Kitabı oku: «The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse», sayfa 34

Chapter Ninety Two.
Coup-d’oeil of the Camp

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Ninety Three.
A Friendly Encounter

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

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

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

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

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

“Wakono!” cried he.

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

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

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

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

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

I felt myself in a dilemma; and the importunate savage – no doubt some friend of Wakono himself – appeared determined to stick to me. How was I to get rid of him?

A happy idea came to my relief. Assuming an air of extreme dignity, and as though I did not wish to be disturbed in my meditations, I raised my hand and waved the man a parting salute: at the same time turning my head, I walked slowly away.

The Indian accepted the congé, and moved off, but evidently with an air of reluctance. As I glanced back over my shoulder, I could see him parting from the spot, with a hesitating step; no doubt somewhat astonished at the strange behaviour of his friend Wakono.

I did not look back again until I had placed myself under the shadow of the timber. Then I turned to reconnoitre; my friend had continued on: I saw him just entering among the crowd that circled around the great fire.

Screened from observation by the shadow, I could now pause and reflect. The trifling incident that had caused me some apprehension, had also helped me to some useful knowledge: First, I had learned my own name; second, that a council was about to take place; and thirdly, that the renegade, Hissoo-royo, had something to do with the council.

This was knowledge of importance; combined with my previous information, everything was now made clear. This council could be no other than the jury-trial between the renegade and the yet nameless chief; the same that was to decide to which belonged the right of property in my betrothed. It was about to meet; it had not assembled as yet. Then had I arrived in time. Neither white savage nor red savage had yet come into possession; neither had dared to lay hand on the coveted and priceless gem.

Isolina was still safe – thus singularly preserved from brutal contact. These dogs in the manger – their mutual jealousy had proved her protection!

I was consoled by the thought – strange source of consolation!

I was in time, but where was she? From my new position I had a still better view of the camp, its fires, and its denizens. She was nowhere to be seen!

“In the lodge, then – she must certainly be there – or – ”

A new suspicion occurred to me: “She may be kept apart from the other captives? – in the copse – she may be concealed in the copse until the sentence be pronounced?”

This last conjecture brought along with it hopes and resolves. I determined to search the copse. If I should find her there, my emprise would be easy indeed; at all events, easier than I had anticipated. Though guarded by the savages, I should rescue her from their grasp. The lives of six men – perhaps twice that number – were under my belt. The odds of unarmed numbers would be nothing against the deadly bullets from my revolvers, and I perceived too that most of the savages had laid aside their weapons, confident in the security of their camp.

But I might find her alone, or perhaps with but a single jailer. The meeting of the council favoured the supposition. The men would all be there – some to take part – others interested in the result, or merely from curiosity to watch the proceedings. Yes, all of them would have an interest in the issue – too surely all. The barbarous customs of these savage brutes at that moment came to my remembrance!

I stayed no longer to reflect; but gliding into the grove, commenced my search for the captive.

The ground was favourable to my progress: there was not much underwood, and the trees grew thinly; I could easily pass amongst them without the necessity of crouching, and without making noise. The silent tread of the moccasin was in my favour, as also the dark shadowy foliage that stretched overhead, hiding the sky from my view.

The chief timber of the copse was the pecan hickory – almost an evergreen – and the trees were still in full leaf; only here and there, where the trunks stood far apart, did the moonbeams strike through the thick frondage. The surface of the ground was shrouded from her light; and the narrow aisles through which I passed were as dark as if no moon had been shining.

There was still light enough to reveal some horrid scenes. O Heaven! my heart bleeds at the remembrance.

I was wrong in my conjectures. The men had not all gone to the council; the captive women were not all by the camp-fires. I beheld ruffian men beside their helpless victims – women – fair white women – with drooping heads and listless air – dishevelled weeping! O Heaven! my heart bleeds at the remembrance!

It recoiled at the sight – it burned with indignation. At every turn did it prompt me to draw knife or pistol; at every step my fingers itched to immolate a hideous paint-besmeared brute – to slay a “noble” savage.

I was restrained only by my own desperate situation – by my apprehensions for the safety of Isolina, now more acute than ever. What horrid imaginings crowded into my brain, begot by the barbarous scenes that were being enacted around me!

The monsters, too earnestly occupied with their captives, took no heed of me; and I passed on without interruption.

I threaded the pathways of the grove one after another, gliding through as rapidly as the path would permit; I entered every aisle and glade; I sought everywhere, even to the farthest limits of the wood. I saw more men – more weeping women – more red ruffianism; I saw nought of her for whom I searched.

“In the tent then —she must be there.”

I turned my face towards the lodge; and, moving with stealthy step, soon arrived among the trees that stood in the rear.

I halted near the edge; and, separating the leaves with my hands, peered cautiously through. I had no need to search further – Isolina was before my eyes.

