn dance. Others were seen hastening up from distant parts of the camp – as if to observe the actions of those around the fire, or join with them in the movement.

I did not wait to watch them; their attention thus occupied, gave me an opportunity of reaching the copse unobserved; and, without further ado, I started towards it.

I walked slowly, and with an assumed air of careless indifference. I counterfeited the Comanche walk – not that bold free port – the magnificent and inimitable stride, so characteristic of Chippewa and Shawano, of Huron and Iroquois – but the shuffling gingery step of an English jockey; for such in reality is the gait of the Comanche Indian when afoot.

I must have played my part well. A savage, crossing from the horse-guards towards the great fire, passed near me, and hailed me by name.

“Wakono!” cried he.

“Que cosa?” (Well – what matter?) I replied in Spanish, imitating as well as I could the Indian voice and accent. It was a venture, but I was taken at a strait, and could not well remain silent.

The man appeared some little surprised at being addressed in the language of Mexico; nevertheless, he understood it, and made rejoinder.

“You hear the summons, Wakono? Why do you not come forward? The council meets; Hissoo-royo is already there.”

I understood what was said – more from the Indian’s gestures than his speech – though the words “summons,” “council,” and the name “Hissoo-royo,” helped me to comprehend his meaning. I chanced to know the Comanche epithets for the two first, and also that Hissoo-royo (the Spanish wolf) was the Indian appellation of the Mexican renegade.

Though I understood what was said, I was not prepared with a reply. I dared not risk the answer in Spanish; for I knew not the extent of Wakono’s proficiency in the Andalusian tongue.