S ad + BEADLE & re oe CENT: NOVELS, No. 5. “The Scalp ‘Hunters. BY CAPT. MAYNE REID. ry BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM S§T., N. Y. THE A ROMANCE OF THE PLAINS. BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID AUTHOR oF “THE HELPLESS HAND,” ‘PLANTER PIRATES," EVO NEW YORE: BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 9 WILLIAM STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1968, by BEADLE AND COMPANY, Yo the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. (No. THE CHAPTER I. THE WILD WEST. Unron the world’s map, and look upon the great northern con- tinent of America. Away to the Wild west, away toward the setting Sun, away beyond many a far me- dian, let your eyes wander. Rest hem where golden rivers rise ; gd peaks that carry the eternal Ow, You are looking upon a land Whose features are unfurrowed by uman hands, still bearing the Marks of the Almighty mold, as Upon the morning of creation; a region whose egery object wears the impress of God’s image. His apt lives in the silent grandeur of its mountains, and speaks in the Toar of its mighty rivers: a region Fedolent of romance, rich in the Teality of adventure. Follow me, with the eye of your Mind, through scenes of wild beau- 0 savage sublimity. Stand in an open plain. I turn My face to the north, to the south, 0 the cast, and to the west; and n all sides behold the blue circle of the heavens girdling around me. Sr rock, nor tree, breaks the ring Of the horizon. What coyers the Toad expanse between? Wood? Water? grass? No; flowers! As Pas my eye can range, it rests nly on flowers, on beautiful flowers | Tam looking as on a tinted map, ®1 enameled picture brilliant with €very hue of the prism. t Onder is golden yellow, where he helianthus turns her dial-like ce to the sun. Yonder, scarlet, €re the malvya erects its red ban- er. Here is a parterre of the pur- © monarda, there the euphorbia €ds its silver leaf. Yonder the ns @ predominates in the showy SCALP-HUNTERS. flowers of the asclepia ; and beyond, the eye roams over the pink blos- soms of the cleome. The breeze stirs them, Millions of corollas are waving their gaudy standards. The tall stalks of the helianthus bend and rise in long undulations, like billows on a golden sea. They are at rest again. The air is filled with odors sweet as the erfumes of Araby or Ind, Myr- lads of insects flap their gay wings : flowers of themselves. The bee- birds skirr around, glancing like stray sunbeams; or, poised on whirring wings, drink from the nectared cups; and the wild bee, with laden limbs, ear among the honeyed pistils, or leaves for his far hive with a song of joy. Who planted these flowers? Who hath woven them into these pictured parterres? Nature. It is her richest mantle, richer in its hues than the scarfs of Cashmere. This is the ‘‘ weed prairie.” It is misnamed. It is the garden of The scene is changed. Iamina plain as before, with the unbroken horizon circling aroundme. What do I behold? Flowers? No; there is not a flower in sight, but one vast expanse of living verdure ! From north to south, from east to west, stretches the prairie meadow, green as an emeraid, and smvoth as the surface of a sleeping lake. The wind is upon its bosom, sweeping the silken blades, They are in motion; and the verdure is dappled into lighter and darker shades, as the shadows of summer clouds flitting across the sun. The eye wanders without resis- tance. Perchance it encounters the dark hirsute forms of the buf- falo, or traces the tiny outlines of 14 the antelope. Perchancc it follows, in pleased wonder, the far, wild gal- lop of a snow-white steed. Chis is the ‘‘ grass prairie,” the boundless pasture of the bison. The scene changes. The earth is no longer level, but treeless and verdant asever. Its surface exhib- its a succession of parallel undu- lations, here and there swelling into smooth, round hills. It is covered with asoft turf of brilliant greenness. These undulations re- mind one of the ocean after a mighty storm, when the crisped foam has died upon the waves, and the big swell comes bowling in. They look as though they had once been such waves, that, by an omni- otent mandate, had been trans- formed to earth, and suddenly stood still. This is the ‘rolling prairie.” Again the scene changes. I am among greenswards and bright flowers ; but the view is broken by rroves and clumps of copse-wood. ‘he frondage is varied, its tints are vivid, its outlines soft and rraceful. As I move forward, new andseapes open up continuously : views park-like and picturesque. “Gangs”? of buffalo, ‘‘ herds” of antelope, and “droves” of wild horses, mottle the far vistas. Turkeys run into the coppice, and pheasants whirr up from the path. Where are the owners of these lands, of these flocks and fowls? Where are the houses, the palaces, tha should appertain to these lordly parks ? y look forward, ex- pecting to see the turrets of tall mansions tower up over the groves. But no. For hundreds of mile around no chimney sends forth its smoke. Although with a cultivat- ed aspect, this region is only trod- deg by the moccasined foot of the hunter, and his enemy, the red In- dian. These are the ‘“mottes”—the “islands” of the prairie sea. I am in the deep forest. It is THE SCALP-HUNTERS. night, and the log fire throws out | — its vermilion glare, painting the objects that surround our bivouae Huge trunks st us; and massive limbs, gray ane” riant-like, stretch out and ovel notice the bark. It is cracked) and clings in broad scales crisping outward. Long, snake-like para and thickly around | sites creep from tree to tree, coiling | the trunks, as though thcy wer® serpents, and would crush them There are no leaves overhead. | They have ripened and fallen ; bub the white Spanish moss, festooné along the branches, hangs weeping ae like the drapery of a death bed. Prostrate trunks, yards in dian) eter and half-decayed, lie along th? ground. Their ends exhibit vasy) cavities, where the porcupine all opossum have taken shelter from the cold. My comrades, wrapped in theit blankets, and stretched upon dead leaves, have gone to slee)) They lie with their feet to the fir and their heads resting in the ho” low of their saddles. The horse) standing around a tree, and tied its lower branches, seem also sleep. Iam awake and listening The wind is high up, whistli among the twigs, and causing long white streamers to oscilla It utters a wild and melanch® music. There are few other soun for it is winter, and the tree-f and cicada are silent. I hear crackling knots in the fire, the rust ling of dry leaves “swirled” ? by astray gust, the ‘ coo-whoo# of the white owl, the bark o raccoon, and, at intervals, the mal howling of wolves. These the nocturnal yoices of thee wri forest. They are savage 5 nde! yet there is a chord in my bos@) that vibrates under their influcne? and mv spirit is tinged with mance as 1 lie and listen. { The forest in autumn ; still ing its frondage. The leaves: semble flowers, so bright are We hues. They are red, and yell" — a 8nd golden, and brown. The woods fre warm and glorious now, and ie the birds flutter among the laden branches. ‘The eye wanders de- _ Ughted down long vistas and over id} sunlit glades. It is caught by the ee hing of gaudy plumage, the dy Olden green of the paroquet, the g ‘ue of the jay, and the orange # ) Wing of the oriole. The red-bird ng | flutters lower down in the coppice rey) (Of gteen pawpaws, or amidst the a ‘mber leaflets of the beechen a thicket, Hundreds of tiny wings tin through the openings, twink- '§ in the sun like the glancing of pg} &ems " * the The air is filled with music: SWeet sounds of love. The bark mm) Of the squirrel, the cooing of the trated doves, the “ rat-ta-ta” of ast the becker, and the constant and nt Measured chirrup of the cicada, on onl ringing together. High up, ss ah topmost twig, the mocking- seit itd pours forth his mimic note, the as though he would shame all ‘ : €r songsters into silence. pol th Tam ina country of brown, bar- sch Th earth and broken outlines. di tae are rocks, and clefts, and ) 10 tches of sterile soil. Strange ing €table forms grow in the clefis Jing re 2@hg over the rocks. Others the a Spheroidal in shape, resting lat Pon the surface of the’ parched ho Rant Others rise vertically to a in hight, like carved and fluted umns. Some throw out branch- “rooked,shagey branches, witl hit €d,shagey branches, with : ute, oval leaves. Yet there isa Seneousness about all these v Scene 8 thectible forms, in their color, in lain fruit and flowers, that pro- Ms them of one family. They Cacti. It is a forest of the nopal, Ie Rother singular plant is here. hat TOWs out long, thorny leaves aye ave downward. It is the Yes the famed mezcal-plant of With th Here and there, mingling € cacti, are trees of acacia degen 2 Auite, the denizens. of the lieves and. No bright object re- R € eye; no bird pours its WESTERN SCENERY. lo melody into the ear. The lonely ow] flaps away into the impassable thicket, the rattlesnake glides un- der its scanty shade, and the coy- ote skulks through its silent glades. I have climbed mountain after mountain, and still] behold peak soaring far above, erowned wich the snow that never melts. Istand upon bectling cliffs, and look into chasms that yawn beneath, sleep- ing in the silence of desolation. Great fragments have fallen into them, and Jie piled one upon an- other. Others hang threatening over, as if waiting for some con. cussion of the atmosphere to hurl them from their balance. Dark precipices frown me into fear, and my head reels with a dizzy faint- ness. Above, and below, and around me, are mountains piled on mount- ains in chaotic confusion. Some are bald and bleak; others exhibit traces of vegetation in the dark needles of the pine and cedar, whose stunted forms half-grow, half-hang from the. cliffs., Here, a cone-shaped peak soars up till if is lostin snowand clouds. There, a ridge elevates its sharp outline against the sky ; while along its sides lie huge bowlders of granite, as though they had been hurle¢ from the hands of Titan giants ! A fearful monster, the grizzly hear, drags his body along the high ridges ; the carcajou squats upon the projecting rock, waiting the elk that must pass to the water be- low ; and the bighorn bounds from crag to crag in search of his shy mate. Along the pine-branch the bald buzzard whets his filthy beak; and the war-eagle, soaring over 8... cuts sharply against the blue field’ of the heavens. These are the Rocky Mountains the American Andes, the colossal vertebra of the continent! Such are the aspects of the wild west: such is the scenery of ow drama, 16 Let us raise the curtain, and bring on the characters. CHAPTER II. THE PRAIRIE MERCHANTS. “New Orleans, April 8d, 18— “ DEAR Sr. VRAIN: “Our young friend, M. Jenry Hiller, goes to St. Louis in search of the picturesque.’ See that ne be put through a ‘regular course of sprouts.’ Yours ‘“Lurs WALTON. “Charles St. Vrain, Esq., Planters’ Hotel, St. Louis.” With this laconic epistle in my waistcoat-pocket, I debarked at St. Louis on the 10th of April, and drove to the “ Planters’.” After getting my baggage stow+ ed, and my horse ta favorite I had brought with me) stabled, I put on a clean shirt; and descending to the ‘‘ office,” inquired for M. St. Vrain. He was not there. He had gone up the Missouri river, several days before. ‘ This was a disappointment, as Ihad brought no other introduc- tion to St. Louis. But I endeay- ored to await with patience the re- turn of M. St. Vrain. He was ex- pected back in less than a week. Day after day I mounted my horse. Irode up to the “Mounds” and out upon the prairies. T loungead about the hotel, and smoked my cigar in its fine piazza. I drank “ sherry cobblers,”’ in the saloon, and read the journals in the ‘‘ reading-room.” With these and such like occu- pations I killed the time for three whole days. There was a party of gentlemen stopping at the hotel, who seemed to know each other well. I might call them a clique; but that is not a good word, and does not express what Imean. They appeared ra- thera band of jovial fellows. They strolled together through the streets,and sat side by side at the table-@ hote, where they usually re- mained long after the regular THE SCALP-HUNTERS. diners had retired. I nottced that | they drank the most expensiv@ wines,and smoked the finest cigats the house afforded. My attention was attracted 10 these men. I was struck wi their peculiar bearing ; their erech | Indian-like carriage in the streets combined with a boyish gayety, 84 characteristic of the western Ame” rican. 7 They dressed nearly alike: @ fine black cloth, white linen, sati® vests, and diamond pins. They wore the whisker full, but smooth: ly trimmed ; and several of them sported mustaches. Their hait fell curling over their shoulders and most of them wore their c0 lars turned down, displaying hea _ thy-looking, sun-tanned throats I was struck with a resemblanc? in their physiognomy. Their face? did not resemble each other, bU there was an unmistakable si larity in the expression of the ey@* no doubt, the mark that-had bee# made by like occupations and es perience. ? Were they sportsmen? No: thé sportsman’s hands are whitel there is more jewelry on his fi gers, his waistcoat is of a gay’ pattern, and altogether his dres will be more gaudy and super-el@ ant. Moreover, the sports acks that air of free-and-easy cod fidence. He dares not assume } He may live in the hotel, but é must be quiet and unobtrusiv® The sportsman is a bird of preyy hence, like all birds of prey y habits are silent and solitary. They are not of his profession. ‘“Who are these gentlemen!) | I inquired of a person who s#% by me—indicating to him the mes of whom I have spoken, ee ‘«The prairie men.”’ “ The prairie men!’ “Yes, the Senta Fé traders.” “Traders !? I echoed, in som] surprise not being able to conned such élégants with any ideas trade or the prairies. “ Yes,” continued my info “That large, fine-lookig mad of DINING AND WINING. py] fhe middle is Bent—Bill Bent, as his is called. The gentleman on tight is young Sublette; the eens standing on his left, is one the Choteaus; and that is the ober Jerry Folger.” These, then, are the celebrated k Prairie merchants ?” Precisely so.” a Sat, eying them with increased wesity. I observed that they the’ looking at me, and that I was © Subject of their conversation. fy tesently, one of them, a dash- Slike fellow, parted from the up, and walked up to me. ere you inquiring for M, St. Vrain "he asked. ir ” ‘i Charles 2” ‘i «es, that is the name.” Tam—” dy Pulled out my note of intro- fleno™> and handed it to the gen- a anced’ over its ed tents Nn, who glanced over its con in My dear friend,”’ said he,grasp- 1 3me cordially; “‘ devilish sorry au lave not been here. I came to the river this morning. How ter’ of Walton not to. super- ha be to Bill Bent. How long fou been up ?”” Wy et? days. I arrived on the a ie By the Lord! you are lost. ea, "9, let me make you acquaint- ere, Bent! Bill! Jerry !—” tha the next moment, I had ‘the x hands with one and all of ound sect of which fraternity I that my new friend St. Vrain « orgeean tst gong that?’ asked one, t mi loud scream of a gong came “ugh the gallery. his yas, Teplied Bent, consulting Com wteh. “ Just time to ‘licker. . along 1? mae moved toward the saloon, trite, Call followed, nemine dissenti- ‘he spring season was setting ab the young mint had sprout- ‘ Otanical fact with which my “quaintances appeared to be ‘ar, as one and all of them ordered a ‘‘mint-julep.”” This bev- erage, in the mixing and drinking. occupied our time until the second scream of the gong summoned us to dinner. “Sit with us, Mr. Haller,” said Bent; ‘‘lamsorry we didn’t know an sooner. You have been lone- Se And so saying, he led the way into the dining-room, followed by his companioris and myself. I need not describe a dinner at the Planters’, with its venison- steaks, its buffalo-tongues, its ‘* prairie-chickens,” and its deli- cious frog ‘‘fixings” from the IIli- nois ‘‘bottom.”” No. I wouldnot describe the dinner, and what fol- lowed I am afraid I could not. We sat until we had the table to ourselves. Then the cloth was re- moved, andl we commenced smok- ing regaliag and drinking Madeira at twelve doHars a bottle! This was ordered in by some one, not in single bottles, but by the half-doz- en. I remember thus far well enough ; and that, whenever [ took up a wine-card or a pencil, these articles were snatched out of my fingers. T remember listening to stories of wild adventures among the Pawnees, and the Comanches, and the Blackfeet, until I was filled with interest, and became enthu- siastic about prairie-life. Then some one asked me, wouid I not like to join them in a ‘ trip?” Upon this I made a speech, and proposed to accompany my new acquaintances on their next expe- dition; and then St. Vrain ‘said I was just the man for their life; and this pleased me highly. Then some one sung a Spanish song, with a guitar, 1 think, and some one danced an Indian war-dance ; and then we all rose to our feet, and chorused the “ Star-spangled Banner ;’’ and [remember nothing else after this, until next morning when I remember well that awoke with a splitting headache. I had hardly time to reflect on my previous night’s folly when the » 18 door openea, and St. Vrain, with half a dozen of my table compan- ions, rushed into the room. They were followed by a waiter, who earried several large glasses topped with ice, and filled with a pale, amber-colored liquid. “A sherry cobbler, Mr. Haller,” eried one; ‘* best thing in the world for you; drain it, my boy. [tll cool you in a squirrel’s jump.” I drank off the refreshing bey- erage as desirad. “Now, my dear friend,’ said 8t. Vrain, ‘‘ you feel a hundred per cent. better! But, tell me, were you in earnest when you spoke of going with us across the plains ? We start in a week; Ishall be sor- ry to part with you so soon.” ‘But Iwas in earnest. I am go- ing with you, if you will only show me how I am to set about it.” “ Nothing easier; bly yourself p horse.” ‘“T have got one.” “Then a few coarse articles of dress, a rifle, a pair of pistols, a—” “Stop, stop! I have all these things. That isnot what I would be at, but this :—You, gentlemen, earry goods to Santa Fé. You double, or treble, your money on them. Now I have ten thousand dollars in a bank here. What should hinder me to combine pro- fit with pleasure, and invest it as you do?” “Nothing, nothing! \dea,’’ answered several. “Well, then, if any of you will have the goodness to go with me, and show me what sort of mer- chandise I am to lay in for the Santa Fé market, I will pay his wine-bill at dinner, and that’s no small commission, I think.’ The prairie men laughed loudly, declaring they would all go a-shop- ping with me, and, after breakfast, we started in a buay, arm-in-arm. Before dinner, I had invested nearly all my disposable funds in rinted calicoes, lony knives, and ooking-glasses, leaving just mo- ney enough to purchase mule-wag- ons and hire teamsters at Inde- A good he THE SCALP-HUNTERS. pendence, our point of departure for the ‘‘ plains.” A few days after, with my new © companions, I was steaming it up the Missouri, on our way to the trackless prairies of the ‘‘ Far West.” ‘ CHAPTER III. THE ‘‘ PRAIRIE FEVER.” AFTER a week spent in Indepen- dence, buying mules and wagons, we took the route over the plains. — There were a hundred wagons in the “caravan,” and nearly twice that number of teamsters and at- tendants. Two of the capacious vehicles contained all my “ plun- der;’’ and to manage them, I had hired a couple of lathy, long-hair- ed Missourians. I had also en- aged a Canadian voyagewr named xodé, as a sort of attendant or compagnon, Where are the glossy gentlemen of the Planters’ Hotel ? One would suppose they had been left behind, as here are none but men in hunt- ing-shirts and slouch hats. Yes; but under these hats we recognize their faces, and in these rude shirts we have the same jovial fellows aa ever. The silky black and the dia- monds have disappeared, for now the traders flourish under the prat- rie costume. I will endeavor to give an idea of the appearance of my companions by deseribin, myown; forI am “tricked out very much like themselves. I weara hunting-shirt of dressed deer-skin. It is a garment more after the style of an ancient tunié than any thing I can think of. of a light-yellow color, beautifully stitched and embroidered; and thé | cape, for it has ashort cape, is fring” ed by tags cut out of the leather 1 self. The skirt is also bordered D a similar fringe, and hangs full av! low. A pair of “savers”? of scal® let cloth cover my limbs to th thigh; and under these are stroBg | ; jean pantaloons, heavy boots, a” ig brass spurs. A colored cotto® Tt is fof a oe We per ae Shirt, a blue necktie, and a broad- rimmed Guayaquil hat, complete the articles of my everyday dress. ehind me, on the cantle of my sad- dle, may be observed a bright-red Object folded into a cylindrical form. This is my ‘‘ Mackinaw,” a eat favorite, for it makes my bed Y night and my great-coat on oth- €r occasions. There is a small slit in the middle of it, through which thrust my head in cold or rainy Weather; and Iam thus covered to the ankles. As I have said, my compagnons voyage are similarly attired. There may be a difference of color 0 the blankets or the leggings, or © shirt may be of other materi- as, but thatI have described may be taken as a “character dress.” We are all somewhat similarly {med and equipped. For my part, Imay say that lam ‘armed to the teeth.» In my holsters I carry a Pair of Colt’s large-sized revolvers, §IX shots each. In my belt is an- her pair of the small size, with Ve shots each. In addition, Ihave 8 light rifle, making in all twenty- ree shots, which I haye learnt to Cliver in as many seconds of time. boiling with all these, [ carry inmy elt a ong, shining blade, known 4““powie-knife.”? This last is My hunting-knife,my dining-knife, Xd, in short, my knife of ‘all pork.” For accouterments I have qeouch and a flask, both slung un- Ae the right arm. I have, also, a Pa ge gourd canteen, and a haver- m < for my rations. So have all TY companions. So ut we are differently mounted. Strid, ride saddle-mules, others be- b mustangs, while a few have heoaght their favorite American news I am of this number. I be & dark-brown stallion with Wit legs, and muzzle like the hered fern. He is a half-Arab, perfect proportions. He is gly “Moro,” a Spanish name, Pro e” him by the Louisiana planter bas. Whom I bought him, but why the Not know. I have retained _~ Name, and he answers to it ARMED AND MOUNTED. 