Kitabı oku: «The Trappers of Arkansas: or, The Loyal Heart», sayfa 3
PART I.
THE LOYAL HEART
CHAPTER I.
THE PRAIRIE
To the westward of the United States extends, many hundred miles beyond the Mississippi, an immense territory, unknown up to this day, composed of uncultivated lands, on which stands neither the log house of the white man nor the hatto of the Indian.
This vast desert, intersected by dark forests, with mysterious paths traced by the steps of wild beasts, and by verdant prairies with high and tufted herbage that undulates with the slightest breeze, is watered by powerful streams, of which the principal are the great Canadian river, the Arkansas, and the Red River.
Over these plains, endowed with so rich a vegetation, wander innumerable troops of wild horses, buffaloes, elks, bighorns, and those thousands of animals which the civilization of the other parts of America is every day driving back, and which regain their primitive liberty in these regions.
On this account, the most powerful Indian tribes have established their hunting grounds in this country.
The Delawares, the Creeks, and the Osages, prowl along the frontiers of the desert up to the environs of the establishments of the Americans, with whom some few bonds of civilization are beginning to unite them, engaged in constant conflict with the hordes of Pawnees, Blackfeet, Assiniboins, and Comanches, indomitable races, nomads of the prairies, or inhabitants of the mountains, who permeate in all directions this desert, the proprietorship of which none of them venture to assert, but which they appear to agree to devastate, uniting in vast numbers for hunting parties, as if for the purpose of making war.
In fact, the enemies travellers are exposed to encounter in these deserts are of all kinds; without mentioning in this place wild beasts, there are hunters, trappers, and partisans, who are not less formidable to the Indians than to their fellow countrymen.
The prairie, therefore, the sinister theatre of incessant and terrible contests, is nothing in reality but a vast charnel house, in which perish obscurely, every year, in a merciless war of ambuscades, tens of thousands of intrepid men.
Nothing can be more grand or more majestic than the aspect of these prairies, into which Providence has bounteously bestowed such innumerable riches, – nothing, more seductive than these green fields, these thick forests, these large rivers; the melancholy murmur of the waters rippling over the stones of the shallow stream, the songs of thousands of birds concealed under the foliage, the bounding of animals sporting amidst the high grass: everything enchants, everything attracts, and draws aside the fascinated traveller, who soon, the victim of his enthusiasm, will fall into one of those numberless snares laid under his feet among the flowers, and will pay with his life for his imprudent credulity.
Towards the end of the year 1837, in the latter days of the month of September, by the Indians called the moon of the falling leaves – a man, still young, and who, from his complexion, notwithstanding his costume was entirely like that of the Indians, it was easy to perceive was a white man, was seated, about an hour before sunset, near a fire, the want of which began to be felt at this period of the year, at one of the most unfrequented spots of the prairie we have just described.
This man was at most thirty-five to thirty-six years old, though a few deeply marked wrinkles on his broad white forehead seemed to indicate a more advanced age.
His features were handsome and noble, and impressed with that pride and energy which a savage life imparts. His black eyes, starting from his head, and crowned with thick eye-brows, had a mild and melancholy expression, that tempered their brilliancy and vivacity; the lower part of his face disappeared beneath a long, thick beard, the bluish tint of which contrasted with the peculiar paleness spread over his countenance.
He was tall, slender, and perfectly well proportioned; his nervous limbs, upon which rose muscles of extreme rigidity, proved that he was endowed with more than common strength. In short, the whole of his person inspired that respectful sympathy which superior natures attract more easily in these countries than in ours, where physical strength is nearly always the attribute of the brute.
His remarkably simple attire was composed of a mitasse, or a kind of close drawers falling down to his ankles, and fastened to his hips by a leather belt, and of a cotton hunting shirt, embroidered with ornaments in wool of different colours, which descended to his midleg. This blouse, open in front, left exposed his embrowned chest, upon which hung a scapulary of velvet, from a slight steel chain. Short boots of untanned deerskin protected him from the bites of reptiles, and rose to his knees. A cap made of the skin of a beaver, whose tail hung down behind, covered his head, while long and luxuriant curls of black hair, which were beginning to be threaded with white, fell beneath it over his broad shoulder. This man was a hunter.