Chapter Ninety Four.
The Council

Yes, there was my betrothed – within sight, within hearing, almost within reach of my hands; and I dared not touch, I dared not speak, I scarcely dared look upon her!

My fingers trembled among the leaves – my heart rose and fell – I could feel within my breast its strokes, rapid and irregular – I could hear its sonorous vibration.

It was not at the first glance that I saw Isolina. On looking through the leaves, the coup d’oeil was a scene that quite astonished me, and for a while occupied my attention. Since I had last gazed upon the great fire, the grouping around it had undergone an entire change; a new tableau was presented, that for the moment held me under a spell of surprise.

The fire no longer blazed, or only slightly, and when stirred; the logs had burned into coals, and now yielded a fainter light, but one more red and garish. It was steady, nevertheless, and the vastness of the pile rendered it strong enough to illumine the camp-ground to its utmost limits.

The fire was still encircled by savages, but no longer standing, nor grouped irregularly, as I had before observed them; on the contrary, they were seated, or rather squatted at equal distances from each other, and forming a ring that girdled the huge mound of embers.

There were about twenty of these men – I did not count them – but I observed that all were in their native costume – leggings, and breech-cloth to the waist – nothing above, save the armlets and shell-ornaments of nose, ears, and neck. All were profusely painted with chalk, ochre, and vermilion. Beyond doubt, I was looking upon the “council.”

The other Indians – they in “fancy dresses” – were still upon the ground; but they were standing behind, retired a pace or two from the circle, and in groups of two, three, or four, talking in low mutterings. Others were moving about at a still greater distance from the fire.

My observation of all these features of the scene did not occupy ten seconds of time – just so long as my eyes were getting accustomed to the light.

At the end of that interval, my glance rested upon Isolina, and there became fixed.

My fingers trembled among the leaves; my heart rose and fell; I could feel within my breast its strokes, rapid and irregular; I could hear its sonorous vibration.

In the chain of Indians that encircled the fire, there was a break – an interval of ten or a dozen feet. It was directly in front of the lodge, and above the fire; for the ground gently sloped from the tent towards the stream.

In this spot the captive was seated. Her situation was exactly between the lodge and the fire, and a little retired behind the circle of the council. The tent intervening between her and my position, had prevented me from seeing her at first.

She was half-seated, half-reclining upon a robe of wolfskins. I saw that her arms were free; I saw that her limbs were bound. Her back was to the tent, her face turned towards the council. I could not see it.

To recognise my betrothed, I did not need to look upon her face; her matchless form, outlined against the red embers, was easily identified. The full round curve of the neck – the oval lines of the head – the majestic sweep of the shoulders – the arms smooth and symmetrical – all these were familiar to my eyes, for oft had they dwelt on them in admiration. I could not be mistaken; the form before me was that graven upon my heart – it was Isolina’s.

There was another salient point in this singular tableau, that could not escape observation. Beyond the fire, and directly opposite to where Isolina was placed, I saw another well-known object – the white steed!

He was not staked there, but haltered and held in hand by one of the Indians. He must have been lately brought upon the ground, for from neither of my former points of observation had I noticed him. He, like his mistress, was “on trial” – his ownership was also matter of dispute.

There was in sight one more object that interested me – not with friendly interest did I regard it – but with disgust and indignation.

Not seated in the council ring, nor standing among the idle groups, but apart from all, I beheld Hissoo-royo the renegade. Savage as were the red warriors, fiend-like as they appeared with their paint-smeared visages, not one looked so savage or fiend-like as he.

The features of this man were naturally bad: but the paint – for he had adopted this with every other vile custom of barbarian life – rendered their expression positively ferocious. The device upon his forehead was a death’s-head and cross-bones – done in white chalk – and upon his breast appeared the well-imitated semblance of a bleeding scalp – the appropriate symbols of a cruel disposition.

There was something unnatural in a white skin thus disfigured, for the native complexion was not hidden: here and there it could be perceived forming the ground of the motley elaboration – its pallid hue in strange contrast with the deeper colours that daubed it! It was not the canvas for such a picture.

Yet there the picture was – in red and yellow, black, white, and blue; there stood the deep-dyed villain.

I saw not his rival; I looked for him, but saw him not. Perhaps he was one of those who stood around? – perhaps he had not yet come up? He was the son of the head-chief – perhaps he was inside the lodge? The last was the most probable conjecture.

The great calumet was brought forward and lit by the fire; it was passed around the circle, from mouth to mouth – each savage satisfying himself with a single draw from its tube.

I knew that this was the inauguration of the council. The trial was about to proceed.

Chapter Ninety Five.
Measuring the Chances

The situation in which I was placed by chance, could not have been better had I deliberately chosen it. I had under my eyes the council fire and council, the groups around – in short, the whole area of the camp.