19 readily. He is strong, fleet and beautiful. Many of my friends fancy him on the route, and offer large prices forhim; but this does not tempt me, for my Moro serves me well. Every day I grow more attached to him. My dog, Alp, 3 St. Bernard that I bought from a Swiss emigre in St. Louis, hardly comes in for a tithe of my affee- tions. I find on consulting my note-book, that for weeks we traveled over the prairies without any incident of unusual interest. To me the sce- nery was interesting enough; and I do not remember a more striking picture than to see the long cara- van of wagons, the ‘‘prairie ships,” deployed over the plain, or crawl- ing slowly up some gentle slope, their white covers contrasting beautifully with the deep green o theearth. At night, too, the camp, with its corraled wagons, and hors- es picketed around, was equally a picture. The scenery was alto- gether new to me, and imbued me with impressions ofa peculiar char- acter. The streams were fringed with tall groves of cottonwood trees, whose column-like stems supported a thick frondage of sil- very leaves. These groves, meet- ing at different points, walled in the view, so dividing the prairies from one another that we seemed * to travel through vast fields fenced by colossal hedges. We crossed many rivers, fording some, and floating our wagons over others that were deeper and wider. Occasionally we saw deer and ante- lope, and our hunters shot a few of these; but we had not yet reach- ed the range of the buffalo. Once we stopped a day to recruit in a wooded “‘bottom,” where the grass was plenty and the water pure. Now and then, too, we were halted to mend a broken tongue or an axle, or to help a ‘stalled ” wagou from its miry bed. I had very little trouble with my particular division of the caravan. My Missourians turned out to be a pair of stanch hands, who coulda - * assist one another without makin a desperate affair of every sligh accident. The grass had sprung up, and our mules and oxen, instead of thin- ning down, every day grew fatter upon it. Moro, therefore, came in for a better share of the maize that I had*brought in my wagons, and which kept my favorite in fine trav- eling condition. As we approached the Arkansas, we saw mounted Indians disap- pearing over the swells. They were Pawnees; and for several days clouds of these dusky warriors hung upon the skirts of the cara- van. But they knew our strength, and kept at a wary distance from our long rifles. To me eyery day brought some- thing new, either in the incidents of the “voyage” or the features of the landscape. Godé, who had been by turns a voyageur, a hunter, a trapper, and acourecur du bois, in our private dia- logues had given me an insight in- to many an item of prairie-craft, thus enabling me to cut quite a respectable figure among my new comrades. St. Vrain, too, whose frank, generous manner had al- ready won my confidence, spared no pains to make the trip agree- able tome. What with gallops by day, and the wilder tales by the night watch-fires, I became intoxi- eated with the romance of my new life. had caught the ‘‘ prairie fe- ver [” 80 my companions told me. laughing. I did not understand them then. I knew what they meant afterward. The prairie-fe- ver! Yes! I was just then in process of being inoculated by that strange disease It grew upon me apace. The dreams of home began to die within me; and with these, the illusory ideas of many a young and foolish ambi- tion. Died away, too, dead out of my heart, the allurements of the great city, the memory of soft eyes end silken tresses, the impress of amorous emotions, foes to human THE SCALP-HUNTERS. happiness ; all died av-vay, as tf they had neyer been, orI had never felt them ! My strength increased, both physically and intellectually. Iex- perienced a buoyancy of spirits and a Vigor of body I had never known before. I felt a pleasure in action- My blood seemed to rush warmer and swifter through my veins, and — I fancied that my eyes reached to amore distant vision. Icould look boldly upon the sun without quiv- ering in my glance, Had I imbibed a portion of the divine essence that lives, and moves, and has its being in thesé vast solitudes ? Who can answer this ? The prairie-fever! I feel it now! While lam penning these memo- ries, my fingers twitch to grasp the reins, my knees quiver to press the sides of my noble horse, and wild- ly wander over the verdant billows of the prairie sea! * CHAPTER IV. A RIDE UPON A BUFFALO BULL. We had been about two weeks out when we struck the Arkansas “bend,” about six miles below the “Plum Buttes.” Here out wagons corralled and camped. So far we had seen but little of the buffalo; only a stray bull, oF - at most two or three together, and these shy. It was now the “running season,” but none of the great droves, love-maddened, had crossed us. “Look yonder !” cried St. Vrain; “fresh hump forsupper !”’ We looked northwest, as indicated by our friend. Along the escarp- mentof a low table, five dark ob- jects broke the line of the hori zon. A glance was enough: they were buffaloes. As St. Vrain spoke, we were about slipping off our saddles Back went the girth-buckles with a ‘‘sneck,”” down came the 5 rups, up went we, and off in the | “twinkling of a goat’s eye.” oe _ aw Ow be wk be ee owe > axa @ 2 rae SS Half-a-score or so started; tome, like myself, for the sport; While others, old hunters, had the “meat”? in their eye. We had made but a short day’s March ; our horses were still fresh, andin three times as many min- utes, the three miles that lay be- tween us and the game were reduced to one. Here, however, Wwe were ‘‘winded.’”? Some of the party, like myself, green upon the Prairies, disregarding advice, had ridden straight ahead; and the bulls snuffed us on the wind. hen within a mile, one of them threw up his shaggy front, snorted, Struck the ground with his hoof, tolled over, rose up again, and dashed off at full speed, followed by his four companions. It remained to us now either to abandon the chase or put our horses to their mettle and “catch up.”” The latter course was adopt- ed, and we galloped forward. Ail at once we found ourselves riding up to what appeared to be a C.ay wall, six feet high. It was a S o “Then, my dear str, it is a mis- e. You think you are talking to somebody else, and bidding for ‘bome other horse.” “Oh, no! He is yours. A black Stallion with red nose and long, full tail; half-bred Arabian. There is a small mark over the left eye.” This was certainly the descrip- tion of Mcro; and I began to feel &sort of superstitious awe in re- Sard to my mysterious neighbor. _ “True,” replied I; ‘that is all Correct ; but I bought that stallion Many months ago froma Louisiana lanter. If you have just arrived ‘om two hundred miles down the Rio Grande, how, may I ask, could you have known any thing about me or my horse ?”” “Dispcensadme, caballero! I did Not mean that. Icame from below Mheet the caravan, for the pur- ose of buying an American horse. °urs is the only one in the cabal- lada I would buy, and, it seems, me Only one that is not for sale!” a ‘Tam sorry for that; but I have weed the qualities of this animal. © have become friends. No tommon motive would induce me Part with him.” Ah, sefior! it is not a common Motive that makes me so eager to Urchase him. If you knew that, Per] 4ps— he hesitated a moraent; te Ut no, no, no!” and after mut- “ing some half-coherent words, thoes which I could recognize he & “oy ?? uenas noches, caballero! © Stranger rose up with the same €rious air that had all along conig’ terized him, and left me. smal hear the tinkling of the ‘ I bells upon the rowels of his ; » 48 he slowly warped him- ti, through the gay crowd, and g Ti Peared into the night. Diag Vacated seat was soon occu- wie he, a dusky ‘ manola,”? whose tote, “Dagua, embroidered chemi- b> brow sles, ¢ é lne’y'OWN ankles, and small This Slippers, drew my attention. A ee Was all I could see of her, Yery*t the occasions: flash of a | Role lack eye through the a. ‘ of the ““rebozo tapado,” y « A PARTNER. degrees, the rebozo became more generous, the loophole expanded, and the outlines of a very. pretty and very malicious little face were displayed before me. The end of the scarf was adroitly removed from ‘the left shoulder; and anude plump arm, ending in a bunch ot small, jeweled fingers, hung care- lessly down. I am tolerably bashful; but at the sight of this tempting partner, I could “‘hold in” no longer, an bending toward her, I said in my best Spanish, ‘Do me the favor, miss, to waltz with me.” The wicked little manola first held down her head and blushed; then, raising the long fringes of her eyes, looked up again, and with a voice as sweet as that of a canary-bird, replied : “Con gusto, sefior.” (With pleasure, sir.) ““Nos vamos!’ eried I, elated with my triumph; and pairing off with my brilliant partner, we were soon whirling about in the “mazy.”? We returned to our seats again, and after refreshing with a glass of “Albuquerque,” a sponge-cake, and a “husk” cigarette, again “took the floor.” This pleasur- able programme we repeated some half-dozen times, only varying the dance from waltz to polka, for my manola danced the polka as if she had been a born Bohemian. On one of my fingers was a fifty- dollar diamond, which my partner seemed to think was ‘muy bue- nito.” As her igneous eyes soft- ened my heart, and the champagne was producing asimilar effect upon my head, I began to speculate on the propriety of transferring the diamond from the smallest of my fingers to the largest of hers, which it would, no doubt, have fitted exuctly. All at once I be- came conscious of being under the surveillance of a large and very fierce-looking leperdé: a regular pelado, who followed us with his eyes, and sometimes in persond, to every part of the room. The ex- pression of his swarth face was 9 THE SCALRPHUNTERS. mixture of jealousy and vengeance, ‘’ware steel,”? when some on — which s artner noticed, but, a8 plucked me by the sleeve, and I thought, took no pains to soften urning, I beheld my quondam ac down. quaintance of the purple manga. “Who is he?’ I whispered, as = ‘‘ Dispensadme, sefior,”’ said he, the man swung past us in his nodding graciously; ‘‘1 have ju ae serapé. learned that the caravan is going ‘Esta mi marido, sefior’’ (it is on to Chihuahua.” 3 my husband, sir), was the cool re- “True, there is no market heré for our goods.” ply. ; i pushed the ring close up to ‘You go on then, of course?” | the root of my finger, shutting my ‘‘ Certainly, I must.”’ ae hand upon it as tight as a vice. “ Will you return this ways “Vamos a tomar otra copita!”’ sefior ?”’ ; (let us take another glass of wine !) “It is very likely; I haye nO | | said I, resolving to bid my pretty other intention at present.”’ T 1 “poblana,” as soon as possible, a ‘‘ Perhaps then you might be | § good-night. willing to part with your horse? | The Taos whisky had by this You will find many as good in the | 1 time produced its effect upon the great valley of the Mississippi.” | dancers. The trappers and team- “‘ Neither is likely.” m | € sters had become noisy and riot- “But, sefior, should you be iD" | — 2 ous. The leperos, who now half clined to do so, will you promisé i led the room, stimulated by me the refusal of him?” ah, wine, jealousy, old hatreds, and “Oh! that I will promise you; y the dance, began to look more sa- with ail my heart.” iat vage and sulky. Thefringedhunt- Our conversation was here intel’ fi ing-shirts and brown homespun rupted by a huge, gaunt, half & frocks found favor with the dark- drunken Missourian, who, tramp i eyed ‘‘majas” of Mexico, partly ling rudely upon the stranger®) RY out of a respect for, and a fear of, toes, vociferated : : = courage, which is often atthe bot- e—up,; old greaser! gi’ me # ti a tom of a love like theirs. char.”’ f the Although the trading caravans ‘Y porque?’ (and why?) d& i supplied almost all the commerce wibhaed. the Mexican, drawing ‘ of Santa Fé, and it was clearly the his feet, and looking up with asto® oe interest of its inhabitants to be on ished indignation, eT, q ood terms with the traders, the ‘Porky bed—d! I’m tired jump, < wo races, Anglo-American and in’. I want a seat, that’s it, Of) wie Hispano-Indian, hated each other hoss.”’ 7 ore thoroughly ; and that hate was There was something so pull, tied! now displaying itself on one side ing and brutal in the conduct ? ae in bullying contempt, on the other this man, that I felt called upov ” ie in muttered ‘‘carajos’”? and fierce interfere. A ee looks of vengeance. “Come!” said I, address? Ro Iwas still chatting with mylive- him, ‘you have no right to de ‘tng ly partner. We were seated on prive this gentleman of his 8@%) « the banquette where I had intro- much less in such a fashion.”’ att duced myself. Onlooking casnal- ‘‘ Eh, mister? who the h—I] 9 ale: t up, 2 bright object met my eye. ed you toopenyerhead? Ye—Y of hg t appeared to be a naked knife in Isay!”’ and at the word, he sel) ay Mi the hands of ‘‘su marido,”” who the Mexican by the corner of ¥y hag was jest then lowering overuslike manga, as if to drag him from? the h the suadow of an evil spirit. I seat. rT dog * was favored with. only a slight Before I had time to reply t07, glimpse of this dangerous meteor, rude speech and gesture, the st) and had made up my mind to ger leaped to his feet, and me oro 1" 36 rt if 8) der ip on ¥ell-planted blow felled the bully “pon the floor. This seemed to act asa signal for bringing several other quarrels & climax. There was a rush Tough all parts of the sala, tunken shouts mingled with yells of vengeance, knives glanced from ir fheaths, women screamed, tols flashed and cracked, filling Th. rooms with smoke and dust. lights went out, fierce strug- Bles could be heard in the dark- Ness, the fall of heavy bodies amidst groans and curses, and for Ye minutes these were the only Sounds, Ving no cause to be particu- , fey angry with anybody, I stood fre [had risen, without using ler knife or pistol, my frighten- Maju’? all the while holding te by the hand. A painful sensa- near my left shoulder caused suddenly to drop my partner; Nec. ith that unaccountable weak- ties Consequent upon the recep- sie Of a wound, I felt myself He &ering toward the banquette. Be I dropped into a sitting pos- we.) 2d remained till the struggle tha Over, conscious all the while ao bastream of blood was oozing Ung My back, and saturating my &r garments, ener’ thus till the struggle was Co A light was brought, and in qwadistinguish anumber ofmen With ating -shirts moving to and fro of », 0lent gesticulations. Some ticg “™ Were advocating the jus- ™m, of the “spree,” as they Tend it; while others, the more dePectable of the traders, were the UReing it. The leperos, with tnd Women, had all disappeared, a Could perceive that. the day ““Ticanos’ had carried the aon Several dark objects lay of ay the floor; they were bodies A Ndead or dying! One was hag pactican, the Missourian who "the -°et the immediate rause of gas ; the others were pela- Could see nothing of my quaintance. My fandangu- % too—con, eu marido— had dis- STABBED. appeared; and on glancing at m: left hand, I came ion the ent that so also had my diamond ring! “St. Vrain, St. Vrain!’ 1 cried, seeing the figure of my frend enter at the door. “Where are you, H., old boy? How is it with you? all right, eh?” “Not quite, I fear.” “Good heavens! what’s this? why, you’re stabbed in the hum ribs!” Not bad, Ihope. Off wit your shirt and let’s see.” i ‘First, let us to my room.” ‘Come then, my dear boy, lean on me; 80, so!” The fandango was over. CHAPTER VIII. SEGUIN THE SCALP-HUNTER. I nave had the pleasure of bein wounded in the field of battle. say pleasure. Under certain cir- cumstances, wounds are luxuries. You have been carried on a “stretcher”? to some secure spot. An aid-de-camp drops from his sweating horse, and announces that ‘‘ the enemy is in full flight,” thus relieving you from the ap prehension of being transfixed by some moustached lancer; a friend- ly surgeon bends over you; and after groping a while about your wound, tells you it is ‘only a seratch,’’ and that it will be well in a week or two; then come visi- ons of glory, the glory of the Ga- zette; present pains are forgotten in the contemplation of future triumphs; the congratulations ot friends; the smiles, perchance, of one dearer than all. Consoled by such anticipations, you lie back cn your couch, smiling at a bullet- hole through your thigh, or the slash of a saber across your arm. -Lhave had these emotions. How different were the feelings J ex- perienced while smarting under wounds that came by the steel of the assassin ! My earliest anxiefy was about the ‘‘depth’”’ of my wound. Waa 88 it mo.tal? This is generally the first question a man puts to him- self, after discovering that he has been shot or stabbed. A wound- ed man can not always answer it either. One’s life-blood may be spurting from the artery at each palpitation, while the actual pain felt is not worth the pricking of a in. On reaching the Fonda, I sunk exhausted on my bed. St. Vrain split my hunting-shirt from cape to skirt, and commenced examin- ing my wound. I could not see my friend’s face as he stood behind me, and I waited with impatience. “Ts it deep ?” I asked. “Not deep as a draw-well, nor wide as a wagon-track,” was the reply. ‘‘You’re quite safe, old fellow; thank God, and not the man who handled that knife, for the fellow plainly intended to do for you. It is the cut of a Spanish knife, and a devilish gash.it is. By the Lord! Haller, it was a close shave. One inch more, and the spine, my boy! But you're safe, I say. Here, Godé! that sponge!” “Sacré!)’ muttered Godé, with true Gallic aspirate, as he handed the wet rag. 1 felt the cold application. Then a bunch of soft raw cotton, the best dressing it could have, was laid over the wound, and fastened by strips. The most skillful sur- geon could have done no more. “‘Glose as a clamp,’ added St. Vrain, as he fastened the last pin, and placed me in the easiest posi- tion. But what started the row? and how came you to cut such a figure in it? was out, thank Goa!” “Did you observe a strange- looking man —?” Weal with the purple man- as Yes.” “He sat beside us ?” “ Yes > “Ha! No wonder you say a eee man; stranger than he looks, too. Isaw him, I know him, and perhaps not an- THE SCALP-HUNTERS. other in the room could say that ay, there was another,” continuel St. Vrain, with a peculiar smilé “but what could have brough” him there is that which puzzle me. Armijo could not have see!) him; ‘Dut, go an.” ie I related to St. Vrain the whol of my conyersation with the ’ stranger, and the incidents thi led to the breaking up of the fa dango. “Tt is odd; very odd! Whi the deuce could he want with y? horse ?. Two hundred miles, offers a thousand dollars !”? “Enfant de garce, capitaine (Godé had called me captain eV since the ride upon the buffalo) “if monsieur come two hundlt mile, and vill pay un mille tho dollar, pe Gar! he Moro like ¥ vermoch. Ungrand passion p le cheval. Pourquois; vy he # like him ver sheep? vy he nos im 9? / started at the suggestion, looked toward St. Vrain. ““Vith permiss of le capitain@ vill le cheval caché,” contig py the Canadian, moving toward door. “You need not trouble you old Nor’ west, as far as that ge? leman is concerned. He'll 0! steal your horse; though that’s reason why you should not fw your intention, and caché the mal. There are thieves enove in Santa Fé to steal the horse’ a whole regiment. You had D ter fasten him by the door heres Godé, after devoting Santa” and its inhabitants to a wm warmer climate than Canada, P ed to the door, and disappear “Who is he?’ I asked, “Uj! man, fbout whom ‘there seems, be so much vhat is mysterious + “Ah! if you knew. I will % yeu some queer passages, by ; by, but not to-night. You B no need of excitement. Thé! the famous Seguin—the 8c hunter.” “The Sealp-hunter !?” “Ay! you have heard of 3 THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. cs] ‘Odoubt; at least you would, had Subheen much among the moun- ‘tins,?? tot have. The hellish ruffian! he wholesale butcher of inno- Cet > Adark waif danced against the I |; it was the shadow of a man. merked up. Seguin was before e net Vrain on seeing him enter “d turned away, and stood look- ‘ag out of the window. Was on the point of changing fi, tirade into the apostrophic ints and at the same time order- 8 the man out of my sight, when mMething in his look ‘nfluenced ton? remain silent. I could not ht Whether he had heard or qulerstood to whom my abusive tpithets had been applied; but thar’ Was nothing in his manner I At betrayed his having done so, thay served only the same look Bay it had at first attracted me; the me expression of deep melan- holy, angola this man be the hardened of 7 2cartless viilain I had heard ’ 1, the 30 mé Loci ifey author of so many atroci mast,” said he, seeing that I re- wed silent, “I deeply regret thovbas happened you. I was Thigh ey OLyntary cause of your One oF is your wound a seyere nt is not,” I replied, with a di @8s of manner that seemed to eo Qeert him. in, 2a glad of that,” he con- Mnued, atts \T came to ti » after a pause. J anks you for your generous in- nace. I leave Santa Fé in Wel nutes. I must bid you fare- telte held forth his hand. I mut- Sd the word ‘farewell,’ but Sut offering to exchange the atutation, The stories of cruel of ty connected with the name s 18 man came into my mind at for peoment, and I felt a loathing Outs es His arm remained in its stra tetched position, while a “ expression began to stea: over his countenance, a3 he saw that I hesitated. ‘‘Tcan not take your hand,” I said, at length. “And why? he asked, in a mild tone. “Why? it is red, red! sir, away!” He fixed his eyes upon me with a sorrowful look. There was not a spark of anger in them. He drew his hand within the fold of his manga, and uttering a deep sigh, turned and walked slowly out of the room. St. Vrain, who had wheeled round at the close of this scene. strode forward to the door, an stood looking after him. I could see the Mexican, from where I lay, as. he crossed the quadrangular patio. He had shrugged himself closely in his manga, and was, mov: ing off in an attitude that betok ened the deepest dejection. Ina moment he was out of sight, hay- ing passed through the saguan, and into the street. “There is something truly mys- terious about that man. Tell me, 8t. Vrain —” ‘‘Hush-sh! look yonder!’ in- terrupted my friend, pointing through the open door. I looked out into the moonlight. Three human forms were moving along the wall, toward the entrance of the patio. Their hight, their peculiar attitudes, and the stealthy silence of their steps, convinced me they were Indians, The next moment they were lost under the dark shadows of the saguan. “Who are they ?”’ I inquired. “Worse enemies to poor Seguin than you would be, if you knew him better. I pity him if these hungry hawks overtake him in the dark. But no; he’s worth warn- ing, and a hand to help him, if need be. He shall have it. Keep cool, Harry! I will be back in a jiffy.” So saying, St. Vrain left me; and the moment after I could ses his light form passing hastily out of the gate. Away, THE SUALP-HUNTERS. I lay reflecting on the strange- geon, a wretched ieech of a Mert ness of the incidents that seemed can, assures me that it will be cer to be occurring around me. Iwas tain death to attempt the journey not without some painful reflec- For want of any opposing evr tions. I had wounded the feelings dence, I am constrained to believé of one who had not injured me, him. I have no alternative bul and for whom my friend evidently entertained a high respect. Ashod hoof sounded upon the stones out- side ; it was Godé with my horse; aud the next moment I heard him hammering the picket-pin into the of the traders, Chafing on a feverish bed, I take part with many regrets; but abov®- pavement. all, Iam pained at bidding adie » Shortly after, St. Vrain himself to St. Vrain, whose light hearted returned. companionship has been my sol ace through three days of suffct “ Well,”? Linquired, ‘ what hap- 4 ing. He has proved my friend) pened you?” to adopt the joyless resolve to re — S rnain in Santa Fé until the returd leave of my late companions. W® | “ Nothing much. That’s a weas- el that never sleeps. He had mounted his horse before they came up with him, and was very soon out of their reach.” “But may they not follow him on horseback ?”” “That is not likely. He has and has undertaken to take charg? of my wagons, and dispose of goods in the market of Chihuahué - “Do not fret, man,” says D& taking leave. ‘Kill time with t® champagne of El] Paso. We will be back in a squirrel’s jump; and trust me, I will bring you a m' le comrades not far from here, I war- load of Mexican shiners. Got rant you. Armijo, and it was he bless you! Good-by!” by sent those villains on his track, I can sit up in my bed, and, fro® has no force that dare follow him the open window, see the whit? when he gets upon the wild hills. tilts of the wagons, as the t No fear for him once he has clear- rolls over a neighboring hill. ERIE OS 25 teh ce et ee vw ed the houses.” hear the cracking whips and “But, my dear St. Vrain, tellme deep-toned ‘‘wo-ha” of the tea what you know of this singular sters; I see the traders mount man. Iam wound up to a pitch gallop after; and I turn upon py of curiosity.” couch with a feeling of loneli! “Not to-night, Harry; not to- and desertion. ; night. I donot wish tocause you For days I lie tossing and fred further excitement; besides Ihave ting, despite the consolatory in reason to leave younow. To-mor- fluence of the champagne and a row, then. Good-night! good- rude but kindly attention of night!” “ea valet. j And so saying, my mercurial riseat length, dress myself, 7 fi nd left me to Gode and a night sit in’my ‘‘ ventana.” have , of restlessness. rood view of the plaza and the® acent streets, with their rows rown adobé houses, and du ways between. ng CHAPTER IX. ; I gaze, Saas a ae on “a : $ passing without. The scene | eh Bes not without novelty as well @ On the third day after the fan- variety. Swarthy, ill-favored f@% dango, it is announced that theca- appear behind the folds of ith ravan will move onward to Chi- rebozos. Fierce glances lower ® huahua. der the slouch of broad sombrely The day arrives, and I am un- Poblanas with short skirts able to travel with it. My sur- slippered feet pass my wii i aa SPA Ps See Ee BS ok A MEXICAN VILLAGE. nd groups of ‘tame’? Indians, Pueblos, crowd in from the sur- “Tounding rancherias, belaboring heir donkeys as they go. These ring baskets of fruit and vegeta- €s. They squat down upon the usty plaza, behind piles of prickly Piars, or pyramids of tomatoes “a chilé. | The women, light- arted hucksters, laugh.and sing tad chatter continuously. The h ttillera, kneeling by her shetaté, Tiises the boiled maize, claps it © thin flakes, flings it on the eed stone, and then cries, ‘‘Zor- a 48! tortillas calientes!’