A magnificent rifle laid within reach of his hand, the game bag which was hung to his shoulder belt and the two buffalo horns, suspended at his girdle, and filled with powder and balls, left no doubt in this respect. Two long double pistols were carelessly thrown near his rifle.
The hunter, armed with that long knife called a machete, or a short-bladed straight sabre, which the inhabitants of the prairies never lay aside, was occupied in conscientiously skinning a beaver, whilst carefully watching the haunch of a deer which was roasting at the fire, suspended by a string, and listening to the slightest noises that arose in the prairies.
The spot where this man was seated was admirably chosen for a halt of a few hours.
It was a clearing at the summit of a moderately elevated hill, which, from its position, commanded the prairie for a great distance, and prevented a surprise. A spring bubbled up at a few paces from the place where the hunter had established his bivouac, and descended, forming a capricious cascade; to the plain. The high and abundant grass afforded an excellent pasto for two superb horses, with wild and sparkling eyes, which, safely tethered, were enjoying their food at a short distance from him. The fire, lighted with dry wood, and sheltered on three sides by the rock, only allowed a thin column of smoke to escape, scarcely perceptible at ten paces' distance, and a screen of all trees concealed the encampment from the indiscreet looks of those persons who were probably in ambuscade in the neighbourhood.
In short, all precautions necessary for the safety of the hunter had been taken with that prudence which announces a profound knowledge of the life of a wood ranger.
The red fires of the setting sun tinged with beautiful reflections the tops of the great trees, and the sun itself was on the point of disappearing behind the mountains which bounded the horizon, when the horses, suddenly ceasing their repast, raised their heads and prickled their ears – signs of restlessness which did not escape the hunter.
Although he heard no suspicious sound, and all appeared calm around him, he hastened to place the skin of the beaver before the fire, stretched upon two crossed sticks, and, without rising, he put out his hand towards his rifle.
The cry of the jay was heard, and repeated thrice at regular intervals.
The hunter laid his rifle by his side again with a smile, and resumed his watchful attention to the supper. Almost immediately the grass was violently opened, and two magnificent bloodhounds bounded up and lay down by the hunter, who patted them for an instant, and not without difficulty quieted their caresses.
The horses had carelessly resumed their interrupted repast.
The dogs only preceded by a few minutes a second hunter, who made his appearance almost immediately in the clearing.
This new personage, much younger than the first, – for he did not appear to be more than twenty-two years old, – was a tall, thin, agile and powerfully-built man, with a slightly-rounded head, lighted by two grey eyes, sparkling with intelligence, and endowed with a physiognomy open and loyal, to which long light hair gave a somewhat childish appearance.
He was clothed in the same costume as his companion, and on arriving, threw down by the fire a string of birds which he was carrying at his shoulder.
The two hunters then, without exchanging a word, set about preparing one of those suppers which long exercise has always the privilege of causing to be considered excellent.
The night had completely set in; the desert awoke by degrees; the howlings of wild beasts already resounded in the prairie.
The hunters, after supping with a good appetite, lit their pipes, and placing their backs to the fire, in order that the flame should not prevent them from perceiving the approach of any suspicious visitor whom darkness might bring them, smoked with the enjoyment of people who, after a long and painful journey, taste an instant of repose which they may not meet with again for some time.
"Well!" the first hunter said laconically between two puffs of tobacco.
"You were right," the other replied.
"Ah!"
"Yes, we have kept too much to the right, it was that which made us lose the scent."
"I was sure of it," the first speaker replied; "you see, Belhumeur, you trust too much to your Canadian habits: the Indians with whom we have to do here in no way resemble the Iroquois, who visit the hunting grounds of your country."
Belhumeur nodded his head in sign of acquiescence.
"After all," the other continued, "this is of very little importance at this moment; what is urgent is to know who are our thieves."
"I know."
"Good!" the other said, withdrawing his pipe quickly from his mouth; "and who are the Indians who have dared to steal the traps marked with my cipher?"
"The Comanches."