What was of most importance, I could see without being seen. Along the edge of the copse there extended a narrow belt of shadow, similar to that which had favoured me while in the channel, and produced by a like cause – for the stream and the selvage of the grove were parallel to each other. The moonbeams fell obliquely upon the grove; and, under the thick foliage of the pecans, I was well screened from her light behind – while the lodge covered me from the glare of the fire in front.

I could not have been better placed for my purpose. I saw the advantage of the position, and resolved therefore to abide in it.

The observations and reflections thus given in detail occupied me but a few minutes of time. Thought is quick, and at that crisis mine was more than usually on the alert. Almost instantaneously did I perceive the points that most interested me, or had reference to my plans; almost instantaneously I had mastered the situation, and I next bent my mind upon the way to take advantage of it.

I saw there was but one way to proceed: my original scheme must be carried cut. Under so many eyes, there was not the slightest chance that the captive could be stolen away; she must be taken openly, and by a bold stroke. Of this was I convinced.

The question arose, when should I make the attempt? At that moment?

She was not ten paces from where I stood! Could I rush forward, and with my knife set free her limbs? Might we then get off before the savages could fling themselves upon us?

Hopeless – impossible! She was too near them; she was too near the renegade who claimed her as his property.

He was standing almost over her, within distance of a single leap. In his belt I saw the long triangular blade of a Spanish knife. He could have cut me down ere I could have severed a cord of her fastenings. The attempt would fail; success was hopeless – impossible. I must wait for a better opportunity; and I waited.

I remembered Rube’s last word of counsel, not to act too hastily – and his reasons, that if I must make a “desprit strike for it,” to leave the grand coup to the last moment. The circumstances could be no more unfavourable then than now.

Under the influence of this idea, I checked my impatience, and waited.

I watched Hissoo-royo; I watched the squatted forms around the fire; I watched the straggling groups behind them. In turn, my eyes wandered from one to the other. At intervals, too, they rested upon Isolina.

Up to this moment I had not seen her countenance; I saw only the reverse of that beautiful image so deeply graven upon my heart. But even then – under that suspense of peril – strange thoughts were passing within me. I felt a singular longing to look upon her face; I remembered the herredero.

It pleased fortune to smile upon me. So many little incidents were occurring in my favour, that I began to believe the fates propitious, and my hopes of success were growing stronger apace.

Just then the captive turned her head, and her face was towards me. There was no mark on that fair brow; that soft cheek was without a scar; the delicate skin was intact, smooth, and diaphanous as ever. The herredero had been merciful!

Perhaps something had occurred to interrupt or hinder him from his horrid work?

I prayed that the matador had met with a similar interruption! I could not tell – those profuse clusters covered all – neck, bosom, and shoulders – all were hidden under the dark dishevelment. I could not tell, but I did not dare to hope. Cyprio had seen the blood!

It was but a momentary glance, and her face was again turned away.

At intervals she repeated it, and I saw that she looked in other directions. I could note the uneasiness of her manner; I could tell why those glances were given; I knew her design. O for one word in her hearing – one whisper!

It might not be; she was too closely watched. Jealous eyes were upon her; savage hearts were gloating over her beauty. No word could have reached her, that would not have been heard by others – by all around the fire – for the silence was profound. The “council” had not yet essayed to speak.

The stillness was at length broken by the voice of a crier, who in a shrill tone proclaimed that the “council was in session.”

There was something so ceremonious in the whole proceedings, and every movement was made with such regularity, that but for the open air, the fire, the wild savage costumes, and fierce painted faces, I might have fancied myself in the presence of a civilised court, and witnessing a trial by jury! It was in effect just such a trial, though judge there was none. The members of the jury were themselves the judges – for in the simplicity of such primitive litigation, each was presumed to understand the law without an interpreter.

Pleaders, too, were equally absent; each party – plaintiff and defendant – was expected to plead his own case. Such is the simple fashion in the high court of the prairies – a fashion which might elsewhere be adopted with advantage.

The name of “Hissoo-royo” pealed upon the air. The crier was calling him into court – another parallel with the customs of civilisation!

Three times the name was pronounced, at each repetition in louder voice than before.

The man might have spared his breath; he who was summoned was upon the spot, and ready to answer.

Before the echo died away, the renegade uttered a response; and, stepping to an open space within the ring, halted, drew himself up to his full height, folded his arms, and in this attitude stood waiting.

At that crisis the thought occurred to me, whether I should rash forward, and at once decide the fate of myself and my betrothed. The seated warriors appeared to be all unarmed; and the renegade – whose hand I most regarded – was now farther off, having gone round to the opposite side of the fire. The situation was favourable, and for a moment I stood straining upon the spring.

But my eye fell upon the spectators in the background; many of them were directly in the way I should have to take; I saw that many of them carried weapons – either in their hands, or upon their persons – and Hissoo-royo himself was still too near.

I could never fight my way against such odds. I could not break such a line – it would be madness to attempt it. Rube’s counsel was again ringing in my ears; and once more I abandoned the rash design.