? The co- mere stirs the peppery stew of U6 coiorado, lifts the red liquid hep? Wooden ladle, and. invites te Customers by the expressions: Ué bueno! excellente!”..“* Car- ne ! carbon!” cries the charcoal- shgue “Agua! agua limpia!” Outs the aguadoré. ‘ Pun fino, - m blanco!’ screams the baker ; of Other cries, from the venders tone, huevos, and leché, are ut- ed in shrill, discordant voices. «2 are the voices of a Mexican laza,?? Mey are at first interesting. isa” become monotonous, then tonpereeable ; until at length I am af Ured, and listen to them with ‘vetish excitement, Walle er a few. days I am able to Goge and go out with my faithful toy, .Ve stroll through the Siye yt reminds me of.an exten- hay brickfield before the kilns cen set on fire. Ado} €neounter the same brown ino S everywhere; the same yil- at hevlooking leperos lounging 1€ corners ; the same. bare-leg- Strin Slippered wenches ; the same anes! belabored donkeys; the r Shrill and detestable cries. hong, P288 by a ruinous-looking fare 4 @ remote quarter. Our Within’? saluted by voices from tan 7 We hear shouts of ‘‘ Mue- Cangy Lankies! Abajo los Ameri- Whom 1 No doubt the pelado, to ig amon ss udebted for my wound Lato thee. the ruffians who crowd © windows; but I know the 41 lawlessness of the place too well to apply for justice. We hear the same shonts in an- other street; again in the plaza; and Godé and I réenter the Fonda with a conviction that our appear- ance in public might be attended with danger. We resolve, there- fore, to keep within doors. In all my life I never suffered ennui, as when cooped up in this semi-barbarous town, and almost confined within the walls of its filthy Fonda. I felt it the more that I had so lately enjoyed the company ofsuch free, jovial spirits, and I could faney them in their bivouacs.on the banks of the Del Norté, carousing, laughing, or list- ening to some wild mountain story. Godé shared my feelings, and became as desponding as myself. The light humor of the voyageur disappeared. The song of the Ca- nadian boatman was heard no long- er; but, in its place, the ‘‘saeré,”® the ‘‘Enfant de garce,’’ and the English. ‘‘ God-dam,’’ were sput- tered, plentifully, and hurled at every thing Mexican. I resolved at length to put an end to our sufferings. “This life will never do, Godé,” said J, addressing my compagnon, ‘ Ah! monsieur, nevare ! nevare it. vill do. Ah! ver doll. It is like von assemblée of le Quaker,” “J am determined to endure it noslonger.”’ ‘But what can monsieur do? How, capitaine ?” “* By leaving this accursed place, and that to-morrow.”’ “But is monsieur fort? strongs beaucoup? strongs to ride ?”’ “T will risk it, Godé. IfI break down, there are other towns on the river where we can halt. Any- where better than here.” “Oest vrai, capitaine. Beauti- ful village down the river. _Albu- querque ; Tomé: ver many village. Mon Dieu! all better, . Santa Fé is one camp of dam thief. Ver good for us go, monsieur; ver good.”” ¢ “ Good or not, Godé, I am going, Make your preparations to-night, for I will leave in the morning before sunrise.” “Tieu merei! It vill be von eae plaisir to makes ready.” nd the Canadian ran from the room, snapping his fingers with delight. I had made up my mind to leave Santa Fé at any rate. Should my strength, yet but half restored, hold out, I would follow, and if ossible overtake the caravan. I new it could make but short journeys over the deep sand roads of the Del Norté. Should I not succeed in coming up with it, I could halt in Albuquerque or El Paso, either of which would offer me a residence at least as agree- able as the one I was leaving. My surgeon endeavored to dis- suade me from setting out. He represented that I was in a most critical condition; my wound far from being cicatrized. He set forth in most eloquent terms the dangers of fever, of gangrene, of hemorrhage. He saw I was obsti- nate, and concluded his monitions by presenting his bill. It amount- ed to the modest sum of one hundred dollars! It was an extor- tion. WhatcouldIdo? Istorm- ed and protested. The Mexican threatened me with “ governor’s”’ justice. Godé swore in French, Spanish, English, and Indian. It was all to no purpose. I saw that the bill would have to be paid; and I paid it, though with indiffer- ent grace. The leech disappeared, and the szandlord came next. He, like the former, made earnest entreaty to revent me from setting forth. Te offered a variety of reasons to detain me. “Donot go; for your life, sefior, do not!” , “ And why, good José?” I in- quired, 2 “Oh, sefior; los Indos braves! los Navajoes! carrambo!”? But I am not going into the In- dian country. travel down the THE SCALP-HUNTERS. river, through the towns of New Mexico.” “Anh! sefior! the towns ! no hay seguridad. No, no; there is safety nowhere from the Navajo. Ha novedades; news this very day, Polvidera; pobre Polvidera ! was attacked on Sunday last. O02 Sunday, senior, when they were al en la misa. Pues, senor, the rob bers surrounded the chureh ; al oh, garrambo! they dragged ow the poor people: men, women ab children! Pues, senor; they ! the men; and the women: Di de mi alma!” “Well, and the women ?” f “Oh, sefor! they are all gone: they were carried to the mountains by the savages. Pobres mugeres: “Tt is a sad story, truly; DI the Indians, I understand, onl) make these forays at long interva® I am not likely to meet with the? now. Atall events, José, 1 hay) made up my mind to run the risk- “But, sefor,’? continued Jost lowering his voice to a confidel tial tone, ‘‘there are other I rones besides the Indians; whi ones, muchos, muchissimos ! Ay} indeed, mi amo, white robbel® blancos, blancos y muy feos, rai!” And José closed his fingers as i clutching some imaginary obje¢ This appeal to my fears was i vain. Ianswered it by pointing my revolvers and rifle, and to well-filled belt of my henchm® Godé. ‘ When the Mexican Boniface at that I was determined to rob wt of all the guests that he had i 4 house, he retired sullenly, 1. shortly after returned with is bill Like that of the ‘‘medico,”” it¥ out of all proportion; but I co” not help myself, and paid it. By gray dawn I was in my *, dle, and, followed by Godé ant couple of heavily-packed mules, rode out of the ill-favored to¥, ii and took the road for the ~ Abajo. i. a BPP AES° oer lait 6 eat am Ge oes CHAPTER X. y THE DEL NORTE. I For days we journey down the i Del Norté. We pass through nu- t Merous villages, many of them 0 types of Santa F@. We cross the u) *quias and irrigating canals, and b 8 along fields of bright-green < Maize plants. We see vineyards a grand haciendas. These ap- at ' Pear richer and more prosperous as i} We approach the southern part of 08 € province, the Rio Abajo. N the distance, both east and F st, we desery dark mountains i} Tolled up against the sky. These ins We the twin ranges of the Rocky | Suntains. Long spurs trend to- put ard the river, and in places ap- nly Pear to close up the valley. They als ‘dd to the expression of many a a petutiful landscape that opens be- ayy Te us as we move onward. Ke ve See picturesque costumes in oat - © Villages and along the high- len eque—men dressed in the checker- lad of Serapé or the striped blankets pit? .. le Navajoes, conical sombreros Ay q broad brims; calzoneros of ers iiveteen, with their rows of shin- cat" wa cistle-tops, and fastened at the i ‘st by the jaunty sash. We see as Deas and filmas, and men wear- otk Or the sandal as in Eastern lands. tl tao he women we obserye the i ang ful rebozo,sthe short nagua, vl the embroidered chemisette. ym ‘ban © see rude implements of hus- ‘its ()Y—the creaking carreta, with 2 Oe Blo lock wheels; the primitive oi) Sa of the forking tree-branch, oe Beeely scoring the soil; the horn- vi pet oxen; the goad; the clumsy sD the 0 the hands of the peon serf; twa ang” are all objects that are new coun} tdi Curious to our eyes, and that cult te the lowest order of agri- Ural knowledge. ous ong the road we meet numer- Jos, in charge of their arrie- bc © observe the mules, small, Woot, light-limbed and vicious’ 4 ga Hance at the heavy alparejas n 6 ight worsted apishamores, Midaen ie the tight, wiry mustangs, y the arrieros; the high- IN THE BADDLE. peaked saddles and hair bridles; theswarth faces and pointed beards of the riders; the huge spurs that tinkle at every step; the exclama- tions, ‘Hola, mula! malraya! vaya!’ We notice all these, and they tell u> we are journeying in the land of the Hispano-Ameri- can. Under other circumstances these objects would have interested me, At that time, they appeared to me like the picture of a panorama, or the changing scenes of a continu- ous dream. As such have they left their impressions on my mem- ory. I was under the incipient delirium of fever. It was as yet only incipient; nevertheless, it distorted the im- ages around me, and rendered their impressions unnatural and weari- some. My wound began to pain me afresh, and the hot sun, agi the dust, and the thirst, with the mis- erable accommodations of New Mexican posadas, vexed me to an excess of endurance. On the fifth day after leaving Santa Fé, we entered the wretch- ed little “‘ pueblo” of Parida. It was my intention to have remain- ed there all night, but it proved a ruftian sort of place, with meager chances of comfort, and I moved on to Socorro. This is the last inhabited spot in New Mexico, as you approach the terrible desert, the Jornada del Muerte. Godé had never made the jour- ney, and at Parida I had obtained one thing that we stood in need of; aguide. He had volunteered; and as I learned that it would be no easy task to procure one at Socorro, I was fain to take him along. He was a coarse, shaggy- looking customer, and I did not at all like his appearance; but I found. on reaching Socorro, that what t had heard was correct. No guide could be hired on any terms, so great was their dread of the Jor- nada and its occasioual denizens, the Apachés. Socorro was alive with Indian rumors, novedades, The Indiana oy THE SCALP-HUNTERS. had fallen upon an atajo near the tions to find him, but to no pur crossing of Fra Cristobal, and pose. We were relieved at length murdered the arrieros to a man. from all doubts by the arrival of The village was full of consterna- some early market;men, who h tion at the news. The people met such a man as our guide far | dreaded an attack, and thought me up the river, and riding a mule ab | mad whenI made known my in> full gallop. +ention of crossing the Jornada. What should we do? Follow I began to fear they would fright- him to Parida? No; that would en my guide from his engagement, be a journey for nothing. I knew but the fellow stood out stanchly, that he would not be fool enough still expressing his willingness to to go that way. Even if he did, ib ‘ accompany us. would have been a fool’s errand t0 t Without the prospect of meet- seek for justice there, so I dete | | 8 ing the Apaché savages, Iwas but mined on leaving it over until the | y ill prepared for the Jornada. The return of the traders would en | = pain of my wound had increased, able me to find the thief, and de and I was fatigued and burning mand his punishment from thé & with fever, authorities. a3 But the carayan had passed My regrets at the loss of my — ha through Socorro only three days macho were not unmixed with a On before, and I was in hopes of oyer-. sort of gratitude to the fellow | | taking my old companions before when I laid my. hand upon the We they could leave El Paso. ‘This nose of my whimpering chargel Ra determined me to proceed in the What hindered him from taki ie morning, and I madearrangements the horse instead of the mule? e for an. early; start. is a question I have never bee? Ste Godé and I were awake before able to answer to this day, I ca? Whi dawn. ~My attendant went out. to only account for the fellow’s prefel ie summon the guide and saddle our. ence for the mule on the seore % &j at animals. Iremained in the house downright honesty, or the most ale making preparations for a cup of perverse stupidity. mh coffee before starting. I was as- I made overtures for anothe the? sisted by the landlord of the po- guide. I applied to the Bonifi es sada, who. had risen, and was of Socorro, but without success ped ¢ stalking about in his serapé. He knew no ‘‘mozo”? who wo W. a While thus engaged, I was start- undertake the journey. if wine? led by the voice of Godé calling “Los Apachés! los Apachés ! d hi from without, ‘‘Monmaitre! mon I appealed to the peons ant wiWe maitre! the rascal have him run loiterers of the plaza, att it? ; “ Los Apachés !”” . equa “What do you mean? Who Wherever I went, I was ap fe an has run away ?”’ swered with ‘Los Apachés,”’ ‘i om “Oh, monsieur! Ja Mexicaine, ashake of the forefinger in {0% bro the vith yon mule, has robb, and run of the nose; a negative sign 0 ‘the 3t bf Allons, monsieur, allons!’’ all Mexico. f} Cy £Ye foliowed the Canadian to the ‘It is plain, Godé, we can B bog teer stable with a feeling of anxiety. no guide. We must try this ¢7 diee, My horse—but no—thank heayen, nada without one. What sayJ 4 plot he was there! One of the mules, voyageur?”’ 5 mek the macho, was gone. It was the ‘I am agree, mon maitre; ~ Dapp Pols one which the guide had ridden lons!” ! » 8p from Parida. ; And, followed by my fail®, Rage “Perhaps he is not off pet” 1 compagnon, with our remallt © ar suggested. ‘‘He may still be in pack-mule, I took the roaé 7) Wo ha : the town.” eads to the desert. That the | Ve | .. Wesent and went in all direc- we slept among the ruins of "| "iq, nm Verde; and the next morning, er an early start, embarked up- % the “ Journey of Death.” CHAPTER XI. THE ‘JOURNEY OF DEATH,” wa Ty two hours we reach the | | ossing at Fra Cristobal. Here ) © road parts from the river, and - | Strikes into the waterless desert, @ “We plunge through the shallow \- fora, coming out on the eastern B Dank. We fill our ‘‘xuages”” with e Te, and give our animals as much hattey will drink. » After a short 4 It to refresh Ourselves, we ride a | QWard. ae We haye not traveled far before ne Tecognize the appropriate et. | game of this terrible journey. ng oF ttered along the path we see Hl © bones of many animals. There sed whi human bones, too! That cad ite Spheroidal mass, with its fer Fuaning rows and serrated sutures, “of sige s ahuman skull. It lies be- 08h ang the skeleton of a horse. Horse The Tider have fallen together. thet the Wolves have stripped them at fe Deq ame time. They have drop- 2058, a wn on their thirsty track, ould Wateetished in despair, aithough ‘A With? had. they known it, was aa wo reach of another effort! aod With” See the skeleton of a mule, - | atop, the alpareja. still buckle ) deg t@ it, and an old blanket, flap- ; i “nd tossed by many a whistl- J Wind. her Objects, that have been “ght there by human aid, strike We proceed. A bruised sn $ n, the fragments of a glass 3 » 4N old hat, a piece of sad- Stirrup, red with rust, trap, with many like » are strewed along our ‘ym Bath, OS, ar Bags Peaking a melancholy lan- ae ert. “S Still on the border of the We Ve to are fresh. How when the '° traveled over and neared Nagy PPOSite side? Shall we leave ; Souvenirs ? THE DESERT. 5 We are filled with painful fore- bodings, as we look across the arid waste that stretches indefinitely before us. We do not dread the Apachés. Nature herself is the enemy we fear. Taking the wagon tracks for our uide, we creep on. We grow si- ent, as if we were dumb. The mountains of Cristobal sink be- hind us, and we are almost “ out of sight of land.” We cansee the ridges of the Sierra Blanca away to the eastward ; but before us, to the south, the eye encounters no marx or limit. The sun grows hotter and hot- ter. I knew this would be the case when we started. It was one of those cool mornings, with fog on the river, and in the air. Ina my wanderings through many climes, I have observed such morn- ings to be the harbingers of sultry. hours at noon. The sun is climbing upward, and every moment his rays become fiercer and more fervid. There is a strong wind blowing, but it does not fan us into coolness. On the contrary, it lifts the burning crys- tals, and spits them painfully in our faces. - The sun has climbed to the zenith. We toil on through the yielding sand. For miles we see no traces of vegetation. The wag- on tracks guide us no longer. The drift has obscured them. We enter a plain covered with artemisia and clumps of the hide- ous greasewood. The warped and twisted branch- es impede our progress, For hours we ride through thickets of the bitter sage, and at length enter another region, sandy and rolling. Long arid spurs shoot down from the mountains, and decline into ridges of dry shifting sand. Now not even the silvery leaf of the ar- temisia cheers our path. Before us we see nothing but barren waste, trackless and treeless. A tropical sun glances up from the brilliant surface, and we are almost blinded by the refracted 46 rays. ‘Yhe wind blows more light- ly, and clouds of dust load the air, sweeping slowly alung. We push forward without guide or any other object to indicate our course. We are soon in the midst of bewilderment. A scene of seeming enchantment springs up around us. Vast towers of sand, borne up by the whirlblast, rise vertically to the sky. They move to and fro over the plain. They are yellow and luminous. Tlesun glistens among their floating crys- tals. They move slowly, but they are approaching us. I behold them with feelings of awe. I have heard of travelers lifted in their whirling vortex, and dashed back again from fearful hights. ‘The pack-mule, frightened at the phenomenon, breaks the lasso and scampers away among the ridges. Godé has galloped in pursuit. I am alone. Nine or ten gigantic columns now appear, stalking over the plain and circling gradually around me. There is something unearthly in the sight. They resemble crea- tures of a phantom world. They seem endowed with demon life. Two of them approach each other. There is a short, gusty struggle that ends in their mutual destruction. The sand is precipi- tated to the earth, and the dust floats off in dun, shapeless masses. Several have shut me within a space, and are slowly closing upon me. My dog howls and barks. The horse cowers with affright, and shivers between my thighs, utter- ing terrified expressions. am irresolute. I sit in my saddle waiting the result, with an indescribable feeling. My ears are filled with a buzzing sound, like the hum of machinery. My eyes distort the natural hues into a fiery brightness. My brain reels. Strange objects appear. The fever is upon me! 4 The laden currents clash in their wildtorsion. Iam twisted around and torn from my saddle. My THE SCALP-HUNTERS. eyes, mouth, and ears, are filled with dust. Sand, stones, and oe strike me spitefully 1 the face; and I am flung w-th violence to the earth! ‘ I lay fora moment where I had fallen, half buried and_ blind. could perceive that thick clouds of dust were still sweeping over me. I was neither stunned nor hurt; and I began to grope around me, — d for as yet I could see nothing. My eyes wer’ full of sand, and pained me exceedingly. Throwing out my arms, I felt for my horse; called him by name. rods that shone brightly, Cano Curved upward, forming a Togs! ye” I ly eyes ran along these nq Scanning their configuration, admiring, as a child admires, Tegularity of their curves. I Hot in my own land. These mt tho? Were strange tome. “Yet,” ght I, “1 have seep, some- OnyStike them before, hota era? Strip cis I know, with its broad Navas’ and silken texture: it is a ligt f° blanket! Where was I Now y In New Mexico? Yes. but h Temember: the Jornada! «aew came I—? Woy, ttl untwist this? It is close Teg, ts it is wool, fine wool. No, Separate a thread from—” hgers! how white and *Y are! and my nails, blue, WAKING 1° PALITIES. 