"I suspected as much. By heavens, ten of our best traps stolen during the night! I swear, Belhumeur, that they shall pay for them dearly! And where are the Comanches at this moment?"
"Within three leagues of us at most. It is a party of plunderers composed of a dozen men; according to the direction they are following, they are turning to their mountains."
"They shall not all arrive there," said the hunter, casting a glance at his rifle.
"Parbleu!" said Belhumeur with a loud laugh, "they will only get what they deserve. I leave it to you, Loyal Heart, to punish them for their insult; but you will be still more determined to avenge yourself upon them when you know by whom they are commanded."
"Ah! ah! I know their chief then?"
Belhumeur said, slightly smiling, "it is Nehu Nutah."
"Eagle Head!" cried Loyal, almost bounding from his seat. "Oh, oh! yes, I know him, and God grant that this time. I may settle the old account there is between us. His moccasins have long enough trodden the same path with me and barred my passage."
After pronouncing these word with an accent of hatred that made Belhumeur shudder, the hunter, sorry at having allowed the anger which mastered him to appear, resumed his pipe and continued to smoke with a feigned carelessness that did not at all impose upon his companion.
The conversation was interrupted.
The two hunters appeared to be absorbed in profound reflections, and smoked silently by the side of each other.
At length Belhumeur turned towards his companion.
"Shall I watch?" he asked.
"No," Loyal Heart replied, in a low voice; "sleep, I will be sentinel for you and myself too."
Belhumeur, without making the least observation, laid himself down by the fire, and in a few minutes slept profoundly.
When the owl hooted its matin song, which seemed to salute the speedy appearance of the sun, Loyal Heart, who during the night had remained motionless as a marble statue, awakened his companion.
"It is time," said he.
"Very good!" Belhumeur replied, rising immediately.
The hunters saddled their horses, descended the hill with precaution, and galloped off upon the track of the Comanches.
At this moment the sun appeared radiant in the heavens, dissipating the darkness and illuminating the prairie with its magnificent and reviving radiance.
CHAPTER II.
THE HUNTERS
A few words now about the personages we have just brought upon the scene, and who are destined to play an important part in this history.
Loyal Heart – this name was the only one by which the hunter was known throughout the prairies of the West – enjoyed an immense reputation for skill, loyalty, and courage among the Indian tribes, with whom the chances of his adventurous existence had brought him in relation. All respected him. The white hunters and trappers, whether Spaniards, North Americans, or half-breeds, had a high opinion of his experience of the woods, and often had recourse to his counsels.
The pirates of the prairies themselves, thorough food for the gallows, the refuse of civilization, who only lived by rapine and exactions, did not dare to attack him, and avoided as much as possible throwing themselves in his way.
Thus this man had succeeded by the sheer force of his intelligence and his will, in creating for himself, and almost unknown to himself, a power accepted and recognized by the ferocious inhabitants of these vast deserts, – a power which he only employed in the common interest, and to facilitate for all the means of following in safety the occupations they had adopted.
No one knew who Loyal Heart was, or whence he came; the greatest mystery covered his early years.
One day, about twenty years before, when he was very young, some hunters had fallen in with him on the banks of the Arkansas in the act of setting traps for beavers. The few questions put to him concerning his preceding life remained unanswered; and the hunters, people not very talkative by nature, fancying they perceived, from the embarrassment and reticence of the young man, that he had a secret which he desired to keep, made a scruple about pressing him further – and nothing more was said on the subject.
At the same time, contrary to other hunters, or trappers of the prairies, who have all one or two companions with whom they associate, and whom they never leave, Loyal Heart lived alone, having no fixed habitation; he traversed the desert in all directions without pitching his tent anywhere.
Always reserved and melancholy, he avoided the society of his equals, although always ready, when occasion offered, to render them services, or even to expose his life for them. Then, when they attempted to express their gratitude, he would clap spurs to his horse, and go and set his traps at a distance, to give time to those he had obliged to forget the service he had rendered.
Every year, at the same period, that is to say, about the month of October, Loyal Heart disappeared for several entire weeks, without anyone being able to suspect whither he was gone; and when he returned it was observed that for several days his countenance was more dark and sad than ever.