4 ana long as the talons ofa bird! I have a beard! I feel it on m chin. What gave me a beard? never wear it; I will shave it off— ha! my mustache ! . “The knights, how they tilt at each other! Bloody work! That bold fellow, the smaller too, will unhorse the other. I can tell from the spring of his horse and the way he sits him. Horse and rider are one now. The same mind unites them by a mysterious link. The horse feels with his rider. They can not fail fo conquer charg- ing thus. “Those beautiful ladies! She with the hawk perched on her arm, how brilliant! how bold, yet loye- ] 197 I was weatted, and slept again. Once more my eyes were tracing the figures upon the curtains; the knights and dames, the hounds, hawks, and horses. . But my brain had become clearer, and music was flowing into it. I lay silent, and listened. The voice was a female’s. I was soft and finely modulated. Some one played upon a stringed instrument. Irecognized the tones of the Spanish harp, but the song was French, a song of Normandy; and the words were in the lan- guage of that romantic land. I wondered at this, for my con- sciousness of late events was re- turning; and I knew that I was far from France. The light was streaming over my couch; and turning my face to the front, I saw that the curtains were drawn aside. I was in a large room, oddly but elegantly furnished. Human fig- ures were before me, seated and standing. Some were reclining upon the floor; othe-s were seate! on chuirs and ottomans; and all appeared to be busy with some occupation. I thought there were many figures, six or eight at the least. his proved to bean illv- sion. I found that the objects be- fore me made duplicate impres- ¢ ? sions upon my diseased rctina; and every thing appeared t» exist in pairs, the counterparts of each other. After looking steadily for a while, mhy vision became more distinct and reliable; and I saw that there were but three persons in the room, a man and two fe- males, I remained silent, not certain bnt that the scene before me was ouly some new phase of my dream My eyes wandered from one of the living figures to another, without attracting the attention of any of them. They were all in different atti- tudes, and occupied differently. Nearest me was a woman of middle age, seated gspon a low ottoman. The harp ‘T had heard was before her, and she continued to play.. She must have been, I thought, when young, a woman of extreme beauty. She was. still beautiful in a certain sense. The noble features were there, though [ could perceive that they had been scathed by more than ordina- ry suffering of the mind. The silk- en surface had yielded to care as well as time. She was a Frenchwoman: an ethnologist could have told that at aglance. Those lines, the charac- teristics of her highly-gifted race, were easily traceable. I thought there was a time when that face had witched many a heart with its smiles. There were no smiles on it now, but a deep intellectual ex- pression of melancholy. This I perceived too in her voice, in her song, in every note that vibrated from the string of the instrument. My eye wandered further. ee Oe a, rae . Weeks, the garden. it3 Tkis was enough for Creole blood. I repaired to Albuquerque, Md on the public plaza, in pres- ence of the multitude, I chastised he insulter. “T was seized, and thrown into & prisor, where I lay for several When I was freed, and Soucht my home again, it was Undered and desolate. The wild avajo had been there, my house- Old goods were scattered and Token; and my child, oh God! My little Adele, was carried a cap- ave to the mountains !”” hi And your wifey your other t il?” Vinquired, eager to know ie ress, They had escaped. In the ter- pole conflict, for my poor peons yittled bravely, my wife, with ee in her arms, had rushed out Nd hidden in a cave that was in I found them in the "che of a yaquero in the woods, hither they had wandered,” And your Has daughter Adele, tine fou heard aught of her e ? ‘ . “Yes, yes; I will come to that <2 moment. ly mine, at the same time ) ; my plundered and destroyed; tency of the workmen were slaugh- mas before they could escape ; t the work itself, with my for- became a ruin. haq ith some of the miners, who Who fled, and others of Valverde, wan? like me, had suffered, I or- fay a band, and followed the Vai Se foe; but our pursuit was in 8 4nd we turned back, many of «t0ken in health and heart. oa Monsieur, you can not a What it is to have thus lost de terite child! you can not un- luther nt the agony of the bereaved bog te Speaker pressed his head Toy g oD his hands, and remained Manes ment silent. His counte- heap bore the indications of & ending sorrow. up te Story will soon be told, know? the ‘present time. Who Ws the end? A WANTON TYRANT. ‘*For years, I hung upon the frontiers of the Indian country hunting for my child. Iwas aided by a small band, most of them unfortunates like myself, who had lost wife or daughter in a similar manner. But our means became exhausted and despair wore us out. The sympathies of my companions grew cold. One after another gave up. The Governor of New Mex- ico offered us no aid. On the contrary, it was suspected then— it is now known—that the Gover- nor himself was in secret league with the Navajo chiefs. He had engaged to leave them unmolest- ed; while they, on their side, promised to plunder only his ene- mies f ‘‘On learning this terrible secret, I saw the hand that had dealt me_ the blow. Stung by the disgrace Thad put upon him, as well as by my wife’s scorn, the villain was not slow to avenge himself. ‘“Since then his life has been twice in my power, but the taking ofit would, most probably, have forfeited my own, and I had ob- jects for which to live. I may yet find a reckoning day for him. ‘“‘T have said that my band mel- ted away. Sick at heart, and con. scious of danger in New Mexico, I left the province, and crossed tho Jornada to El Paso. Here fora while I lived, grieving for my lost child. “T was not long inactive. The numerous forays made by the Apachés into Sonora and Chihua- hua had rendered the government more energetic in* the defense of the frontier. The presidios were repaired and garrisoned with more eflicient troops, and a band of ran- gers organized, whose pay was proportioned to the number of scalps they might send back to the settlements ! “T was offered the eommand of this strange guerrilla; and in the hope that | might yet recover my child, I accepted it: I became a scalp-lhunter! ‘It was a terrible commission; 64 ay and had reyenge alone been my object, it would long since haye been gratified. Many a deed of blood have we enacted; many a scene of retaliatory vengeance have we passed through. “T knew that my captive daugh- ter was in the hands of the Nava- joes. I had heard so at various times from prisoners whom I had taken; but I was always crippled for want of strength in men and means. Reyolution after revolu- tion kept the States in poverty and civil warfare, and our interests were neglected or forgotten. With all my exertions, I could never raise a force sufficient to penetrate that desert country north of the Gila, in which lie the towns of the savage Nayajoes.”’ “ And you think—”’ “Patience! I shall soon finish. My band is now stronger than ever. I have received certain in- formation, by one just escaped from a captivity among the Nava- joes, that the warriors of both tribes are about to proceed south- ward. They are mustering all their strength, with the intention of making a grand foray ; even, as we haye heard, to the gates of Durango. It is my design, then, to enter their country while they are absent, and search for my daughter.” “And you think she still lives ?”” “T know it. The same who brought me this news, and who, poor fellow, has left his scalp and ears behind him, saw her often. She is grown up, and is, he says, asor >. queen tmong them, pos- sessed of strange powers and priv- ileges. Yes, she still lives; and if it be my fortune to recover her, then will this tragic scene be at an end. I will go far hence.” 1 had listened with deep atten- tion to the strange recital. All the disgust with which my previ- ous knowledge of this man’s cha- ractcr had inspired me vanished from my mind, and I felt for him compassion; 2y, admiration. He had suffered greatly. Suffering THE SCALK HUNTERS. atones for crime, and in my sight he was justifled. Perhaps I was too lenient in my judgment, It was natural I should be so. When the revelation was ended, I was filled with emotions of plea- sure. I felt a vivid joy to know that she was not the offspring of the demon I had deemed him. He seemed to have divined mg thoughts, for there was a smile 0 satisfaction, I might say triump! on his countenance, as he. lean across the table to refill the wine. “Monsieur, my story must have wearied you. Drink!’ There was a moment’s silence 95 — we emptied the glasses. . “And now, sir, you know the father of your betrothed, at least somewhat better than before. Aré you still in mind to marry her?” “Oh, sir! she is now, more that | ever, to me a sacred object.”?. ~ “But you must win her, as have said, from me.” “Then, sir, tellme how. I am ready for any sacrifice that may be within my power to make.” “You must help me to recovel her sister.” ““Willingly.”’ “You must go with me to thé desert.’ £0 Leal? “Enough. We start to-mol row.” And he rose, and began pace the room, “ At an early hour?” I inquiredy half fearing that I was about to be denied an interview with her wh?! Inow more than ever longed embrace. fi ‘“‘ By daybreak,” he replied, 00 seeming to heed my anxious mal ner. “JT must look to my horse and arms,’”? said I, rising and gol toward the door, in hopes of me# ing her without. i “They have been attended to Godé is there. Come, boy! e is not, in the hall. Stay where you are. I will get the arms you wal Adele! Zée! Oh, doctor! you returned with your weeds? well. We journey to-mort t i) 7) 3 oe Beet S| | a the nor n tO YS | A BACKWARD GLANCE. 6 Adele, some coffee, love! and then let us have some music. Your Suest leaves you to-morrow.” ut The bright form rushed between “8 with a scream. “No, no, no, no!” she exclaim- ed, turning from one to the other, With the Wild appeal of a passion- © heart. Come, little dove!’’ said the father, taking her by the hands; te. not be so easily fluttered. It but for a short time. He will Pane again.” ow long, papa? How lon Brique?” g, papa 8, But a very short while. It Te be longer to me than to you, \ “Oh! po, no; an hour will be a Ong time. How many hours do You thins, Enrique?” f Ob, we shall be gone days, I €ar,?? a , on Oh, papa! Oh, Enrique! ne te. Come, little chit; they will n pass. Go! Help your mam- 4 to make the coffee.” th h, papa! Days; long days! €Y will not soon pass when I am {one “But you will not be alone. litd : : »”» ag will be with you. and with a sigh, and an air of the ction, she departed to obey she Command of her father, As agar essed out at the door, she Th Sighed audibly. € doctor was asilent and won- ign’ Spectator of this last scene; han "S her figure vanished into the tors T could hear him muttering himself; yok ja! Poor leetle fraulein ! Ought as mosh.” CHAPTER XVII. UP THE DEL NORTE. WILL not distress you with a ee Scene. We were in our on €8 before ‘the stars liad died | 98nd riding along the road. . At a short distance from the house the path angled, strikin; into thick, heavy timber. Here checked my horse, allowing my companions to pass, and standing in the stirrup, looked back. My eye wandered along the old gray walls, and sought the azotéa. Upon the very edye of the parapet, outlined against the pale light of the aurora, was the object I looked for. I could not distinguish the features, but I easily recognized the oval curvings of the figure, cut on a dark medallion against the sky. Sie was standing near one of the yuca palm trees that grew up from theazotéa. Herhand rested upon its trunk, and she bent forward, straining her gaze into the dark- ness below. Perhaps she saw the waving of a kerchief; perhaps she heard her name, and echoed the parting prayer that was sent back to her on the still breath of the morning. If so, her voice was . drowned by the tread of my chafing horse, that, wheeling suddenly, bore me off into the somber shad- ows of the forest. [ rode forward, turning at inter- vals to catch a glimpse of those lovely outlines, but from no other point was the house visible. It lay buried in the dark, majestic woods. I could only see the long bayonets of the picturesque palin- illas; and ourroad now descending among hills, these, too, were svon hidden from my view. Dropping the bridle, and leaving my horse to go at will, I fell into a train of thought at once pleas- ant and painful. I knew that I had imbibed the love of my life; that heneeforward in it all my hopes would center, and from it would spring all my highest motives. Thad just reach- ed manhood, and I was not igno- rant of the truth, that a pure love like this is the best guide to our too erring natures ;.the best rein to curb their wild wanderings. I was indebted for this knowledge to him who had taught me my earliest lessons ; and as his experi- ence had already more than once stood me in stead, I believed him in this. I have since proved the teaching trne. I knew that I had inspired this young creature with a passion deep and ardent as my own, per- haps more vital; for my heart had passed through other affections, while hers had never throbbed with any save the subdued solicitudes of a graceful childhood, She had never known emotion. Love was her first strong feeling, her first passion. Would it not, thus en- throned, reign over all other thoughts in her heart’s kingdom ? She, too, so formed for love; so like its mythie goddess ! These reflections were pleasant. But the picture darkened as I turn- ed from looking back for the last time, and something whispered me, some demon it was, ‘t You may neyer see her more!”’ he. suggestion, even in_ this hypothetical form, was enough to fill my mind with dark forebodings, and I began to cast my thoughts upon the future. Iwas going upon no party of pleasure, from which I might return at a fixed hour. Dangers were before me, the dan- ers of the desert; and I knew hat these were of no ordinary character. In our plans of the previous night, Seguin had not eoncealed the perils of our expe- dition. These he had detailed be- fore exacting my final promise to accompany him. Weeks before, I would not have regarded them; they would only have lured me on to meet them; now, my feelings were different, for I believed that in my life there was another’s. What, then, if the demon had whispered truly? I might never see her more! It was a painful thought, and I rode on, bent in the saddle, under the influence of its bitterness. But I was once more upon the éack of my favorite Moro, who seemed to ‘‘ know his rider ;’’ and as his elastic body heaved beneath THE SCALP-HUNTERS. me, my spirit answered his, and began to resume its wonted buoy ancy. and shortening them in my hand spurred on after my companion® Our road lay up the river, cros* ing the shallow ford at interval and winding through the pottom lands, that were heavily timber The path was difficult on accoul of the thick underwood; and ale though the trees had once bee “blazed”? for a road, there were no signs of late travel upon % with the exception of a few 8? tary horse-tracks.. The count appeared wild and uninhabit This was evident from the. }f quency with which deer and a2 lope swept across our path, sprung out of the underwood ch i to our horses’ heads. Here ® there our path trended away fr the river, crossing its numeror” “loops.” Several times we Pp! ed large tracts where the neavd timber had been felled, and ‘‘ cleat ings” had existed. But this mu have been long ago; for the Jat that. had been furrowed by t r plow was now covered with tat! gled. and almost , thickets, A few broken and decty ing logs, or crumbling walls a the adobé, were all that remalt! to attest where the settler’s “ cho”? had stood, sh We passed a ruined chureh, W its old turrets dropping by ple meal. Piles of adobé lay arou? covering the ground for acres rte thriving village had stood thé, Where was it now? Where Wey the busy gossips? A wild-t sprung over the brier-laced weg and made off into the forest. owl flew sluggishly up from ag crumbling cupola, and novel around our heads, uttering et doleful ‘‘ woo-hvo-a,”’ that rend ed the desolation of the a more impressive. As we After a while I took up the reins | b impenetravl? F — ’ ta i pa a es through the ruin, a dead stillne E surrounded us, broken only by " hooting of the night-bird, and Ts) “ cranch-cranch’? of our ho | Oil al haat Bote SS SSR ERS i SS B ct upon the fragments of pottery covered the deserted streets. ut where were they who had once made these walls echo with i voices? Who had knelt moet the sacred shadow of that Nee hallowed pile? They were One* but where ? and when ? and Why ? mye these questions to Seguin, ; ( va8 answered thus briefly: ; The Indians.” spat” Savage it was, with his red te and sculping-knife, his bow hi his battle-ax, his brand and ® Poisoned arrows. «phe Navajoes?” I inquired. «qa2vajgand Apaché.”’ thig out dO they come no more to place wn By eling of anxiety had suddenly fred my mind. I thought of 8 hag Proximity to the mansion we wale I thought of its unguarded tig 8. I waited with some impa- ice for an answer. «9 more,” was the brief reply. And why ?” I inquired. Hei his is our territory,” he an- “red, significantly. “You are liye 222Onsieur, in a country where s Strange fellows ; youshall see, ea to the Apaché or Navajo who _ Stray into these woods !”” bee We rode forward the country t ae more open, and we caught ne. Impse of high bluffs trending h and south on both sides of ty 4 "er. These bluffs converged © river channel appeared to oy smPletely barred up by a cape ain. This was only an ap- toung o° On riding further, we thos Ourselves entering one of tha © fearful gaps, ‘¢ canons”? as ag 4re called, so often met with Yea,” tablelands of tropical Ame- setttougn this the river foamed ‘to €en two vast cliffs a thousand | Wy 42 hight, whose profiles, as uw igehzouched them, suggested gt Of angry giants, separated me almighty hand, and thus Wag SOWning at each other. It SoKeath afecling of awe that one Bt dup the face of these stupen- ; lene° THE GORGE. a? dous cliffs, and I felt a shuddering sensation as I neared the mighty gate between them. “D> yousee that point ?” asked Seguin, indicating a rock that jutted out from the highest ledge of the chasm. I signified in the affirmative, for the question was addressed to myself. “That is the leap you were so desirous of taking. We found you dangling against yonder rock.”’ “Good God !’ I ejaculated, as my eyes rested upon the dizzy emi- nence. My brain grew giddy as I sat in my saddle gazing upward, and I was fain to ride onward. “But for your noble horse,” continued my companion, ‘ the doctor here would have been stop- ping about this time to hypothe- cate upon your bones. Ho, Moro! beautiful Moro!” “Oh, mein Gott! Ya, ya!” as- sented the botanist, looking up against the precipice apparently with a feeling of awe, such as I felt myself. Seguin had ridden alongside me, and was patting my horse on the neck with expressions of admira- tion. “But why?” I asked, the re- membrance of our first interview now occurring to me, ‘* why were you so eager to possess him ?”’ A fancy.” “Can I not understand it? I think you said then that I could not ?” “Oh, yes! quite easily, monsieur, T intended to steal my own daugh- ter, and I wanted, for that purpose, to have the aid of your horse.”’ “ But how ?”” ‘Tt was before I had heard the news of this intended expedition of ourenemy. As I had no hopes of obtaining her otherwise, it was my design to have entered their coun- try alone, or with a tried comrade. and by stratagem to have carried her off. Their horses are swift, yet far inferior to the Arab, as you may have an opportunity of seeing, With such an animal as that, [ would have been comparatively safe, unless hemmed in or sur- rounded, and even then I might have got off vith a few scratches, Lintended to have disguised my- self, and entered the town as one of their own warriors. I have long been master of their language.”’ “Tt would have been a perilous enterprise.” “True! It was a dernier ressort, and only adopted because all other efforts had failed; after years of earning, deep- craving of the heart. might haye perished. It wasa rash thought, but I, at that time, entertained it fully.” “T hope we shall sueceed now.”’ “Thave high hopes. It seems as if some overruling providence were now acting inmy fayor. This absence of her captors: and be- sides, my band has been most op- portunely strengthened by the ar- rival of anumber of trappers from the eastern plains, The beayer- skins have fallen,according to their phraseology, to a ‘plew a plug,’ and they find ‘red-skin’ pays bet- ter. Ah! LI hope this will soon be over,” And he sighed deeply as he ut- tered the last words. We were now at the entrance of the gorge, and a shady clump of cottonwoods inyited us to rest. “ Let usnoon here,” said Seguin, We dismounted, and ran our animals out on their trail-ropes to feed. Then, seating ourselves on the soft grass, we drew forth the viands that had been prepared for our journey. CHAPTER XVII. THE CONTINENT’S HEART. We rested above an hour in the cool shade, while our horses re- freshed themselves on the ‘‘grama’’ that grew luxuriantly around, We conversed about the singular re- gion in which we were traveling: singular in its geography, its geo- logy, its botany, and its history: singular in all respects, THE SCALP-HUNTERS. Iam a traveler, as I might 89% by profession. I felt an inane ad learning something of the countries that stretched for hut dreds of miles around us; aml knew there was no man. living 8° — capable of being, my informant he with whom I then conyersed. My journey down the ‘river had made me but little acquainted W) its features, At that time, as 1 hav’ already related, there was fevel upok me; and my memory ® objects was as though I had e& countered them in some distorted | dream. My brain was now clear; and the scenes through which we we passing, here soft and southlike there wild, barren,and picturesq™ forcibly, impressed my imagid® tion. The knowledge, too, that part of this region had once been I habited by the followers of Cor i as many a ruin. testified; that! had been surrendered back to ancient and savage lords, and ‘ad inference that this surrender been brought about by the ena ment of many a tragic scene, % duced a train of romantic thought st Seed ae GE SIS etter ue it me Ot pone om oe which yearned for gratification i. 2 an acquaintance with the reali™ | Su that gave rise to it. the Seguin was communicative. oi - spirits were high. His hopes welt | t buoyant. The prospect of agit a embracing his long-lost child is i? bued him, as it were, with new Jit | a He had not, he said, felt, so bapl! | it for many years. att “Tt is true,” said he, in ans! is % to a question I had put, “thers |. ' little known of this whole region! h beyond the boundaries of the we me ican settlements. They who 0a) 4.’¢ had the opportunity of record | brow its geographical features have 7a) Wy the task undone. They were busy in the search for gold} their weak desvendants, as you are too busy in robbin, another to care for augh They know nothing of the co beyond their own. borders}; these are every day contra¢ 7: METEOROLOGY. oF ie mthem, All they know of it i € fact that thence come their 1d mies, whom they dread, as n° “een do ghosts or wolves. Al . ve are now,” continued Se- 0 | fain, “near the center of the con- pe - Mhent,in the very heart of the Ame- Ba “20 Sahara.” jad | = PUL,” said I, interrupting him, ith tid can not be more than a day’s we | ig S0Uth of New Mexico. This ‘et Not a desert: it is a cultivated 7 “ountry,» et | th New Mexico is an oiisis, noth- ted foe More. The desert is around it hundreds of miles: nay, in 80m6 direction. bs DRY, @ irections you may travel a a thousand miles from the Del Norté ik | Ned seeing one fertile spot. 1 an. Mexico is an oiisis, which 18 re its existence to the irrigating | ont Ts of the Del Norté, It is the ars! the settlement of white men from jr | the ;Utiers of the Mississippi to teh | nig, hores of the Pacific in Califor- wt Rex} You approached it by a de- ; jo} oat did you not 2” he Mgt’: As we ascended from the pad | Voussippi toward the Rocky ack | gt Mtains, the country became a Nally more sterile.” For the sith Tee hundred miles or so, we i | for, .Scarcely find grass or water ie ut Ne sustenance of our animals, & the 18 it thus north and south of fie} «elte we traveled ?” wet} %f,5°rth and south for more than sail | ot sand miles, from the plains ria" | lox xas to the lakes of Canada, ise Mog the whole base of the Rocky J of) 8 intalns, and half way to the a i, ;Ments on the Mississippi, it um cles, herbless land.” ; cp the west ofthe mountains ” eng. fteen hundred miles of de- bap’ that is its length by at least as Many miles of breadth. ‘ountry' to the west is of a e broke » character, It is more O}. He M its outlines, more moun- ne iy its S, and if possible more sterile W) faye, Pect. ‘The volcanic tires opt) Moyea More active there; and F Nngs that May haye been thou- eke ip years ago, the igneous . uly Many places look as if | — YDheayed. No vegetation, no climatic actior. has sensibly changed the hues of the laya and scorie that in some places cover the plains for miles. I say no cli- matic action, for there is but little of that in this central region.” “‘T do not understand you.” “What I mean is, that there is but little atmospheric change. It is but one uniform drougnt; it is seldom tempestuous or rainy. Iknow some districts where a drop of rain has not fallen for years.” “* And can you account for that phenomenon ?”’ ““T have my theory.. It may not satisfy the learned meteorologist, bu’ I offer it to you.” I listened with attention, for 1 knew that my companion was a man of science, as of experience and observation ; and subjects of the character of those about which we conversed had always possess- ed great interest for me. He con- tinved : “There can be no rain without vapor in the air. There can be no vapor in the air without water on the earth below to produce it. Here there is no great body of water. ‘Nor can there be, The whole region of the desert is upheayed ; an elevated table-land. We = are now nearly six thousand feet above sea level. Hence its springs are few ; and by hydraulic law must be fed by its own waters, or those of some region still more elevated, which does not exist on the conti- nent, “Could I create vast seas in this region, walled in by the lofty mountains that traverse it, and such seas existed coéyal with its formation; couid I create those seas without giving them an out- let, not even allowing the smallest rill to drain them, in process of time they would empty themselves into the ocean, and leave every — thing as it now is, a desert.’ “But how ? By evaporation 2” “On the contrary, the absence of evaporation would be the cause of their drainage.” 70 “T can not understand that.” . “Tt is simply thus: this region possesses, as we have said, great elevation; consequently a cool+ atmosphere, and a much less eva- porating power than that which draws up the water of the ocean. Now, there would be an inter- change of vapor between the ocean and these elevated seas, by means of winds and currents ; for it is only by that means that any water can reach this interior pla- teau. That interchange would re- sult in favor of the inland seas, by reason of their evaporation, as well as from other causes. We have not time, or I could demon- strate such a result. I beg you will admit it, then, and reason it out at your leisure.” “T perceive the truth: I per- ceive it at once.” “What follows, then? These seas would gradually fill up to overflowing. The first little rivu- let that trickled forth from their Upp ig fullness would be the signal of their destruction. It would cut its channel over the ridge of the lofty mountain, tiny at first, but deepening and widening with each successive shower, until, after many years—ages, centuries, cy- cles perhaps—a great gap such as this’? (here Seguin pointed to the canon), ‘and the dry plain behind it, would alone exist to puzzle the geologist.” «And you think that the plains lying among the Andes and the Bod strange Indian’s rifle had bee? h made to shoot as well. t It required all the strength of | b nerve, which the trapper posse sed to conceal his chagrin. With | % out saying a word, he commence E i wiping out his gun, with th® i stoical calmness peculiar to mel P of his calling. Lobserved that-®} proceeded to load with more th! | 0 usual care. It was evident that ; would not rest satisfied with 7 E i trial already made, but wow either beat the ‘Indian’? or Sy) ti himself ‘whipped into shucké - So he declared, in a muttel hy speech to his comrades. dy His piece was soon loaded ; 8 ina swinging her to the hunter’s ely he turned to the crowd, now © lected from all parts of the caPAry “Thar’s one kind 0’ shootidy, | saidhe, “that’s jest as easy a8 : in’ off alog. Any man kin A as kin look straight through big | sights. But then thar’s an0™ ag kind that ain’t so easy; it BE narye,” AN ODD CHARACTER. , Here the trapper paused, and Ooked toward the Indian, who Was also reloading. “Look hyar, stranger!” con- (nued he, addressing the latter. Have ye gotacummarade on the _ Stound as Knows yer shootin’ ?” L The Indian, after a moment’s ) €sitation, answered ‘ Yes,” “Kin your cummarade depend t n yer shot?” ~ Oh! I think so. .Why do you - Wish to know that?” 3 “Why, I’m a-goin’ to show ye a r Shot we sometimes practise at ent’s Fort, jest to tickle the g Sreen-horns. fain’t much 0’ a @ | Shot, nayther; but it tries the e ttves a little, I reckon. Hoy! v he |? Dp Blast, yur! what do’ee want 2? Dy This was spoken in an energetic e and angry-like voice, that turned x a eyes to the quarter whence it ye Proceeded. At the first glance, of re seemed to be no one in that 2) | fucction. tn looking more care- de Uly among the logs and stumps, It $0 indtvidual was discovered seated he » ne of the fires. It would have ed “en difficult to tell that it was a tman body, had not the arms at of dag eoment been in motion. The 8° 4 «was turned toward the crowd, thy a the head had disappeared, ced uhk forward over the tire. The na J€ct, from where we were stand- net 5) looked more like the stump he ¢ 4 cottonwood, dressed in dirt- nad loved buckskin, than the body f he ent Buman being. On getting th etter, and round to the front of yale | at Was seen to be a man, though ¥ rh Curious one, holding a long a Whi Of deer-meat in both hands, er veree he was polishing with a fl Ty Poor set of teeth. any nai? Whole appearance of this UT Hig Waual was odd and striking. e ed, dress, if dress it could be call- wl lt Was Simple as it was savage. iD ie Onoodsisted of what might have fi i} Whi been a ‘hunting-shirt, but do ad} the Ch now looked more like a lea- DP] Opt bag with the bottom ripped oth its and sleeves sewed into the a » It was of a dirty brown color, wrinkled at the hollow of the arms, patched around the arm. pits, and greasy all over: it was fairly ‘‘caked” with dirt! There was no attempt ai either ornament or fringe. There had been a cape, but this had evidently been drawn upon from time to time, for patch- es and other uses, until scarcely a vestige of it remained. The leg- gings and moccasins were on a yar with the shirt, and seemed to have been manufactured out of the same hide. They too were dirt-brown, patched, wrinkled, and greasy. They did not meet each other, but left a piece of the ankle bare, and that also was dirt-brown, like the buckskin. There was no under- shirt, vest, or other garment to be seen, with the exception of a close-fitting cap, which once had been catskin, but the hair was ail worn off it, leaving a greasy, lea- thery-looking surface, that corre- sponded well with the other parts of the dress. Cap, shirt, | and moccasins, looked as had never been stripped off since the day they were ‘irst tried on, and that might have been many a year ago. ‘The shirt was open, displaying the naked breast and throat, and these, as well as the face, hands, and ankles, had been tanned by the sun, and smoked by the fire, to the hue of rusty copper, The whole man, clothes and all, looked as if he had been smoked on purpose! His face bespoke a man of sixty. The features were sharp and some- what aquiline; and the small eye was dark, quick and piercing.— His hair was black and cut short, His complexion had been naturally brunette, though there was noth- ing of the Frenchman or Spaniard in his physiognomy. He was more likely of the black Saxon breed. As I looked at this man (for 1 had walked toward him, prompt+ ed by some instinct of curiosity), I began to fancy that there was a strangeness about him, independ- ent of the oddness of his attire, There seemed to be something pe euliar about his head, something wanting. What was it? I was not long in conjecture. When fairly in front of him, I saw what was wanting. Ji was his ears! This discovery impressed with a feeling akin to awe. is something awful in a man with- out bis ears. It suggests some horrid drama, some terrible scene of cruel vengeance. It suggests the idea of crime committed and punishment inflicted. These thoughts were wandering through my mind, when all at once I remembered a remark which Se- guin had made on the previous night. This, then, thought I, is the person of whom he spoke.— My mind was satisfied. After making answer as above, the old fellow sat for some time with his head between his knees ; chewing, mumbling and growling, like a lean old wolf, angry at being disturbed in his meal. “Come hyar, Rube! I want ye a bit,” continued Garey, in a tone of half entreaty. “ And so ’ee will want me a bit; this child don’t move a peg till he has cleaned this rib; he don’ t,now!” “ Dog-gone it, man! make haste then!’’ and the impatient trapper dropped the butt of his rifle to the zround, and stood waiting in sul- en silence. After chewing, and mumbling, and growling afew minutes longer, old Rube, for that was the name by which tbe leathery sinner was known, slowly erected his lean carcass, and came walking up to the crowd. “What do’ee want, Billee ?”’ he inquired, going up to the trapper. “T want ye to hold this,’’ an- swered Garey, offering him around white shell, about the size of a watch; a species of which there were many strewed over the ground, ‘“Ts’t a bet, boyee ee “No, it is not.” , ae pa wastin’ yur powder, ar me There ‘Pye been beat shootin’,”’ re- THE SCALP-HUNTERS. plied the trapper in an undertong ““by that ’ar Injun.”’ “= The old man looked over t0 where the strange Indian was standing erect and majestic, in the pride of his plumage. There® was no apvearance of triumph of swagger about him as he stood | leaning on his rifle, ‘n an attitude at once calm and dignified. It was plain from the way old |, Rube surveyed him, that he bi seen him before, though not i thatcamp. After passing his eye over him from head to foot, all there resting them a moment, 9 low murmur escaped his lips which ended abruptly in the w0! “Coco.” , “* A Coco do ye think ?”’ inquired } the other with an apparent int@ rest. wn “Are ’ee blind, Billee ? Don't ee see his moccasin ?” “Yes, you're right, but I was f t thar nation two years ago, Tsee® § no sich man as that.”’ ‘“He wa’n’t there.” “Whar then ?” an. “Whur thur’s no great show® | red-skins. He may shoot well; did oneet on a time: plum! center.” ‘ “You knew him, did ye?” _, “O-ee-es. Oncet. Putty squat hansum gal. Whur do ’ee wal me to go?” ia I thought that Garey seemed i# clined to carry the conyersatl | further. There was an evid interest in his manner, when other mentioned the ‘ squawW- Perhaps he had some tender ™ collection; but seeing the off preparing to start off, he poit! |: to an open glade that stretelt eastward, and simply answere “ Sixty.” “Take care o’ my claws, @’ yw hear! Them Injuns has m® em scarce; this child can’t SP? another.” 5 The old trapper said this with flourish of his right hand. ; ticed that the little finger # been chopped off! “Never fear, old hoss !”” waé Rafat pees ects ang © 2 reply; and at this, the smoky car- S moved away with a slow and Measuring the yards. hen he had stepped the six- ticth yard, he faced about, and Stood ‘erect, placing his heels to- ether, He then extended his Nght arm, raising it. until his hand Was on a level with his shoulder, aid holding the shell in his fingers, ‘side to the front, shouted back : b ow, Billee, shoot, and be aneed to yur! r € shell was slightly concaye, Te, Concavity turned to the front. he thumb and finger reached ; lf round the circumference, so 7 < ata part, of the edge was hidden; eee tae meek rik SF Ge Se Sy San So. oo a t the surface, turned toward | ae Marksman, was not larger than 4 e dial of a common watch. : : as was a fearful sight. It is Bis 50 common among the moun- ip t a men as travelers would have d ‘U believe. The feat proves the : faa ksman’s skill; first, if success- ste, by showing the strength and ; b ‘adiness of his nerves ; secondly, of; Bs the confidence which the other Biposes in it, thus declared by Th vger testimony than any oath. th any case, the feat of holding €mark is at least equal to that i hitting it. There are many Hnters willing to risk taking the Shot, 2 shell but few who care to hold the or | 1, on Tt was-a fearful sight, and my oy Neves tingled as I looked on. My fey Ne interfered. There were i Present who would haye dared ain these two men been iS preparation to fire at each ier. Both were ‘‘ men of mark” of es. their comrades: trappers ale first class. ‘ a Tey, drawing a long breath, ae himself tirmly, the heel of he t foot opposite to, and some of hs In advance of, the hollow ‘ right. Then, jerking up his ; Haan throwing the barrel across Coy, tt palm, he ‘cried out to his aitade ; hy, Steady, old bone an’ sinyer! Sat ye!” THE RIVAL MARKSMEN. 81 The words were. scarcely out when the gun was leveled. There Tegular pace, that showed he was was amoment’s deathlike silence, all eyes looking to the mark, Then came the crack, and the shell was seen to fly, shivered into fifty fragments! There was a cheer from the crowd. Old Rube stooped to pick up one of the pieces, and after examining it for a moment, shouted in a loud voice: “Plumb center, by the Hot Springs!’ . The young trapper had, in effect, hit the mark in the very center, as the blue stain of the bullet testified. CHAPTER XXII. A FEAT A LA TELL, ALL eyes were turned upon the strange Indian. During the scene described, he has stood silent, and calmly looking on. His eye now wanders yer the ground, appa- rently in search of an object. A small convolvulus, known as the ‘prairie gourd,’”’ is lying at his feet. Itis globe-shaped, about the size ofan orange, and not unlike one in color. He stoops and takes it up. He seems to ex-, amine it with great care, balancing it upon his hand, as though he was calculating its weight. What does he intend to do with this? Will he fling it up, and send his bullet through it in the air? What else ? His motions are watched in si- lence. Nearly all the scalp-hunters, sixty orseventy, arc on the ground. Seguin only, with the doctor and a few men, is engaged some dis- tance off pitching a tent. Garey stands upon one side, slightly elated with his triumph, but not without feelings of apprehension that he may yet be beaten. Old Rube has gone back to the fire, and is roasting another rib. The gourd seems to satisfy the Indian, for whatever purpose he intends it. A long piece of bone, the thigh-joint of the war-eagle, hangs suspended over his breast, It is curiously carved, and pierced with ho es like a musical instru- ment. It is one. ile places this to his lips, cover- ing the holes with his fingers. He sounds three notes, oddly inflect- ed, but loud andsharp. He drops the instrument again, and stands looking eastward into the woods, The eyes of all present are bent in the same direction. ‘The hunters, influenced by a mysterious euriosi- ty, remain silent, or speak only in low mutterings. Like an echo, the three notes are answered by a similar signal! It is evident that the Indian has a comrade in the woods, yet not one of the band seems to know aught of him or his comrade. Yes, one does. It is Rube. “Look’ee hyur, boyees!’’ cries he, squinting over his shoulders; “Yl stake this rib agin a griskin o poor bull, that’ee’ll see the puttiest gal as ’ee ever set yur eyes ou. There is no reply: we are gazing too intently for the expected ar- rival. A rustling is heard, as of some one parting the bushes, the tread of a light foot, the snapping of twigs. A bright object appears among the leaves. Some one is coming through the underwood. It is a woman, It is an Indian girl attired in a singular and picturesque costume. She steps out of the bushes, and comes boldly toward the crowd, All eyes are turned upon her with looks of wonder and admiration. We scan her face and figure, and her striking attire. She is dressed not unlike the In- dian himself, and there is a resem- blance in other respects. The tunie worn by the girl is of finer materials: of fawn-skin. It is rich- ly trimmed, and worked with split quills, stained to a variety of bright colors. It hangs to the middle of the thighs, ending in a fringe-work of shells, that tink 2 le as she moyes. THE SCALP-HUNTERS. Her limbs are wrapped in } gings of scarlet cloth, fringed like the tunic, and reaching to the ankles, where they meet the flaps of her moccasins. ‘These last are white, embroidered with stained quills, and fitting closely to her small feet. A belt of wampum closes the tunic on her waist, exhibiting the globular developments -of a full grown bosom, and the undulating outlines of a womanly person. Her head-dress is similar to that worn by her companion, but small er and lighter; and her hair, liké his, hangs loosely down, reaching almost to the ground! Her neck; throat, and part of her bosom are nude, and clustered over wi bead-strings of various colors. The expression of her counte nance is high and noble. Her ey® is oblique. The lips meet with * double curve, and the throat is fu and rounded. Her complexion Indian ; but a crimson hue, strug gling through the brown upon nef | cheek, gives that pictured expre sion to her countenance, which . may be observed in the quadroe? Bee of the West Indies. i She is a girl, though full-growy a and boldly developed: a typ@ ; health and savage beauty. a As she epproaches, the menmt | i mur their admiration, There © it hearts beating under hunting | 4t shirts that rarely deign ‘to dr | of the charms of woman. tb e Iam struck at this moment Wi C the appearance of the young. traf Bato per, Garey. His face has falle!| Me the blood has forsaken his chee tha his lips are white and compressa he and dark rings have formed arora I ; his eyes. They express angel “i nd there is still another meanids Mar, them. Yo . Is it jealousy ?. Yes! uy He has stepped behind one 4 tke his comrades, as if he did not Wig) 0 is to be seen. One hand is play) ae involuntarily with the han yc DSi his knife. The other grasp5 yf gett barrel of his gun, as thoug? ql) “ful would crush it between his fil . tic, The girl comes up. The Indian hands her the gourd, muttering Some words in an unknown tongue, Unknown at least to me. She kes it without making any reply, and walks off toward the spot Where Rube had stood, which has €en pointed out to her by her Companion. She reaches the tree, and halts I front of it, facing round as the Tapper had done. ‘here was something so drama- 80 theatrical, in the whole Toceeding, that up to the present Ime we lad all stood waiting for the dénowement in silence. Now We knew what it was to be, and ® men began to talk. “He’s a-goin’ to shoot the gourd from the hand of the gal,’’ suggest- d a hunter. . “No great shot after all,” added nother and indeed this was the Pinion vf most on the ground. “Wagh! it don’t beat Garey if 4€ diz hit it,” exclaimed a third. i hat was our amazement at see- ys the girl fling off her plumed y4net, place the gourd upon her scad, fold her arms over,her bosom, Stand fronting us as calm and Mobile as ifshe had been carved Pon the tree! here was a murmur in the ffowd. The Indian was raising 1S rifle to take aim, when a man Tisted forward to prevent him. Was Garey ! lute 0, yer don’t! No!” cried he, de, hing the leveled rifle; ‘she’s “eived me, that’s plain, but I °n’t see the gal that once loved the? Or said she did, in the trap at away. No! Bill Garey ain't Boo} : Sein’ to stand by and see it.” Tha; hat is this?’ shouted the da lan ina voice of thunder. “Who res to interrupt me?” Yo Tdares,” replied Garey. ‘‘She’s urn now, I suppose. You may this her whar ye like; and take off y,99,”? continued he, tearing fling; “Mbroidered pipe-case, and «Sing it at the Indian’s fect; ~ ye’re not a-goin’ to shoot Jown whiles I stand by.” THE CROWNING SHOT. “By what right do you interrupt me? My sister is not afraid—” “Your sister!” “Yes, my sister.” “And is yon gal your sister ?* eagerly inquired Garey, his man- ner and the expression of his countenance all at once changing. “She is. I have said she is.” “ And are you El Sol ?”’ nag a de “T ask your pardon; but—” “T pardon you. Let me pro- ceed !” “Oh, sir,do not. No! no! She is your sister, and I know you have the right, but thar’s no needces- sity. [have heerd of your shoot- in’. I give in you kin beat me. For God’s sake, do not risk it; as you care for her, do not!” “There is no risk, I will show you.” ‘““No, no! If you must, then, let me! I will hold it. Oh, let me!” stammered the hunter in tones of entreaty. ‘‘Hilloo, Billee! What’s the dratted rumpus ?”’ cried Rube, coming up. ‘Hang it, man! let's see the shot. I’ve heern o’ it afore, Don’t be skeert, ye fool! he’ll do it like a breeze ; he will!” And as the old trapper said this, he caught his comrade by the arm, and swung him round out of the Indian’s way. The girl, during all this, had stood still, seemingly not know- ing the cause of the interruption. Garey’s back was turned to her, and the distance, with two years of separation, doubtless preyented her from recognizing him, Before Garey could turn to in- terpose himself, the rifle was at the Indian’s shoulder and leveled. iis finger was on the trigger, and his eye glanced through the sights. It was too late to interfere. Any attempt at that might bring about the dreaded result. The hunter, as he turned, saw this, and haltin in his tracks, stood straining an silent. It was a moment of terrible sus. pense to all of us; a moment of ae cata intense emotion. The silence was profound. Every breath seemed suspended; every eye was fixed on the yellow object, not larger, I have said, than an orange. Oh, God! will the shot never come? It came. The flash, the crack, the stream of fire, the wild hurrah, the forward rush, were all simul- taneous things. We saw the shiv- ered globe fly off. The girl was still upon her feet: she was safe ! I ran with the rest. The smoke fora moment blinded me. Iheard the shrill notes of the Indian whis- tle. LIlooked before me. The girl had disappeared ! We ran to the spot where she had stood. We heard a rustling in the underwood, a departing footstep. _We knew it was she; but guided by an instinct of deli- cacy, and a knowledge that it would be contrary to the wish of her brother, no one followed her. We found the fragments of the calabash strewed over the ground. » We found the leaden mark upon them. The bullet itself was buried in the bark of the tree, and one of the hunters commenced digging it out with the point of his bowie. When we turned to go back, we saw that the Indian had walked away, and now stood chatting easily and familiarly with Seguin. As we reéntered the camp- ground, 1 observed Garey stoop and pick up a shining object. It was the gage d'amour, which he carefully re-adjusted ‘around his neck, in its wonted position. From his look, and the manner in which he handled it, it was plain that he now regarded that souvenir with more reverence than ever. CHAPTER XXII. A FEAT A LA TAIL. I HAD fallen into a sort of reve- rie. My mind was occupied with the incidents I had just witnessed, when a voice which I recognized THE SCALP-HUNTERS. as that of old Rube, roused me from my abstraction. “Look’ee hyur, boyees! ’Tain’t of’n as ole Rube wastes lead, but Pll beat that Injun’s shot, or ’e¢@ may cut my ears off.” : A loud laugh hailed this allusior of the trapper to his ears, which, as we have observed, were already gone; and so closely had been trimmed’ that nothing remained for either knife or shears to ac complish. “How will. you do it, Rube?” cried one of the hunters; ‘shoot the mark off a yer own head ?”” “Pll let ’ee see if ’ee wait,” replied Rube, stalking up to a tree and taking from its rest a long heavy rifle, which he proceede to wipe out with care. The attention of all was now turned to the maneuvers of thé old trapper. Conjecture was bus as to his designs. What feat coul he perform that would eclipse th® one just witnessed? No one coull ess. “Tl beat it,” continued b& muttering as ‘he loaded his piec® “or ’ee may chop the littie ting® off ole Rube’s right paw.” Another peal of laughter fok lowed, as all perceived that. tb) was the finger that was wanting: “ Be—es,” continued he, 100k ing at the faces that were around him, ‘’ee may scalp me if I don’t This last remark elicited free? roars of laughter; for, althoug the catskin was closely drawn upt his head, all present knew that ol Rube was minus his scalp. ! “But how are ye goin’ to do it Tell us that, old hoss!”’ ed “Re see this, do ec?” ask the trapper, holding out a ane fruit of the cactus pitahaya, whit he had just plucked and clea) of its spikelets. “Ay, ay,” eried several v0 in reply. . “Ke, do, do’ee? Wal; *tain’t half as big as the ico reo sf Inj? squash. ’Ee see that, do ee? os F “Oh, sartinly! Any fool % |. see that.” .. all ps RUBE’S ROSINANTE. 38 “Wal; s’pose I plug it at sixty, ness in his manrer that set the Plumb center?” trappers roaring again. ““Wagh !” cried several, with ‘Pish!” cried Rube, who haa shrugs of disappointment. finished loading, “yur a set 0’ “Stick it on a pole, and any o’ channerin fools ; that’s what’ ee ur. Us can do that,” said the principal Who palavered about a post? I’ve Speaker. ‘‘Here’s Barney could got an old squaw as well’s the hock it off with his owld musket. Injun. She’ll hold the thing for \ Couldn’t you Barney ?”” this child—she will.” iu “Tn trath, an’ I could thry,” “Squaw! You asquaw?” Snswered a very small man, lean- Yes, hoss; Ihas a squaw I , ng upon a musket, and who was wudn’t swop for two o’ his’n. Tl = dressed in a tattered-uniform that make tracks, an’ fetch the old : Once had been sky-blue. I had ‘oman. Shet up yur heads, an’ t already noticed this individual wait, will ye?’ oe With some curiosity, partly struck So saying, the smoky old sinner With his peculiar costume, but shouldered his rifle, and walked 2) More particularly on account of off into the woods. § he redness of his hair, which was _I, in common with others, late 1€ reddest I had ever seen. It comers, who were strangers to ; ore the marks of a severe barrack Rube, began to think that he had yw discipline : that is, it had been an ‘old ’oman.’”