One day he came back from one of these mysterious expeditions, accompanied by two magnificent young bloodhounds, which had from that time remained with him, and of which he seemed very fond.
Five years before the period at which we resume our narrative, when returning one evening from laying his traps for the night, he suddenly perceived the fire of an Indian camp through the trees.
A white youth, scarcely seventeen years of age, was fastened to a stake, and served as mark for the knives of the redskins, who amused themselves with torturing him before they sacrificed him to their sanguinary rage.
Loyal Heart, listening to nothing but the pity which the victim inspired, and without reflecting on the terrible danger to which he exposed himself, rushed in among the Indians, and placed himself in front of the prisoner, for whom he made a rampart of his body.
These Indians were Comanches. Astonished by this sudden irruption, which they were far from expecting, they remained a few instants motionless, confounded by so much audacity.
Without losing a moment, Loyal Heart cut the bonds of the prisoner, and giving him a knife, which the other received with joy, they both prepared to sell their lives dearly.
White men inspire Indians with an instinctive, an invincible terror; the Comanches, however, on recovering from their surprise, showed signs of rushing forward to attack the two men who seemed to defy them.
But the light of the fire, which fell full upon the face of the hunter, had permitted some of them to recognize him. The redskins drew back with respect, murmuring among themselves, —
"Loyal Heart! the great paleface hunter!"
Eagle Head, for so was the chief of these Indians named, did not know the hunter; it was the first time he had descended into the plains of the Arkansas, and he could not comprehend the exclamation of his warriors; besides, he cordially detested the palefaces, against whom he had sworn to carry on a war of extermination. Enraged at what he considered cowardice on the part of those he commanded, he advanced alone against Loyal Heart, but then an extraordinary occurrence took place.
The Comanches threw themselves upon their chief, and notwithstanding the respect in which they held him, they disarmed him to prevent his making any attack upon the hunter.
Loyal Heart, after thanking them, himself restored his arms to the chief; who received them coldly, casting a sinister glance at his generous adversary.
The hunter, perceiving this feeling, shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, and departed with the prisoner.
Loyal Heart had, in less than ten minutes, made for himself an implacable enemy and a devoted friend.
The history of the prisoner was simple.
Having left Canada with his father, for the purpose of hunting in the prairies, they had fallen into the hands of the Comanches; after a desperate resistance, his father had fallen covered with wounds. The Indians, irritated at this death, which robbed them of a victim, had bestowed the greatest care upon the young man, in order that he might honourably figure at the stake of punishment, and this would inevitably have happened had it not been for the providential intervention of Loyal Heart.
After having obtained these particulars, the hunter asked the young man what his intentions were, and whether the rough apprenticeship he had gone through as a wood ranger had not disgusted him with a life of adventures.
"By my faith, no!" the other replied; "on the contrary, I feel more determined than ever to follow this career; and, besides," he added, "I wish to avenge my father."
"That is just," the hunter observed.
The conversation broke off at this point.
Loyal Heart, having conducted the young man to one of his cachés (a sort of magazines dug in the earth in which trappers collect their wealth), produced the complete equipment of a trapper, – gun, knife, pistols, game bags, and traps, – and then, after placing these things before his protégé, he said simply, —
"Go! and God speed you!"
The other looked at him without replying; he evidently did not understand him.
Loyal Heart smiled.
"You are free," he resumed; "here are all the objects necessary for your new trade, – I give them to you, the desert is before you; I wish you good luck!"
The young man shook his head.
"No," he said, "I will not leave you unless you drive me from you; I am alone, without family or friends; you have saved my life, and I belong to you."
"It is not my custom to receive payment for the services I render," said the hunter.
"You require to be paid for them too dearly," the other answered warmly, "since you refuse to accept gratitude. Take back your gifts, they are of no use to me; I am not a mendicant to whom alms can be thrown; I prefer going back and delivering myself up again to the Comanches – adieu!"
And the Canadian resolutely walked away in the direction of the Indian camp.
Loyal Heart was affected. This young man had so frank, so honest and spirited an air, that he felt something in his breast speak strongly in his favour.