? There were no be laved, and was now growing out females to be seen about the en- 8 Of his little round head short and campment, but perhaps she was hid away in the woods. The trap- pers, however, who knew him, re was no possibility of mis- seemed to understand that the old Eire king Barney’s nationality. In fellow had some trick in his brain; hey habper phrase, any fool could. and that, it appeared, was no new ce) | ave told that. thing for him. vi hat had brought such an indi- We were not long in suspense. \ tl to such a place? I asked In a few minutes Rube was seen be 7. His question, and was soon en- returning, and by his side the “old th? |) Shtened. He had been a soldier lick, and coarse in the grain, and the color of a scraped carrot. nt th Rg id). There *oman,”’ in the shape of a long, By. 8 4 frontier post: one of Uncle lank, bare-ribbed, high-boned mus- ea tins “sky-blues.” He had got tang, that turned out on close yu Ted of pork and pipe-clay, accom- inspection to be a mare! This, p a Panied With a too liberal allowance then, was Rube’s squaw, and she free © “hide.” Ina word, Barney was not at all unlike him, except- a Was 1 deserter. What his name ing the ears. She was long-eared, u ‘Dold Rte, io not, but he went in common with all her race: the Bay he appellation of O’Cork: same as that upon which Quixote it! "hey O’ Cork. charged the windmill. The long 1o th laugh grected this answer to ears caused her to look mulish, sed © hunter's question. but it was only in appearance; she ai uy o’- us,’ continued the was a pure mustang when you sin) meaker, “could plug the persim- éxamniiied her attentively. She al | ig} that a way. But thar’s a seemed to have been at an earlier lean You 'Y heap o’ diff’rence when period of that dun yellowish co- soe | al yauints thro’ hind-sights ata lor known as the “clay-bank:” a ye «ake yon.” common color among Mexican ree Att Othe.” t° right, Dick,” said an- horses; but time and scars had sD) faq) hunter; “it makes a feller somewhat metamorphosed _ her, In) ; wc pucery about the jeints.” particularly about the head and 1 the g Oly vistment! An’ wasn’t neck. These parts were covered JO) ae oT little Taal beauty?” exclaimed the with a dirty grizzle of mixed hues, 7. Trishman, with an earnest- She was badly wind-broken; and at stated intervals of several min- utes each, her back, from the spasmodic action of the lungs, heaved up with a jerk, as though she was trying to kick with her hind legs, and couldn’t. She was as thin as a rail, and carried her head below the level of her shoul- ders ; but there was something in the twinkle of her solitary eye (for she had but one), that told you she had no intention of giving up for along time to come. She was evidently*‘ game to the backbone.” Such was the ‘‘old oman’ Rube had promised to fetch; and she was greeted by a Joud laugh as he led her up. “Now, look’ee hyur, boyees,” said he, halting in front uf the crowd. ‘‘’Ee may larf, an’ gabble, an’ grin till yur sick in the lower regions—yur may ! but this child’s a-gwyne to take the shine out 0’ that Injun’s shot—ze is, or bust a-tryin’.”” Several of the bystanders re- marked that that was likely enough, and that they only waited to see in what manner it was to be done. No one who knew him doubted old Rube to be, as in fact he was, one of the very best marks- men in the mountains : fully equal perhaps to the Indian; but it was the style and circumstances which had given such éclat to the shot of the latter. It was not every day that a beautiful girl could be found to stand fire as the squaw had done; and it was not every hunter who would have ventured to fire atamark so placed. The strength of the feat lay in its newness and peculiarity. The hunters had often fired at the mark held in one an- other’s hands. There were few who would like to carry it on their heads. How then was Rube to “ take the shine out o’ that Injun’s shot?’ This was the question that each was asking the other, and which was at length put di- rectly to Rube himself. “Shet up your meat-traps,”’ answered he, ‘an’ Til show ’ee. In the fust place, then, ’ee all see THE SCALP-HUNTERS. that this hyur prickly ain’t more’n hef size o’ the squash ?”” “Yes, sartinly,”’ answered seye- ral voices. ‘‘ That wur one sukum- stance in his favor. Wa’n’t it?” “Tt wur! it wur!”’ “Wal, hyur’s another. The In- jun, ’ee see, shot his mark off 0’ the head. Now, this child’s a- gwine to knock his’n off o’ the tail. Kud yur Injun do that? Eh, boyees ?” “No, no!”? “Do that beat him, or do it not, then ?”” : “Tt beats him!” “It does.” “Far better!” ‘Hooray!’ vocif erated several voices, amidst yells of laughter. No one dissented, 28 the hunters, pleased with the joke, were anxious to see it carried through. , Rube did not detain them long; Leaving his rifle in the hands 0 his friend Garey, he led the ol mare up toward the spot that b been occupied by the Indian gil. Reaching this, he halted. We all expected to see him tw? the animal with her side toward u% thus leaving her body out of rang® It soon became evident that thi? was not the old fellow’s intentio™ It would have spoiled the 100 of the thing, had he done so; a that idea was no doubt running his mind. ‘ Choosing a place where th ground chanced to be slightly b® lowed out, he led the musta? forward, until her fore feet res in the hollow. The tail was tb thrown above the body. ~ ‘ Haying squared her hips to the ; camp, he whispered something, ’ her head: and going round to oat | hind quarters, adjusted the P at upon the highest curve of "7 F stump. He then came walk? back. of that. She had been trained stand in one place for a lonéiy : period than was now require her. dl The appearance which ‘oe soe) mare exhibited, nothing ¥¥) tf Would the mare stand? No fe ed Sit: ae a es tnt her hind legs and buttocks, for the mules had stripped her tail Of the hair, had by this time wound © spectators up to the risible Point, and most of them were Yelling, “Stop yur giggle-gogele, - will Yur!” said Rube, clutching his rifle, nd taking his stand. The laugh- Cr was held in, no one wishing to disturb the shot. “Now, old T’ar-’em-to pieces, don’t waste your fodder!’ mut- red the trapper, addressing his §Un, which the next moment was Taised and leveled. © one doubted but that Rube Would hit the object at which he A BUGLE-CALL. 8% bugle fell upon my ear.: It was the signal for the men to assemble, and I turned back toward the camp. As I reéntered it, Seguin wag standing near his tent, with the bugle stillin his hand. The hunt ers were gathering around him. They were soon all assembled, and stood in groups, waiting fot the chief to speak. “Comrades !’’ said Seguin, ‘ to- morrow we break up this camp for an expedition against the enemy. Ihave brought you together that you may know my plans and lend me your adyice.”’ A murmur of applause followed 4S aiming. It was a shot fre- this announcement. The breaking ec uently made by western riflemen : up of a camp is always joyous id Jat is, a mark of the same size, at news to men whose trade is war. SiXty yards, And, no doubt, Rube It seemed to havea like effect upon g. Ould have done it; but just at this motley group of guerrilleros. of 1€ moment of his pulling trigger, The chief continued: id ©mare’s back heaved up in one “Tt is not likely that you will ad h its periodic jerks, and the pita- have much fighting. Our dangers yl. ite fell to the ground. will be those of the desert; but we ut the ball had sped; and, will endeayor to provide against yd Brazing the animal’s shoulder, them in the best manner possible. usy Assed through one of her ears! ““T have learned, from a very ge 1e direction of the bullet was reliable source, that our enemies his rd Known until afterward, but are, at this very time, about start- on ts effect was visible at once; for ing upon a grand expedition tc ook © Mare, stung in her tenderest plunder the towns of Sonora and and Part, uttered a sort of human-like, Chihuahua. g au he fam ; and wheeling about, came “Tt is their intention, if not met tping into camp, kicking over by the government troops, to ex- the h “tything that happened to lie in ténd their foray to Durango itself, pol St way. ‘Both tribes have combined in tang ti The yells and loud laughter of thisemovement; and it is believed 8 ah trappers, the odd ejaculations that all the warriors will proceed 4 tb «the Indians, the ‘“ * and southward, leaving their country ‘| Days of the Mexicans, the wild unprotected by them. 0 oy fo hs of old Rube himself, all “It is my intention then, as ng 44 fej ned 4 medley of sounds that soon as I can ascertain that they o wy Biy Strangely upon the car, and to haye gone out, to enter their ter- H} pel : “an idea of which is beyond the ritory, and pierce to the main f tD } ©fmy pen. town of the Navajoes.” { nin “Bravo!” ‘ Hooray!” “ Bue- ; ql _— no!” “Trés bien! “Good aa to fet 4 wheat!’ and numerous other ex- ned af CHAPTER XXIII. Eee er Ear r tet jon ches “Some of you know my objec ree J eek PROGRAMS. in making th iB expedition. Others of HOR TL y after, Iwas wandering do not. I will declare it to you we Sy) tay the caballada to look after all. Itis then, to—” wl honse, when the sound of a “Git a grist of scalps; what A else?’ cried a rough, brutal-look- ing fellow, interrupting the chief. ‘No, Kirker!’’ replied Seguin, bending his eye upon the man, with an expression of anger. ~‘‘It is not that. We expect to meet only women. On his peril let no man touch a Lair upon the head of an Indian woman. I shall pay for no scalps of women or child- ten.” “Where then will be your pro- fits? We can not bring them pri- soners. We'll have enough to do to get back ourselvés, I reckon, across them deserts.” These questions seemed to ex- press the feelings of others of the baud, who muttered their assent. “Youshall lose nothing. What- ever prisoners you take shall be counted on the ground, and every man shall be paid according to his number. When we return I will make that good.” “Oh! that’s fair enough, cap- tain,”’ cried several voices. “Let it be understood then, no women nor children. The plunder ou shall have, it is yours by our aws, but no blood that can be spared. There is enough on our hands already. Do you all bind yourselves to this ?”’ Een ORL. oy LL. AU Oud Ya, yal’. AIL? .*Todos, to- dos!” cried a multitude of voices, each man answering in his own language. ‘*Let those who do not agr¢e to it speak.” A profound silence followed this proposal. All had bound them- selves to the wishes of their leader. “Tam glad that you are unani- mous. I will now state my pur- pose fully. It is but just you should know it.” “Ay, let us know that,” mut, tered Kirker, “if 'tain’t to raise joes would ‘be warned of ? har we’re goin’.”’ “We go then to seek for our friends and relatives, who for years have been captives to our savage enemy. There are many among us who have lost kindred, wives, sisters and daughters.” THER SCALP-HUNTERS. A murmur of assent, uttered chiefly by men in Mexican cos- tume, testified to the truth of this statement. “T myself,” continued Seguin, and his voice slightly trembled as he spoke, ‘‘am among that num- ber. ‘Years, long years ago, I was robbed of my child by the Nava- joes. I have lately learned that she is still alive, and at their head town with many other white cap- tives. Wego, then, to release and: restore them to their friends and homes.”’ A shout of approbation broke from the crowd, mingled with ex- clamations of ‘Bravo!’ ‘We'll fetch them back!’’ ‘‘ Vive le cap itaine!”” “‘ Viva el gefé!” When silence was restored, $e guin continued: “You know our purpose. You have approved it. I will now J make known to you the plan I had ( designed for accomplishing it, au! listen to your advice.” ea Here the chief paused a moment ti while the men remained silent ab! u waiting. W “There are three passes,’’ cod” Ca tinued he at length, ‘‘by whi Bs GY we might enter the Indian coun Bae from this side. ‘There is, first, @ | the route of the Western Puere® | the That would lead us direct to thé Poi Navajo towns.” obi, « j se that waytey Ml And why not take that way* | Aer asked one of the hunters, a Sst ican. ‘I know the route well, uF far as the Pecos towns.”’ i SSE “Because we could not past or the Pecos towns without bei® | ftton seen by Navajo spies. There! ope always some of them there. Nay aig tte more,”’ continued Seguin, with to Sen look that expressed a hidden m@ Cae St ing, ‘“‘ we would not get far ‘D Qa Del Norté itself before the Nav | yin approach. We have enemies 2 er home.”’ “Carrai! that is true,” said hunter, speaking in Spanish. | to] “Should they get word of o all g coming, even though the wart, | th had gone southward, you cau that we would have a journey for Rothing.” “True, true!”? shouted several Voices. “For the same reason, we can hot take the pass of Polvidera. . esides, at this season, there is Byes Dut little prospect of game on either of these routes. We are Not prepared for an expedition , With our presentsupply. We must . — through a game country be- ie ‘Ore we can ‘enter on the desert.” d “That is true, captain; but there S as little game to be met if we go 8 by the old mine. What other 5° Toad, then, can we take ?”’ yh “There is still another route 2 better than all, I think. We will Strike southward, and then west Se w ®cross the Llanos to the old mis- ] Sion. From thence we can go rou North into the Apaché country.” ow | e3, yes; thatis the best way, pad ; Captain.» ; . and it ‘We will have a longer journey, : tre With advantages. We will find ents : u © wild cattle or the -buffaloes p aD! won the Llanos. Moreover, we ill make sure of our time, as we con deg caché in the Pition Hills that pick ®tlook the Apaché war-trail, and untsy the Sur enemies pass out. When 4, woe they Bave gone south, we can cross were Bu, Gila, and keep up the Azul or to tbe oie Having accomplished the ” thecet of our expedition, we may way' | gst return homeward by the near- a Me (oute.”? yell, # est, Tava! Vival”? Thats oneht, captain !? “That's clar- ang ur best were a few plan!” then the many forms by which of 4) Unters testified their approval ra Programme. There was no to Bting Voice. The word “ Prie- ty Huck like music upon their ; apat Was amagic word: the Wh the far-famed river on ce Waters the trapper legends hecBS placed the El Dorado, quountain of gold.” Manya tatty this celebrated region had at the hunters’ camp- {greeing in one point: that ( 1€- gold lay in “lumps” © surface of the ground, THE ROUTE. and filled the rivers with its shining grains. Often had the trappers talked of an expedition to this un- known land; and small parties were said to have actually entered it, but none of these adventurers had ever been known to return. The hunters saw, now for the first time, the prospect of penetra- ting this region With safety, and their minds were filled with fancies wild and romantic. Not a few of them had joined Seguin’s band in hopes that some day this very ex- pedition might be undertaken, and the “gold mountain” reached, What, then, were their feclings, when Seguin declared his purpose of traveling by the Prieto! At the mention of it a buzz of pecu- liar meaning ran through the crowd, and the men turned to each other with looks of satisfaction. ““To-morrow, then, we shall march,’ added the chief. ‘Go now and make your preparations ; we start by daybreak.” As Seguin ceased speaking, the hunters departed, each to look after his “‘traps and possibles;” a duty soon performed, as these rude rangers were but little incumber- ed with camp equipage. ‘ Isat down upon a log, watching for some time the movements of my wild companions, and listening to their rude and Babel-like con- verse. At length arrived sunset, or night, for they are almost synony- mous in these latitudes. “Fresh logs were flung upon the fires, till they blazed up. The men sat around them, cooking, eating, smoking, talking loudly,and laugh- ing at stories that illustrated their own wild habits. The red light fell upon fierce, dark, faces, now fiereer and more swarthy under the glare of the burning cotton- wood. By its light the savage expres- sion was strengthened on every countenance, Beards looked dark- er, and teeth gleamed whiter through them. Eyes appeared more sunken, and their glances more brilliant and fiend-like. Pic- turesque costumes met the eye; turbans, Spanish hats, plumes, and mottled garments ; escopettes and rifles leaning against the trees; saddles, high-peaked, resting upon logs and stumps; bridles hanging from the branches overhead; strings of jerked meat drooping in festoons in front of the tents, and @ haunches of venison still smoking and dripping their half-ecagulated drops ! The yermilion smeared on the foreheads of the Indian warriors gleamed in the night light as though it were blood. It was a picture at once savage and warlike: warlike, but with an aspect of ferocity at which the sensitive heart drew back. It was a picture such as may be seen only in a bivouac of guerrilleros, of brigands, of man-hunters | CHAPTER XXIV. EL SOL AND LA LUNA. “Come,”’ said Seguin, touching me on the arm, ‘our supper is ready ; I see the doctor beckoning us.” I was not slow to answer the call, for the cool air of the evening had sharpened my appetite. We approached the tent, in front of which was a fire. Over this, the doctor, assisted by Godé and a pueblo peon, was just giving the finishing touch to a savory supper. Part of it had already been carried inside the tent. We followed it, and took our seats upon saddles, blankets and packs. “Why, doctor,” said Seguin, ‘vou have proved yourself a per- fect maitre ze cuisine to-night. This is 2 supper for a Lucullus.”’ “Ach! mein captain, ich have goot help; mein herr Godé assist me most wonderfol.”” “Well, Mr. Haller and I will do full justice to your dishes. Let us to them at once!” “Oui, oui! bien, Monsieur Cap- THE SCALP-HUNTERS. itaine,” said Godé, hurrying in with a multitude of viands. The Canadien was always in his ele- ment when there was plenty to cook and eat. We were soon engaged on fresh steaks (of wild cows), roasted ribs of venison, dricd buffalo-tongues, tortillas, and coffee. The coffee and tortillas were the labors of the pueblo, in the preparation of which viands he was Godé’s master. But Godé had a choice dish, wn petit morceau, in reserve, which he brought forth with a triumphant ; . flourish. z “Voici, messieurs!’’ cried he, ; t setting it before us. rp “What is it, Godé?” i : “Une fricassee, monsieur.”” ae ‘‘Of what ?”” ea “Les frog; what de Yankee call ae boo-frog!”” ar “A fricassee of bull-frogs !”” p 4 “Oui, oui, mon maitre. Voule4 he yous ?”? yea “No, thank you!” eave “T will trouble you, Monsient eth Godé,” said Seguin: ont “Teh, ich, mein Godé: frock r bee ce ver goot;” and the doctor hel one out his platter to be helped. _ ange Godé, in wandering by the rivel apn had encountered a pond of gia out frogs, and the fricassee was é eq Ur « result. I had not then overcor of pnd my national antipathy to the 4} of + So tims of St. Patrick’s curse; an@ in pts the voyageur’s astonishment, of ihe er refused to share the dainty. o} wip ttgh During our s « conversiue tho uring our supper conyers Rey, UE I gathered some facts of pit ans Imp doctor’s history, which, with Want ye, Le d Thad already learned, rendered pr Alay, Sch UI old man an object of extrem?” | ap) Lon terest to me. fp “BUsk Up to this time, I had wond? pel Nee ypitt te] what such a character cou! 4a. Li fy doing in such company as thi | hog Perfo, the Scalp-hunters. I now a Tae th a few details that explained # wah PRL His name was Reichters ¢ ay: Coe 5 rich Reichter. He was 2 Fydll p“R°S; of; burgher, and in the city 0 | ne nit that had been a medical practition ye ®foy The love of dl i some repute, F but particularly of his EL branch, botany, had lured him RWay from his Rhenish home. He iad wandered to the United States, then to the Far West, to classify he flora of that remote region. € had spent several y in the great valley of the Mis sippi; and, falling in with one of the St. Ouis caravans, had crossed the » Prairies to the oasis of New Mex- co. In his scientific wanderings Mong the Del Norté, he had met With the Scalp-hunters, and, at- tracted by the opportunity thus dforded him of penetrating into ; Tegions hitherto unexplored by le devotees of science, he had ’ offered to aecompany the band. This offer was gladly accepted, on count of his services as medico ; And for two years he had been with “hem, sharing their hardships ¢ Ait Bens their hardships and any a scene of peril had he jet assed through, many a privation L wa he undergone, prompted by a . ber of his favorite study,. aod laps, too, by the dreams of , mountain; while Rube returned to A BUFFALO “ SURROUND.” the trail, and placed a third arrow at the point where the mustang A marco of twenty miles had parted from it. He then pro- brought us to the place where we ceeded south as before. One more expected to be joined by the bant’ was yet needed to make doubly We found a small stream headin in the Pifion range, and ranni sure. When he had gone about half-a- westward to the San Pedro. a mile, we saw him stoop over the was fringed with cotton-trees any ; trail, rise up again, cross toward willows, and with grass in abu } the mountain foot, and follow the ance for our horses. Here wore path taken by hiscompanion. The camped, kindled a fire in the thie pt work was done; the finger-posts et, cooked our wolf-mutton, ate i were set; the ruse was complete! and went to sleep. aa El Sol, meanwhile, had been | The band came up in the mort 4 busy. Several wolves were killed ing, having traveled all night | and skinned, and the meat was Their provisions were spent t ( packed in theirskins. Thegourds well as ours; and, instead of re 0 were filled, our captive was tied on ing our wearied animals, we pus 4 ti a mule, and we stood waiting the ed on through a pass in the elena i h return of the trappers. in hopes of finding game on tic Seguin had resolved to leave other side. , two men at the spring as videttes. About noon we debouched ar i They were to keep their horses by the mountain pass into a coun tht 1 the rocks, and supply them with of ‘‘ openings :” small prairies the mule-bucket, so as to make bounded by jungly forests, a 4 no fresh tracks at the water. One interspersed with timber islane 5 was to remain on an eminence, and ‘These prairies were covered Ai p watch the prairie with the glass, tall grass, and buffalo ‘‘ sign® Fe FRESH Pemed as we rodeinto them. We RaW ‘heir “roads,” ‘‘chips,” and Waliows.”” We saw, moreover, the ‘ bois de Vache” <€ the wild cattle. We Would soon meet with one or the Other, We were siill on the stream by Which we had camped the night efore, and we made a “noon halt” refresh our animals. The full-grown forms of the facti were around us, bearing red fid yellow fruit in abundance. € plucked the pears of the pita- aya, and ate them greedily; we °und service-berries, yampa, and Toots of the pomme blanche. We ned on fruits and vegetables of Various sorts, indigenous only to 1s wild ion. But the stomachs of the hunters eoged for their favorite food, the lump ribs’? and ‘‘boudins” of the buffalo; and after a halt of two Ours, we moved forward through © Openings. We had ridden about an hour tmong chapparal, when Rube, who 48 some paces in advance, acting Suide, turned in his saddle, and Ointed downward, ‘What's there, Rube ?” demand- 0 Seguin, in a low voice. «etesh track, cap’n: buffler!” i What number; can you guess 2” T A gang 0’ fifty or tharabout. hey’ ve tuk through the thicket ‘der-away. I kin sight the sky. u's clur ground not fur from ts; an’ I’d stake a plew thur in . I think it’s small paraira, cap.” «,, Halt here, meu!’ said Seguin; alt and keep silent. Ride for- ard, Rube. Come, M. Haller, fou te fond of hunting; come a- Og with us !? tie followed the guide and Seguin ‘ough the bushes; like them, ing slowly and silently. 2a Na few minutes we reached the Se of a prairie covered with grass. Peering cautiously , Ugh the leaves of the prosopis, fhad a full view of the open ‘und. The buffaloes were on Plain | TRACK. 