"Stop!" he said.
And the other stopped.
"I live alone," the hunter continued; "the existence which you will pass with me will be a sad one: a great grief consumes me; why should you attach yourself to me, who are unhappy?"
"To share your grief, if you think me worthy, and to console you, if that be possible; when man is left alone, he runs the risk of falling into despair; God has ordained that he should seek companions."
"That is true," the still undecided hunter murmured.
"Why do you pause?" the young man asked anxiously.
Loyal Heart gazed at him for a moment attentively; his eagle eye seemed to seek to penetrate his most secret thoughts; then, doubtless, satisfied with his examination, he asked,
"What is your name?"
"Belhumeur," the other replied; "or, if you prefer it, George Talbot; but I am generally known by the first name."
The hunter smiled.
"That is a promising name," he said, holding out his hand. "Belhumeur," he added, "from this time you are my brother; henceforth there is a friendship for life and death between us."
He kissed him above the eyes, as is the custom in the prairies in similar circumstances.
"For life and death," the Canadian replied, with a burst of enthusiasm, warmly pressing the hand which was held out to him, and kissing, in his turn, his new brother under the eyes.
And this was the way in which Loyal Heart and Belhumeur had become known to each other. During five years, not the least cloud, not the shadow of a cloud, had darkened the friendship which these two superior natures had sworn to each other in the desert, in the face of God. On the contrary, every day seemed to increase it; they had but one heart between them. Completely relying on each other, divining each other's most secret thoughts, these two men had seen their strength augment tenfold, and such was their reciprocal confidence, that they doubted nothing, and undertook and carried out the most daring expeditions, in face of which ten resolute men would have paused.
But everything succeeded with them, nothing appeared to be impossible to them; it might be said that a charm protected them, and rendered them invulnerable and invincible.
Their reputation was thus spread far and near, and those whom their name did not strike with admiration repeated it with terror.
After a few months passed by Loyal Heart in studying his companion, drawn away by that natural want which man feels of confiding his troubles to a faithful friend, the hunter no longer had any secrets from Belhumeur. This confidence, which the young man expected impatiently, but which he had done nothing to bring about, had bound still closer, if possible, the ties which united the two men, by furnishing the Canadian with the means of giving his friend the consolations which his bruised spirit required, and of avoiding irritating wounds that were ever bleeding.
On the day we met them in the prairie, they had just been the victims of an audacious robbery, committed by their ancient enemy, Eagle Head, the Comanche chief, whose hatred and rancour, instead of being weakened by time, had, on the contrary, only increased.
The Indian, with the characteristic deceit of his race, had dissembled, and devoured in silence the affront he had undergone from his people, and of which the two palefaced hunters were the direct cause, and awaited patiently the hour of vengeance. He had quietly dug a pit under the feet of his enemies, by prejudicing the redskins by degrees against them, and adroitly spreading calumnies about them. Thanks to this system, he had at length succeeded, or, at least, he thought he had, in making all the individuals dispersed over the prairies, even the white and half-breed hunters, consider these two men as their enemies.
As soon as this result had been obtained, Eagle Head placed himself at the head of thirty devoted warriors; and, anxious to bring about a quarrel that might ruin the men whose death he had sworn to accomplish, he had in one single night stolen all their traps, certain that they would not leave such an insult unpunished, but would try to avenge it.
The chief was not deceived in his calculations; all had fallen out just as he had foreseen it would.
In this position he awaited his enemies.
Thinking that they would find no assistance among the Indians or hunters, he flattered himself that with the thirty men he commanded he could easily seize the two hunters, whom he proposed to put to death with atrocious tortures.
But he had committed the fault of concealing the number of his warriors, in order to inspire more confidence in the hunters.
The latter had only partially been the dupes of this stratagem. Considering themselves sufficiently strong to contend even with twenty Indians, they had claimed the assistance of no one to avenge themselves upon enemies they despised, and had, as we have seen, set out resolutely in pursuit of the Comanches.
Closing here this parenthesis, a rather long one, it is true, but indispensable to understand of what is to follow, we will take up our narrative at the point we broke off at, on terminating the preceding chapter.