119 It was, as Rube had rightly conjectured, a small prairie, about a mile and ahalf in width, closed in on all sides by a thick chapparal. Near the center was a motte of heavy timber, growing up from a leafy underwood. A spur of wil- lows running out from the timber indicated the presence of water. “Thur’s a spring yander,”’ mut- tered Rube. ‘‘ They’ve jest been a-coolin’ thur noses at it.”” This was evident enough, for some of the animals were at. the moment walking out of the wil- lows; and we could see the wet clay glistening upon their flanks, and the saliva glancing down from their jaws. “How will we get at them, Rube?” asked Seguin; ‘*can we approach them, do you think ?” “T doubt it, cap. The grass ud hardly kiver us; an’ thur a-gwine out o’ range o’ the bushes.”’ ‘* How thea? We can not run them; there’s not room. They would be into the thicket at the first dash. We would lose every hoof of them.” “Sartin as Scripter.”’ “What is to be done?” “This niggur sees but one other plan as kin be used jest at this time.” ‘What is it ?” “ Surround.,”’ “Right, if we can do that. How is the wind ?” “Dead as an Injun wi’ his head cut off,’ replied the trapper, tak- ing a smali feather out of his cap and tossing it in the air. ‘See, cap, it falls plumb!”’ “Tt does, truly.” “We kin easy git roun’ them bufflers afore they wind us; an’ we hey men enough to make a picket fence aboutthem. We kin hardly set about it too soon, cap. Thur a-movin’ torst the edge yan- der.”” ‘Let us divide the men, then,” said Seguin, turning his horse; ‘you can guidé one-half of them to their stands. I will go with the other. M. Haller, you had Senn ne rns nel 120 better remain where you are. It is as good a stand as you can get. Have patience. It may Lean hour before all are placed. When you hear the bugle, you may gallop forward and do your best. If we succeed, you shall have sport and a good supper: which, I suppose, you feel in need of by this time.” So saying, Seguin left me, and rode back to the men, followed by od Tube. It was their purpose to separate the band into two parties, each taking an opposite direction, and to drop a man here and there at regular intervals around the prai- rie. They would keep in the thick- et while on the march, and only discover themselves at a given sig- nal. In this way, should the buf- faloes allow time for the-execution of the movement, we should be almost certain of securing the whole gang. As soon as Seguin had left me, I looked to my rifle and pistols, putting on a fresh set of caps. After that, having nothing else to occupy me, I remained seated in my saddle, eying the animals as they fed unconscious of danger. I was full of anxiety lest some clumsy fellow might discover him- self too soon, and thus spoil our anticipated sport. After a while I could see the birds flying up from the thicket; and the screaming of the blue-jay indicated to me the progress of the “surround.” Now and then, an old bull, on the skirts of the herd, would toss up his shaggy mane, snuff the wind, and strike the ground fiercely witk his hoof, evidently Jaboring under a suspicion that all was not ‘right. The others did not seem to heed these demonstrations, but kept on quietly cropping the luxuriant grama, { was thinking how nicely we were going to have them in the trap, when an object caught my eye, just ak from the motte. Jt was a buffalo calf, and I saw THE SCALP-HUNTERS. that it was proceeding to joix the gang. I thought it soméwhat strange that it should be seyarated from the rest, for the caly-s, train- ed by their mother to snow the wolf, usually keep up with the herd. “Tt has stayed behind at the spring,” thought I. ‘‘ Perhaps the others pushed it from the water, and it could not drink until they were gone.” I fancied that it moved clum- sily, as if wounded; but it. was assing through the long grass, and I could not get a good view of it. There was a pack of coyotes (there always is) sneaking after the herd. These, perceiving the calf as it came out of the timber, made an instant and simultaneous attack upon it. I could see them — skipping around it, and fancied I could hear their fierce snarling; but the calf appeared to fight its way through the thick of them; and after a short while, I saw it close in to’its companions, where J lost sight of it among the others. “A game young bull!’ solilo- quized I, and again I ran my eyé around the skirting of the chap- paral to watch how the hunters were getting forward with the “surround.’’ I could perceive the flashing of brilliant wings over the bramble, and hear the shrill voices — of the jay-birds. Judging by these, I concluded that the men wer® moying slowly enough. It was half-an-hour since Seguin had left me, and I could per-eive that they were not half-way iound as yet. I began to make catculations a6 to how long’ I wou'd Lave to wait, soliloquizing as fo'Jows: uF “ Diameter of the prairie, a mile and a-half. It is a circle threé times that: four miles and a-half. Phew! Ishall not hear the signal in much less than an hour. J mus be patient then, and—what! The brutes are lying down! Good! There is no danger now of theif making off. We shall have raré sport! One, two, three, six of and the water. They have drank © much. There goes another! ucky devils! They have nothing else to do but eat and sleep, while — No. Hight down! Well! I hope soon to eat too. What an Odd way they have of coming to he ground! Tow different from anything of the bovine tribe I have yet observed! I have never seen buffaloes “quieting” down before. he would think that they were alling as if shot! Two more Mongside the rest! They willsoon be all upon the turf. So much the better. We can gallop up before they eet to their feet again. Oh, tat I could hear that horn!” _, And thus I went on rambling from thought to thought, and listening: for the signal, although _tknew that it could not be given Or some time yet. The buffaloes kept moving slow- Y onward, browsing as they went, ‘nd continuing to lie down one ater another. Ithought it strange, heir stretching themselves thus Stccessively; but I had observed firm cattle do the same, and I was Mt that time but little acquainted With the habits of the buffalo. Ome of them appeared to toss “bout on the ground and kick ‘lolently. I had heard of a pecu- cavity of these animals, termed t Wallowing.’”? ‘They are at it,” hought I. I wished much to have Clearer view of this curious exer- “ise, but the high grass prevented ing T could only see their shaggy hogu ders, and occasionally their Sofs kicking up over the sward. | ,. Watched their movements with b tide } eat interest, now feeling secure hat, ( eo the ‘‘surround’”’? would be 0 ‘plete before they would think tsing. et length the last one of the he followed the example of his Mpanions, and dropped over. They were now all upon their 8, half buried in the bunech- : aa. I thought I noticed the thay Still upon his feet; but, at Moment the bugle sounded, THE PROSTRATE HERD. F them down! It must be the heat 121 and a simultaneous cheer broke from all sides of the prairie. I pressed the spur to my horse’s flank, and dashed out into the open plain. Fifty others had done the same, yelling as they shot out of the thicket. » With my reins ~esting on my left fingers, and my rifle throwo crosswise, I galloped forward, filled with the wild excitement that such an adventure imparts. I was cocked and ready, resolyed upon having the first shot. It was but a short distance from where I had started to the nearest buffalo. I was soon within range, my horse flying like an arrow. ‘Is the animal asleep? T am within ten paces of him, and still he stirs not! I will fire at him as he lies.” I raised my rifle, leveled -it, and was about to pull trigger, when something red gleamed before my eyes. It was blood! llowered the piece with a feeling of terror, and commenced dragging upon the rein; -but, before I could pull up, I was carried into the midst of the prostrate herd. Here my horse suddenly stopped, and I sat in my saddle as if spell-bound. I was under the influence of a superstitious awe. Blood was be- fore me and around me. Turn which way J would, my eyes rested upon blood! My comrades closed in, yelling as they came; but their yelling suddenly ceased, and one by one, reined up, as I had done, with looks of consternation and wonder, It was not strange, at such a sight. Before us lay the bodies of the buffaloes. They were all dead, or quivering in the last throes. Each had a wound above the’ brisket, and from this the red stream gurgled out, and trickled down their still panting sides. Blood welled from their mouths and out of their nostrils. Pools of it were filtering through the prairie turf; and clotted gouts, flung out by the struggling hoof, sprinkled the grass around them | 122 Oh heavens! what could it mean ? “Wagh!” “ Santissima !” ‘ Sacré Dieu!” were the exclamations of the hunters. “Surely no mortal hand has done this ?” “Tt wa’n’t nuthin’ else,’ cried a well-known voice, ‘‘ef yur call ati Injun a mortal. ’Twur a red- skin, and this child—Look ’ee-e !” I heard the click of a rifle along with this abrupt exclamation. I turned suddenly. Rube was in the act of leveling his piece. My eyes involuntarily followed the direc- tion of the barrel. There was an object moving in the long grass. ‘A buffalo still kicks,” thought I, as I saw the mass of dark-brown hair; ‘‘he is going to finish him: it is the calf'!”’ Thad scarcely made the observa- tion when the animal reared up on its hind legs, uttering a wild human scream; the shaggy hide was flung” off; and a naked savage appeared, holding’ out his arms in an attitude of supplication. I could not have saved him. The rifle had cracked, the ball had sped. I saw it piercing his brown breast, as a drop of sleet strikes: upon the pane of glass; the red spout gushed forth, and the victim fell forward upon the body of one of the animals ! ‘“Wagh! Rube!’’ exclaimed one of the men; ‘‘why didn’t ye give nim time to skin the meat. He mout as well ’a done that when he war about it;’? and the man laughed at his savage jest. “Look ’ee hyur, boyees!”? said Rube, pointing to the motte; ‘if *ee look sharp, yur mout scare up another calf -yander-away! I’m a-gwine to see arter this Injun’s har; Zam.” The hunters at the suggestion galloped off to surround the motte. I felt a degree of irresolution and disgust at this cool shedding of }lood. I drew my rein almost iny >luntarily, and moved forward to the spot where the savage had fallen, @ lay back uppermost. THE SCALP.HUNTERS. ‘He was naked to the preech-elowh i There was the debouchure of bullet behind the left shoulder and the black red stream W! trickling down his ribs. The limy? ~ still quivered, but it was in the’ last spasms of parting life. j The hide in which he had di guised himself lay piled up where | it had been flung. Beside it wel® a bow. and several arrows. : latter were crimsoned to the notch : the feathers steeped in blood bi. clinging to the shafts. They hw pierced the huge bodies of animals, passing through through. Each arrow had many lives! The old trapper rode up to corpse, and leisurely dismouD! from his mare. ue “Fifty dollar a plew!” he muy tered, unsheathing his knife a stoo, ing over the body. ‘Jt more ’n I got for my own. beats beaver all hollow. Cuss bel ver, say this child. Plewa plugs ain’t worth trappin’ if the varp wur as thick as grass-jumper 7 calf-time. Ee-up, niggur!’ i continued, grasping the long Pe of the savage, and holding the of upward: ‘“Tet’s get a squint aty, phisog. Hooraw! Coyote asl Hooraw !”” Andagleam of vengeful tiv lit up the countenance of © 4 strange old man as he utté these wild exclamations. “ Apash, is he?’ asked 0 the hunters, whe had remal near the spot. “That he are, Coyote The very niggurs that poeail this child’s ears, blast ’em ! yo! swar to thur ugly picters any I get my peepers upon’em. ", wough—ole wolfy ! got ’ee ab has he! Yur a beauty, #2 mistake.” 10 So saying, he gathered the crown-locks in his left han with two slashes of his knit; quarte and tierce, he cut @ © around the top of the he# perfect as if it had been trace compasses. He then took *™ Pali 4 Of the hair over his wrist, giving quick jerk outward. At the ‘ime instant, the keen blade ‘Passed under the skin, and the f Scalp was taken! } | “Counts six,” he continued, . 3 Muttering to himself, while placing © scalp in his belt; ‘six at fifty | jylree hunder shiners for Pash at; cuss beaver trappin’ say I.” Say wing secured the bleeding th Phy, he wiped his knife upon an hair of one of the buffaloes, jn btoceeded to cut asmall notch Talo the wood-work of his gun, ; Ngside five others that had been ftrved there already. These six thes stood for Apachés only ; for ont. tye wandered along the th, Mes of the piece, I saw that ty Were many other columns in terrible register! CHAPTER XXXII. ANOTHER ‘‘ COUP.”’ Asnor ringing in my ears caused Withdraw my attention from tt Proceedings of the earless per, As I turned I saw a blue net floating away over the prai- {hy but Icould not tell at what “Shot had been fired. Thirty to vty of the hunters had sur- uted the motte, and, halted, Te Sitting in their saddles in a of irregular circle. They Still at some distance from ptunber, as if keeping out of W-range. They held their guns ‘SWise, and were shouting to Tt 6. eee EE Tee Dn ad Boe = Another. Was improbable that the say- ees alone; doubtless there the Some of his companions in h hicket. There could not be oo)? however, for the under- Was not large enough to con- re than a dozen bodies, and 1 eyes of the hunters were Thee it in every direction. Y reminded me of so many n ina gorse waiting the be sprung; but here, oh © game was human! tsine “Re to BEATING THE BUSH. 128 It was a terrible spectacle. { looked toward Seguin, thinking that he might interfere to prevent the barbarous batiue. He noticed my inquiring glance, and turned his face from me. I fancied that he felt ashamed of the work in which his followers were engaged ; but the killing, or capture, of what- ever Indians might be in the motte had now become a necessary mea- sure, and I knew that any remon- strance of mine would be disre- garded. As for the men them- 2s, they would have laughed This was their pastime, their profession: and I am certain that, at the moment, their feelings were not very different from those which would have actuated them had they been driving a bear from his den. They were, perhaps, a trifle more intense; certainly not -Inore inclined toward mercy. I reined up my horse, and await- ed with painful emotions, the dé- nowement of this savage drama. “ Vaya, Irlandes! What did you see?” inquired one of the Mexi- cans, appealing to Barney. Isaw by this that it was the Irishman who had fired the shot. ‘A rid-skin, by japers !’’ replied the latter. ““Wa'n’t it yer own shadder ye sighted in the water?” cried a hunter, jeeringly. ‘“Maybe it was the divil, Bar- ney ?” “Tn trath, frinds, I saw a some thin’ that looked mighty like him, and I kilt it too.’’ “Wa! ha! Barney has killed the devil. Ha! ha!’ “Wagh!”” exclaimed a trapper, spurring his horse toward the thicket; ‘‘the fool saw nothin’, Pll chance it, anyhow.” “Stop, comrade!’? eried the hunter Garey; ‘‘lets take a safer plan. Red-head’s right. Thar’s Tnjuns in them bushes, whether he seen it or not; that skunk wa’n’t by himself, I reckin; try this-a- way !”? The young trapper dismounted, and turned his horse broadside t¢ a 1% the bushes. Keeping on the out- side, he commenced walking the animal in a spiral ring that gradu- ally closed inupon theclump. In this way his body was sereened; and his head only could be seen above the pommel of his saldle, over which he rested his rifle, cocked and ready. Several others, observing this movement on the part of Garey, dismounted, and followed his ex- ample. A deep silence prevailed as they narrowed the diameters of their circling courses. Ina short time they were close in to the motte, yet still no arrow whizzed out. Was there no one there? So it seemed: and the men pushed fearlessly into the thicket. I watched all this with excited feelings. I began to hope there was no one ip the bushes. I lis- tened to every sound; I heard the snapping of tle twigs and the mut- tering of the men. There was a moment’s silence as they pushed eagerly forward, Then I heard a sudden exclama- tion, and a voice calling out: “Dead red-$kin! Hurrah Barney!” “Barney’s bullet through him, by. the holies!” cried another. ‘“Filloa, old sky-blue! Come hysr and see what ye’ve done!” The rest of the hunters, along with the ci-devant soldier, now rode forward to the corpse. I moved slowly after. On coming up, I saw them dragging the body of an [ndian into the open ground; a naked savage, like the other. He was dead, and they were pre- paring to scalp him. “Come now, Barney!” cried one of the men in a joking man- ner, ‘‘ the har’s your’n. Why don’t ye off wid it, man?” “Tis moiue, dey yez say ?”’ ask- ed Barney. “Sartinty, you killed him; it’s your’n hy right.” ‘“An’ is It raaly worth fifty dol- tare 2’ ‘ for ve THE SCALP-HUNTERS. “ Good as wheat for that.” “Wud yez be so frindly, as to cut it aff for me ?”’ “Oh! sartinly, wid all the plix yer of life,” réplied the hunteh imitating Barney’s accent, at ae same time severing the scalp, handing it to him. Barney took the hideous troph and I fancy that he did not ft very proud of it. Poor Celt! breach in the laws of garrison cipline, but it was evident this was his first lesson in the ting of human blood. The hunters now dismout and commenced trampling thicket through and through. search was most minute, for t was still a mystery. An extra —that is to say, a third—had De found, with its quiver of arr? Where was the owner? Coulda have escaped from the thi while the men were eng around the fallen buffaloes? 4 might, though it was barely pr able; but the hunters knew ill these sevages run more like a animals, like hares, than pom beings, and he might have excl to the chapparal. at “Tf that Injun has got © 3 said Garey, ‘“‘ we’ve no time tom 7 in skinnin’ them bufflers. ie plenty o’ his tribe not twenty™ from hyar, I eale’late.”’ sso." “Look down among the We jy there!’ cried the voice 4" chief; ‘close down to the Wa), There was a pool. It was Mog and trampled around the m4 with buffalo tracks. On one it was deep. Here willows ©. ed over and hung into the Wa Several men pressed into th po and commenced sounding tom with their lances. p Old Rube had come up® the rest, and was draw! stopper of his powder-hor g his teeth, apparently with, tention of reloading. 2 , dark eyes were scintillating, | way at once: above, aroun and into the water. may have been guilty of many abd ted, eo phe er? tpoh | leh | ee ae a ete eS se stoceoe Es NO A sudden thought seemed to *ater his head. I saw him push r ck the plug, grasp the Irishman, _ Who was nearest. him, by the arm, ‘1d mutter, in alow and hurried Yoice, “Paddy! Barney! gi’? us Jur gun: quick, man, quick!” ? arney, at this earnest solicita- a a ‘On, immediately surrendered his Piece, taking the empty rifle that f } Was thrust into his hand by the trapper. F Rube eagerly grasped the mus- te ket, and stood for a moment as if / he was about to fire at some ob- - ct in the pond. Suddenly he Me irked his body round, and, pois- bey Ng the gun upward, fired into the thick foliage. if § A shrill’ seream followed; a on. Reavy body came crashing through ' a © branches, and struck the oe Sound at my feet. Warm drops yet ‘s ‘parked into my eyes, causing me : bi nce: It was blood! I was + /Nded with it; I rubbed my eyes ;°clear them. I heard men rush- ot ; Wg from all parts of the thicket. zt - then I could see again, a naked a tnvage was just disappearing ui Tough the leaves. } a Missed him, by all that’s fue! crie 2 trapper. “T a the cried the trapper To oa devil wi’ yur soger gun!” he 108 “3 Addeq, flinging down the musket, ia “Tushing after with his drawn wi) knig. 5 2 followed g therest, I “a owed among the rest. 1 ys fear Several shots as we scram- aa Bcd through the brushwood. a hen I had got to the outer 8° I couldsce the Indian still on , ae feet, and running with the oa Rect of an antelope. He did not ©} 10°? in a direct line, but zigzag, # 5 ing from side to side, in order wi we the aim of his pursuers, iis to rifles were all the time ring- Dehind him. As yet none of ‘Yen? bullets had taken effect, at 80 as to cripple him. There 4 streak of .lood visible on Wh brown body, but the wound, hinge’ cr it was, did not seem to I r him in his flight. i Ought there could be no Ce of his escape, and I had no GO. intention of emptying my gun at such a mark. I remained, there- fore, among the bushes, screening. myself behind the leaves and watching the chase. Some of the hunters continued to follow him on foot, while the more cunning ones rushed back for their horses. These happened to be all on the opposite side of the thicket with one exception, and that was the mare of the trap- i Rube. She was browsing where Rube had dismounted, out among the slaughtered buffaloes, and di- rectly in the line of the chase. As the savage approached her, 3 sudden thought seemed to strike him, and, diverging slightly from his course, he plucked up the picket pin, coiled the lasso witl the dexterity of a gaucho, and sprung upon the animal’s back. It was a well-conceived idea, but unfortunate for the Indian. He had scarcely touched the saddle when a peculiar sound was heard above all other sounds. It was a call uttered in the voice of the earless trapper. The mustang re- cognized it; and, instead of run- ning forward obedient to the gui- dance of her rider, she wheeled suddenly and came galloping back. At this moment, a shot fired at the savage scorsed her hip, and, * setting back her ears, she com- menced squealing and kicking so violently that all her feet seemed to be in the air at the same time. The Indian now endeavored to fling himself from the saddle; but the alternate plunging of the fore and hind quarters kept him for some moments tossing in a sort of balance. He was at length pitched outward, and fell to the ground upon his back. Before he could recover himself, a Mexican had ridden up, and with his Jong lance pinned tai to the earth. A scene of swearing followed, in which Rube played the princi- pal character; in fact, had “the stage to himself.” “Soger-guns” were sent to perdition; and as the old trapper was angry about the 126 wound which his mare had re- ceived, ‘‘crook-eyed greenhorns ”” came in for a share of his anathe- mas. The mustang, however, had sustained no serious damage; and after this was ascertained, the em- phatie ebullitions of her master’s anger subsided into a low growl- ing, and then ceased altogether. As there appeared no “sign” that there were other savages in the neighborhood, the next con- cern of the hunters was to satisfy their hunger. Fires were soon kindled, and a plenteous repast of buffalo meat produced the desired effect. After the meal was ended a con- sultation was held. It was agreed that we should move forward to the old mission, which was known to be not over ten miles distant. We could there defend ourselves in case of an attack from tlre tribe of Coyoteros, to which the three savages belonged. It was feared by all that these might strike our trail, and come up with us before we could take our departure from the ruin. The buffaloes were speedily skinned and packed ; and taking a westerly course, we journeyed on to the mission. CHAPTER XXXIII. A BITTER TRAP. Wer reached the ruin a little after sunset. We frightened the owl and the wolf, and made our bivouac among the crumbling walls. Our horses were picketed upon the deserted lawns, and in the long-neglected orchards, where the ripe fruit was raining down its ungathered showers. Fires were kindled, lighting the gray pile with their cheerful blazing; and joints of meat. were taken out of the hide-packs and roasted for supper. Phere was water in abundance. A branch of the San Pedro swept past the walls of the mission. D2HE SCALP-HUNTERS. Theré were yamis in the spoliated gardens; there were grapes, aa pomegranates, and quinces, at melons, and pears, and peaches and apples; and with all thesé was our repast garnished. It was soon over, and videttes were thrown out on the tracks that led to the ruin. The moi were weak and weary with theif late fasting, and in a short while stretched themselves by their 5a@ dles and slept. 4 t So much for our first night 4 the mission of San Pedro. on We were to remain for three days, or until the buffalo-me™ should be dried for packing. hey were irksome days to mG Idleness displayed the bad qua ties of my half-savage The ribald jest and fea rung continually in my ears, ¥ rt I was fain to wander off to br woods with the old botanist, wi during these three days, revel in the happy excitement of covery. in I found companionship als the Maricopa. This strange 4 had studied science deeply, was conversant with almost eY noted author. He was reset only when I wished him t0 of himself. td Seguin during these days pit taciturn and lonely. He took? little heed of what was goin 4g around him. He seemed Det suffering from impatience, 480 tc now and then he paid a Vitlb the tasajo. He passed many i upon the adjacent hights, 10 Mt anxiously toward the east: owl! point whence: our spies Wo | come in from the Pinon. yo There was an azotea on the Mais I was in the habit of seeking place at evening after the sul id a grown less fervid. It affor@ fine prospect of the valley, its chief attraction to mé *, the retirement I eculd ther tain. The hunters rarely C7 up to it, end their wild and He conyerse was unheard for the™ } ) Bis im oS eS a ees Nea Py ee oe SS SSRRSESESTe MOONLIGHT MUSINGS. Tused to spread iny blanket among the decaying parapets, and stretch- ed upon it, deliver myself up to ne sweet retrospect, or to still Sweeter dreams that my fancy out- hed upon the future. There was but one object on my memory: Upon that object only did my hopes dwell 1 need not make this declara- tion; at least to those who have truly loved. Tam in my favorite place, on the 8Zotea. It is night, yet scarcely Seems so. The moon, full-orbed, Mutumnal, is sweeping up toward te zenith, outlined against a hea- Yen of cloudless blue. In mine Wn far land she will be the har- “Yest moon. Here she shines not © the harvest, nor lights the reap- er homes, but the season, fair in ll climes, is not less lovely in this Tomantic wilderness. I am on a ‘able of the Northern Andes, and Many thousand feet above the Scean level. The air is thin and I can perceive its extreme y by the greater distinctness Objects, the apparent propin- ry, tenuit of lity of mountains that I know to i distant, and the sharpness of heir Outlines against the sky. I é M perceive it in the absence of _ jAtreme heat, in the buoyancy of _;, dlood, and the lighter play of yet, ungs. Ah! this is the home i. Tthe hectic cheek and the hollow o* Would that nations would OW this ! he air is vaporless and filled th the nilky moonlight. My eye upon curious objects: upon toi of vegetation peculiar to the » They interest me with their Whess. “Under the white light, See the lanceolate leaves of the tha ‘he tall columns of the pit- Ya, and the jaggy fror.dage of mOchineal cactus. ithe ere are sounds upon the air, tie es of the camp, of men and Oy rls ; but, thank heaven, I can \ Wan hear their distant hum. There Other voice more pleasing to » “ar. It is the song of the mocking-bird: the nightingale of the western world. He pours his mimic notes from the top of an adjacent tree: he is filling the air with his dulcet melody. The moonis overall, and I watch her in her upward course. There is a thought within me which she seems to rule: love! How often® have poets sung of her power oyer the gentle passion! With them it was only a fancy, a graceful ex- pression; but in all times, and in all climes, it has been a belief. Whence comes this belief? Has it not been communicated in the whisperings of a God; the same whisperings that tell us of his own existence? May not it bea truth ? May not mind in the end prove to be matter, electrie fluid? If 80, why not influenced by the silent moon? Why not have its tides, as well as the air and the ocean ? It is hard to yield up our col- lege metaphysics; to behold the worshiped man of our wrangling days, Stewart, Brown, Locke, Mill, and him of my own name, become degraded under modern light; to see their elaborate structure, like an inverted pyramid, about to tumble down, because the apex on which it so long balanced itself turns out to be a false foundation. It is sad to look upon shelves filled with ponderous tomes, the very existence of which , only proves that our fathers were our childreh, as we in our time must become the children of our de- scendants. It is sad to think that so many profound philosophers shall one day receive credit only for their hair-splitting ingennity. So shall it be. I followed this train of thought as I lay drinking in the milky es- sence of the moon. I dwelt on the scenes suggested by the ruins around me: the deeds and the misdeeds of cowled padrés and their sandaled serfs. Thoughts of these were in my mind, linging my spirit with the romance of the antique, but they did not long re- main objects of reflection, 1 128 wandered over them, and returned again to think of that fair being 80 lately loved and left: Zoe, beau- tiful Zoe! Of her I had many thoughts. Was she thinking of me at the moment? Was she pained by my absence? Did she watch for my “return? Were her eyes bedewed as she looked from the lonely terrace ? , My heart answered ‘‘ Yes,” with proud and happy pulsations. The horrid scenes I was now enduring for her sake, how long until they would be over? Days, many days, I feared. I love ad- venture: my life has been its sport; but such as this was—! I had not yet committed crime, though I had countenanced its committal by the necessity under which I had placed myself. How long before this necessity might force me into the enacting of deeds dark as those of the men who surrounded me? In the programme placed before me by Seguin, I had not bargained for such wanton cruelties as I was now compelled to witness. It was not the time to look back, but forward, and perhaps, over other scenes of blood and brutality, to that happier hour, when I should have redeemed my promise, and won the prize, beautiful Ze. My reverie was interrupted. I heard voices and footsteps: they were approaching the spot where I lay. I could see that there were two men engaged in an earnest conversation. They did not notice me, as I was behind some frag- ments of the broken parapet, and in the shadow. As they drew nearer, I recognized the patois of my Canadian follower, and that of his companion was not to be mis- taken. The brogue was Barney’s, beyond a doubt. These worthies, I had lately no- ticed, had become ‘‘as thick as two thieves,” and were much in each other’s company. Some act of kindness had endeared the ‘ in- THE SCALP-HUNTERS. fantry’”? to his more astute experienced associate, who ia taken him under “his patronage ] and protection.” 3 5 I was vexed at the intrusi0 but prompted by some impulse curiosity, I lay still and listened: Barney was speaking as ey ‘ approached. : “Tn trath, Misther Gowdehs aw’ it’s meself ’ud goYfar this DiS sed night for a dhrap o’ the crt" ter. Inoticed the little kig afol} but divil resave me ay I though it was any thin’ barrin’ cowld wa q ter. Vistment! only think © i 4 owld Dutch sinner bringin’ a W kig wid’im, an’ keepin’ it himself. Yez are sure no the stuff ?”” 4 “Oui! oui! C'est liqueur! agit ardiente.” o “ Agwardenty ye sayydiv Ye “Oui! e’est vrai, Monsieur ney. Ihave him smeil, ver mall time. It isof stink trés fort: # ; strong! dam good !”” Pe “But why cudn’t ye stale it ¥ i? self? Yez know exactly whe the doctor keeps it, an’ ye @ get at it a hape handier thi? can.”’ ; “ Pourquois, Barney ? Pecaue mon ami, I help pack les posses! of Monsieur le Docteur, Pard he would me suspect.”’ “T don’t see the raizon Ww iv 4 ight clot He may suspect ye at all ev? How thin ?”’ “Ah! then, n’importe. make von grand sweat, No! have ver clear conscience the? “Be the powers! we must & the licker any how; ay you we Mistber Gowdey, Z will; # said, isn’t it ?”’ 4 “Oui! Trés bien!” +g tb? “Well, thin, now or niver®. 4 time. The ould fellows J walked out, for [ saw him my ite This is a nate place to drink, Come an’ show me where he} it; and by St. Patrick, 7 man to hook it.” 5 Monsi “Trés bien! allons! Barney, allons!’? _ Unintelligible as this cop’ (Se Se ees noe | Preeoe 1g ets oS ee it ee ee x, aa A WHISKY PICKLE. \ i tion May appear, I. understood "very word of it. The naturalist ad brought among his packs a Small keg of aguardiente, mezcal Spirits, for the purpose of presery- he any new species of the lizard Tsnake tribe he should chance fallin with. WhatI heard then 4S neither more nor less than a Plot to steal the keg and its con- ‘tents! My first impulse was to leap up Md Stop them in their design, as ai 1 as administer a salutary re- puke to my voyageur and his red- aired companion; but a mo- Ment’s reflection convinced me he they could be better punished ; thenother way. I would leave €m to punish themselves. remembered that some days Previous to our reaching the Ojo B aca, the doctor had captured thutke of the adder kind, two or Wige’ Species of lizards, and a €ous-looking animal, called, in puter phraseology, the horned ang the agama cornuta of Texas the Mexico. 1 hese he had im- ti Tsed in the spirit for _preserva- a Thad observed him do so, “wd it was evident that neither 7 renchman nor the Irishman any idea of this. I adopted resolution, therefore, to let Be } Bem arink a full bumper of the fea e” before I should inter- | towing that they would soon rt, I remained where I was. ths, had not long to wait upon 3 carn In a few minutes they Knew Up, Barney carrying what I Th to be the devoted keg. ly ley sat down close to where I a jand prizing out the bung, fill- he liquor into their tin cups, Agommenced imbibing. Not Trouthier pair of mortals could “ang lave been found anywhere ; | tieg *t the first draught, each emp- 2 igus cup to the bottom. at has a quare taste, hasn’t Said Barney, after he had «a the yessel from his lips. ayUi! c'est vrai, monsieur !”” at dey ye think it is ?”” “Je ne scais quoi It smells like one dam—one dam—” “Ts it fish ye mane ?”’ “Oui! like one dam feesh: un bouquet tries bizarre. Fichtre!” ‘“T suppose it’s something that the Mexicans have drapped in to give the agwardenty aflayver. It’s mighty strong anyhow. It’s noth- ing the worse av that; but it ud be sorry drinkin’ alongside a nate dimmyjan of Irish patyeen. Och! ay Moses! but that’s the ayvaridge !?? Here the Irishman shook his head to express with more empha- sis his admiration of the “native” whisky. “Well, Misther Gowdey,” con- tinued he, “whisky’s whisky at any rate; and if we can’t get the ‘butther, it’s no raison we should refuse the brid; so Pll thank ye for another small thrifle out of the kig,’’ and the speaker held out his tin vessel to be replenished. Godé lifted the keg, and emp- tied more of its contents into their cups. “Mon Dieu! what is dis in my cops?” exclaimed he, after a draught. “Fwhat is it? Let me see. That! Be my sowl! that’s a quare- looking crayter anyhow.” “ Sac-r-r-ré! itis von Texan, von fr-r-og! Dat is de dam feesh we smell stink. Owah—ah—ah !”’ “Oh! holy mother! if here isn’t another in moine! By japers! it’s ascurpion lizard! Hoach—wach —wach !”’ “Ow—ah—ah—ack—ack ! Mon Dieu! Oach—ach—! §Sue-r! O— ach—ach—o—oa—a—ach !”” “Tare-an-ages! Ho—ach! the owld doctor has—oach—ack—ack ! Blessed Vargin! Ha—ho—hoh— ack! Poison! poison!” And the brace of revelers went staggering over the azotea, deliver- ing their stomachs, and ejaculating in extreme terror, as the thought struck them that there might be poison in the pickle! I had risen to my feet, and was enjoying the joke in loud laughter, 130 This and the exyclamations of the men brought a crowd of hunters up to the roof, who, as soon as they perceived what had happened, joined in, and made the ruin ring with their wild peals. The doctor, who had come up among the rest, was not so well satisfied with the occurrence. After a short search, however, the lizards were found and returned to the keg, which still contained enough of the spirit for his pur- poses. It was not likely to be dis- turbed again, even by the thirst- iest hunter in the band, CHAPTER XXXIV. THE PHANTOM CITY. On the morning of the fourth day our spies came in, and report- ed that the Navajoes had taken the southern trail. They had returned to the spring on the second day after our leaving it, and thence had followed the guiding of the arrows. It was Dacoma’s band; in all about three hundied warriors. Nothing remained for us now but to pack up as quickly as pos- sible, and pursue our march to the north. In an hour we were in our sad- dles, and following the rocky banks of the San Pedro. A long day’s journey brought us to the desolate valley of the Gila, upon whose waters we encamped for the night. We slept near the celebrated ruins, the second rest- ing. pies of the migrating Aztecs. Vith the exception of the botan- ist, the Coco chief, myself, and perhaps Seguin, no one in the band seemed to trouble himself about these interesting antiquities. The “sion” of grizzly bears, that was discovered upon the mud bottom, gave the hunters far more concern than the broken pottery and its hieroglyphies. Two of these ani- a were discovered near the Pp, and a fierce battle ensued, THE SCALPHUNTERS. in which one of the Mexicans nes * ly lost his life, escaping only aftut most of the skit tad yeen clawed from head and neck. The :€afs themselves were killed, and mad® part of our supper. s Our next day’s march lay up the Gila to the mouth of San Carlot river, where we again halted 1a the night. The San Carlos rivel runs in from the north; and Se guin had resolved to travel up this stream for a hundred miles or 8% and afterward strike eastward 1 the country of the Navajoes. When this determination wa made known, a spirit of disconte”! showed itself among the men, a mutinous whisperings were hear® — on all sides, Shortly after we halted, howeveh several of them strayed up d i banks of the stream, and gatheré some grains of gold out of its be Indications of the precious met 4 the quixa, known among the Mex icans as the “gold mother,” wo 4 also found among the rocks. Ther were miners in the band, who koe! it well, and this served to satislf ‘ them. There was no more tal&@, keeping on the Prieto. Perit the San Carlos might prove equa. ‘ z so oiven itm rich. Rumor had also given it a title of a ‘golden river;” aa 5 events, the expedition must oe the head-waters of the Prieto Mo journey eastward; and this Pie pect had the effect of quieting © mutineers, at least for the tim® There was another influe? the character of Seguin. , ihe was no single individual 1) “oy band who cared to cross Lint i slight grounds. They knew. fe' too well for that; and thougl "%p of these men set high valle og their lives, when they be ‘ooo themselves, according to “™ tain law,” in the right, ye iti? knew that to delay the expe gol 4 for the purpose of gathering {De was neither according t jal compact with him nor agree J to his wishes. Not a few a : band, moreover, were actual lb motives similar to those f THE GREAT DESE«T. Reguin himself, and these were €qually desirous of pushing on to € Navajo towns. Still another consideration had Its influence upon the majority. he party of Dacoma would be on 9Ur track as soon as they had re- Urned from the Apaché trail. We lid, therefore, no time to waste 1 gold-hunting, and the simplest _ fthe scalp-hunters knew this. t Yy daybreak we were again on he March, and riding up the banks f the San’ Carlos. Ve had now entered the great desert which stretches northward ®m the Gila away to the head- | Witers of the Colorado. We en- “red it without a guide, for not the of the band had ever traversed €se unknown regions. Eyen oe knew nothing about this part , tie country. We were without Mpass too, but this we heeded Mot. There were few in the band ho could not point to the north te south within the variation Thin Stee: few of them but could, } \sit or day, tell by the heevens Or t} in ten minutes of the true Wi & Give them but a clear sky, met the “signs”? of the trees and eres and they needed neither Pass nor chronometer. A life “ut beneath the blue heaven of tai, Prairie uplands and the moun- 9 n parks,’’ where a roof rarely ucted thetr view of the azure t, had made astronomers of € reckless rovers. Such accomplishments was education; drawn from many \c xperience. Tome their of such things seemed Yau : hes ir Perilous J wOWlede tine.” ‘Mt we had a guide as to our Tction, unerring as the magnetic we were traversing the f the ‘‘polar plant,” the hes of whose leaves, at- almost Y step, pointed out our meri- t grew upon our track, and Tushed under the hoofs of es as we rode onward. Several days we traveled : Ward through a country of 8¢-looking mountains, whose tops shot heavenward in fantastic forms and groupings. At one time we saw semi-globular shapes like the domes of churches; at another, Gothie turrets rose before us; and the next opening brought in view sharp needle pointed peaks, shoots ing upward into the blue sky. We saw columnar forms support ing others that lay horizontally , vast bowlders of trap-rock, sug- gesting the idea of some antedilu- vian ruin, some temple of gigantic Druids! Along with singularity of forma- tion, was the most brilliant color- ing. There were stratified rocks, red, white, green, and yellow, as vivid in their hues as if freshly touched from the palette of the painter. No smoke had tarnished them since they had been flung up from their subterranean beds. No cloud draped their naked outlines. It was not a land of clouds, for as we journeyed among them we saw not a speck in the heavens; nothing above us but the blue — others still spoke, fiendlikey oy, q murder! There had been mute ings of this from day to day 2% ip journeyed. Men, disappointet | their golden dreams, had _ y heard fo talk about the pri@™ — scalps! thé By a command from Segwt fo, hunters drew back among thet Alia and entered into a hurried county How was the town to be ta® We could not approach it in Oy open light. Theinhabitants Wad see us before we could ride UP pe’ make their escape to the fore® yond. This would defeat the é purpose of our expedition. Could not a party get TO the eastern end of the valley ) prevent this? Not throug’, plain itself, for the mounta a ed upon its surface, withoul foothills or paths along thel=® In some places vast clifis SURROUNDING THE TOWN. the hight of a thousand feet, step- ing directly upon the level plain. Phis idea was given up. Could we not turn the southern sierra, and come in through the forest itself? This would bring us close to the houscs under coyer, The guide was questioned and an- Bwered in the affirmative. But that could only be accomplished by making a detour of nearly fifty miles. We had no time for such @ journey, and the thought was @>andoned. The town, then, must be ap- Proached in the night. This was the only plan practicable; at least, the most likely to succeed. It was Adcpted. It was not Seguin’s intention to Make a night attack, but only to Surround the buildings, keeping at some distance out, and remain in ambush till the morning. All retreat would thus be cut off, and We should make sure of taking al captives under the light of The men threw themselves on the ground, and, holding their bri- €s, waited the going down of the fan. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE NIGHT AMBUSCADE. ij Asnorr hour passes. The bright Em Sinks behind us, and the quartz ; mck saddens into a somber hue. ~~ Straggling rays of twilight aver but a moment over the A alky cliffs,and then vanish away. Is night, tyccnding the hills in a long W, Ng, we arrive upon the plain. or, “urn to the left, and keep ‘toad the mountain foot. The * Suide us. toe proceed with caution, and Dene 22 our words only in whis- € crawl around and among © bowlders that have fallen Shove. Weturn many spurs Shoot out into the plain. Oc- auly we halt and hold coun- 189 After a journey of ten or twelve miles, we find ourselves opposite the Indiantown. Wearenot over a mile from it. We can see the fires burning on the plain, and hear the voices of those who moye around them. At this point the band is divided, A small party remains, making its caché in a detile among the rocks, These guard the captive chief and the atajo of mules. The rest move forward guided by Rube, who car- ries them round the edge of the forest, here and there dropping a picket of several men as he pro- ceeds. These parties conceal themselves at their respective stations, remain silent, and wait for the signal from the bugle, which is to be given ® at the hour of daybreak. The night passes slowly and si- lently. ‘The fires, one by one, go out, until the plain is wrapped in the gloom of a moonless midnight. Dark clouds travel oyer the sky, portending rain: a rare phenome- non in these regions. The swan utters its wild note, the gruya whoops over the stream, and the wolf howls upon the skirts of the sleeping village. The voice of the bull- bat wails through the air, You hear the “ flap, flap” of his long wings as he dashes down among the cocuyos. You hear the hoof-stroke on the hard plain, the “crop”? of the browsing steed, and the tinkling of the bit-ring; for the horses eat bridled. At in- tervals a drowsy hunter mutters in his sleep, battling in dreams with some terrible foe. Thus goes the night. These are its voices, They cease as daybreak ap- proaches. The wolf howls no longer; the swan end the crane are silent; the night-hawk has filled his ravenous maw, and perches on the mountain pine; the fire-flies disappear, chased by the colder hours; and the horses, having eaten what grew within their reach, stand in lounging attitudes, asleep. 140 A gray light begins to steal into the valley. It flickers along the white cliffs of the quartz moun- tain. It brings with it araw, cold air, that awakens the hunters. One by one they arouse them- selyes. They shiver as they stand up, and carry their blankets wrap- ped about their shoulders. They feel weary, and look pale and hag- gard. The gray dawn lends a ghastly hue to their dusty beards and unwashed faces. After a short while they coil up their trail-ropes and fasten them to the rings.. They look to their flints and priming, and tighten the buckles of their belts. They draw forth from tbeir haversacks pieces of dry tasajo, eating it raw. They Stand by their horses, ready to. mount. It is not yet time. The light is gathering into the valley. The blue mist that hung over the river during the night is rising upward. We can see the town. We can trace the odd out- lines of the houses; What strange structures they are! Some of them are higher than others: one, two, four stories in hight. They are each in form like a pyramid without its apex. Each apper story is smaller than that below it, the roofs of. the lower ones serving as terraces for those above. They are of a whitish yellow, the color of the clay out of which they are built. They are without windows, but doors lead into each story from the outside; and ladders stretch from terrace to terrace, leaning against the walls. On the tops of some there are poles carrying bannerets. These are the residences of the principal war- chiefs and great warriors of the nation. We can see the temple distinctly. It is like the houses in shape, but higher and of larger dimensions. There is a tall shaft rising out of its roof, and a banner with astrange device floating at its peak. Near the houses we see corrals filled with mules and mustangs, the live stock of the village, : THE SCALP-HUNTERS. The light grows stronger. Forms appear upon the roofs and move along the terraces. They are hu- man forms enveloped in hanging rurments, robe-like and striped. Ve recognize the Navajo blanket, with its alternate: bands of black and white. With the glass we can see these forms more distinctly; we can tell their sex. Their hair hangs loosely upon their shoulders, and far down theif backs. Most of them are females, girls and women. There are many children, too. There are men white-haired and old.